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I cover her hand with mine and say nothing.
“Is that why you never wanted this?” she asks gently. “A family. Someone to lose?”
“Yes.” The word is flat and certain. “I decided at his funeral that I was done. There would never be anyone close enough to cost me everything.” I hold her gaze. “And then I met you.”
I look at her in the amber dark of the living room and feel the terrifying weight of what I’ve just admitted. I’ve spent nearly two decades carefully constructing my life so that I never had to feel this kind of vulnerability again, and now I’ve fallen harder for this woman than I thought possible.
“I want to give you everything, Cora.” The words feel dangerous coming out of my mouth. It’s the kind of promise that tempts fate in my world. “Your freedom. Safety. A real home. A baby. Everything you’ve been denied. I am going to make that happen. All of it.”
“Zevran…” she whispers.
“I need you to know that,” I insist, the protective desperation flaring back up. “I need you to know I’m going to deliver on every single thing I’ve promised you.”
She looks into my eyes for a long, tender moment. Then she leans down and presses her soft lips to mine.
“I know,” she says softly. “I believe you.”
I pull her close, burying my face in her sweet-scented hair.
I’m still holding her tightly against my chest when my phone buzzes from the floor inside my pants.
I reach down and snag it without letting go of her.
There’s a message from Dragan, along with a phone number. I frown at it, but as I read the text, the tension in my forehead clears.
“What is it?” Cora asks, watching my expression.
I hand her my phone.
She sits up slightly to read the screen. I watch the expressions shift across her face—confusion first, then recognition, then a look of pure, glowing delight.
Komarov. This is a message from Anya Kuznetsov for Cora Banks.
Hello, Cora. I hope it’s okay that I reach out to you like this. I’ve been thinking about when we met on Russell Street, and I want you to know that there’s a small group of us. The women your fiancé saved. I would very much like us to be friends, if you’re open to it.
Anya Kuznetsov
Cora looks up at me with shining, tear-filled eyes.
“She wants to be friends,” she says, like she can’t quite believe in such a thing.
“So it would seem.” I take the phone back and set it on the coffee table. “Do you want to reply?”
Cora burrows right back into my chest, wrapping her arm around my waist. “Not right now, but I will. Did you know that the women you saved are friends?”
“I had no idea. I have no contact with them after the job ends.” A smile tugs at my lips. “Do you suppose they gather over coffee to talk about how amazing I am?”
She swats my bare chest with a laugh. “You are incorrigible.”
“I am.” I press a kiss to her lips.
Cora is warm against my side, laughing with me, excited about the prospect of building a life full of friends and belonging. I pull my future wife closer and hold on tight.
Outside, the city has gone dark. The floor-to-ceiling windows are full of black sky and distant stars, and somewhere out there in the shadows, Troy Banks is breathing air he doesn’t deserve.
26
Cora
