Prologue
HERAIAH ‘Hera’ BAUTISTA
My jaw clenches as I swing a shoulder bag over my arm and roll a heavy suitcase across cracked pavement. The wheels catch in a pothole before I lift it to hand off to the conductor, then climb the bus steps one slow step at a time.
The air inside is thick with diesel fumes and the warm scent of strangers—sweat, soap, fried fish. Every seat is taken save one at the very back; I weave past knees and bags to sink into its worn vinyl cushion.
Air pushes out of my lungs in a long, ragged exhale. I rest my forehead against the cool window glass and watch the empty seat across from me blur with the passing street. My pulse thumps at my throat, at my wrists, each beat twisting the knot low in my belly tighter. My palms are slick and cold where they rest on my thighs.
“Calm down. He won’t find you. He won’t find us.” The words are soft against my lips as I circle my stomach with my thumb, feeling the faint curve beneath my shirt.
Three years ago I stood in damp earth and watched a man fall. Metal glinted in moonlight, then there was sound like fruit splitting open. My legs gave out under me, all strength draining from my bones. The killer turned to me next but chance shifted everything in a breath. I swung my shovel hard and stopped him cold. I thought bars would close around me, thought both of us would be carried away in a patrol car. Instead we built a world from lies I shaped with my own tongue. He slept for a year in a coma; my father’s men and I tended his still body in the quiet room down the hall from mine. Terror lived in my throat every time I passed his door, every time I changed his sheets or wiped his forehead. But I learned to walk past as if the house held no secrets, as if the stranger in our midst was no more dangerous than a sleeping child.
Then one night I woke to his weight above me. His lips on mine, his hands mapping the shape of me. I thought I would die right there in my bed. But when he spoke his voice was empty of memory—he did not know his name, did not know where he was, did not know why he felt like he belonged to me. He looked like a Russian matryoshka doll: hard edges and polished shell, nothing left inside but the simple drive to breathe. That was when I made my choice. I let him believe what I told him. I said I was his wife.
He trusted me completely. For more than a year he leaned on my words, my hands, my presence like it was air itself. I played my part so well I almost forgot it was a lie. Then four weeks ago his past came flooding back all at once.
Zeus. He could have hurt me, could have made me pay for every false word. Instead he told me to run. To get as far away as I could.
Now I am gone and the lie is over. So why does my chest feel too heavy to fill with air? Why do tears prickle behind my eyes every time I picture the way he looked at me when he thought I loved him?
The tears spill down my cheeks and I press my palm to my face, trying to hide from the woman beside me who keeps glancing over with soft eyes. The salt of tears coats my lips.
I should be relieved. I should be planning where to go next, what to do with my life now that I am truly free. But all I feel is a hollow ache spreading through me, and a loneliness so sharp it makes me want to scream.
A rough laugh escapes me as the truth settles in my bones. I was not fooling him—I was fooling myself this whole time. I cannot pretend anymore.
Zeus. Who would have thought I would give my heart to the man I thought was a monster?
I was never so blind as when I thought I was in control. Please. Find me. Find us, Zeus.
THADDEUS ‘Zeus’ VITALE
“So? How was it? How’d your little domestic fantasy play out over in the Philippines, Vitale?”
I stare at Apollo, my jaw set so tight my teeth ache. The man leans back in his chair, spinning a pen between his fingers like he has all the time in the world.
“Whoa there. Easy with that look—you’ll freeze the monitors. Don’t tell me you actually liked playing house?”
We are in his office—if you can call a room crammed with servers and glowing screens an office. The air hums with electricity and smells of burnt coffee and metal. Apollo is the best hacker the Cosa Nostra has ever had; he knows everything about everyone except when to keep his mouth shut.
“Why are you so quiet? Did you actually—”
“I wasn’t myself then. I was a fool walking in a shell. A hollow doll with nothing inside to guide me.”
And still I crave the feel of her hands on my skin. I know what she did—she wrapped lies around me until I thought they were truth. She told me we were married, told me she loved me, told me I was safe with her.
But I know why she did it. Anyone would fear a man they watched take a life.
But then why did she hold me like I was worth protecting? Why did her voice sound real when she whispered my name in the dark? Why did every touch feel like it was stitching me back together?
I run a hand through my hair and turn to look at his wall of screens, all glowing blue and black. Apollo quirks an eyebrow at me.
“Yeah. You’ve lost it. You’re—”
“Right. I have.” My smile is sharp as glass. My eyes fix on the empty search bar on his main monitor. “Find her, Apollo. Track her down now.”
“What?” He stares at me, pen clattering to his desk. I just meet his gaze, steady and hard.
“You’re serious?”
I say nothing. He lets out a long sigh and slumps forward over his keyboard.
“Alright. Dead serious. You know the drill—I don’t work for free. This will cost you half a million dollars.”
I grin. “If it cost twice that I would pay every cent.”
He shakes his head and starts typing, fingers flying over keys like he is talking to the machines himself. “This is madness. Thaddeus Vitale—the man who never cared about anyone—chasing after a woman who lied to his face. The boys back home will lose their minds when they hear this.”
I do not answer. I walk through the open door to the balcony and rest my hands on the cold metal rail. The full moon hangs bright in the black sky, casting silver light over the city below.
“Hera. I hope you have hidden well enough to make me work for it.”
I told you to run. I told you to disappear. But do not think you can walk away and build a life with someone else. Do not think you can forget the way we fit together. If another man has touched you, if he has tasted what is mine, I will end him without hesitation.
From the moment I felt your skin against mine, from the moment I breathed in your scent and knew it was home, you became mine. Only mine.
You tamed the man you locked away in that quiet room. Now you must take what you have made.
