MasukRavenSteam still clings to the bathroom mirror when I sit down in front of it, towel wrapped tight, damp hair dripping onto my shoulders. I peel back the edge of the bandage over my chest slowly, careful, watching my own reflection do it like I’m looking at someone else.The wound underneath is healing. Not fully, not yet, the skin still pink and tender at the edges, but the shape of it is unmistakable now. No ink. No needle ever touched me. Just a scar in the shape of his name, carved deliberate and careful into skin that will carry it for the rest of my life.It’s beautiful in a way I don’t fully understand yet.I’m still staring at it when the door opens and Roman steps in, pausing when he sees me sitting there with the bandage half peeled away.“Let me,” he says quietly, crossing the room.I let my hand fall away and tip my chin up as he crouches in front of me, his eyes settling on the wound. He studies it quietly, his expression unreadable, before reaching for the fresh g
RavenThe cemetery is nearly empty when we arrive.I count exactly three figures standing beside the open grave. A priest, prayer book open in his hands, waiting for a congregation that never came. Vivienne, dressed in black, veil pulled low over her face. And beside her, Aria, chin lifted, arms crossed in that same practiced superiority she’s worn every time she’s looked at me.That’s all. Three people.No soldiers. No allies. No members of the Diamond Club Gerald swore would bury Roman alive for this. Not one of the men who spent decades shaking his hand and calling him a friend bothered to show up and watch him lowered into the ground.I stare at the empty rows of folding chairs set up for a funeral nobody attended.Gerald Cole commanded armies. Men feared his name in rooms he never even entered. And in the end, this is what’s left of him. Three people and a hole in the ground, in a corner of the cemetery reserved for people nobody fights to remember.I don’t know if this is justic
Raven The elevator doors slide open onto the rooftop.The city stretches around us, its skyline glittering against the night, while low lanterns hung along the railing cast pools of warm golden light across the floor.Roman’s hand settles against the small of my back, steady and possessive, guiding me forward.I’m dressed in black from head to toe.A fitted black dress hugs my body, disappearing beneath the tailored blazer that conceals the gentle swell of my growing baby bump. Black heels click softly against the concrete with every step. Oversized sunglasses shield my tired eyes, while the bold red lipstick on my lips is the only splash of color I allow myself.I barely recognize the woman reflected in the glass doors we pass.She doesn’t look fragile.She doesn’t look like someone carrying grief on her shoulders.She looks composed. Untouchable. Powerful.Like a woman who has learned that softness doesn’t have to come at the expense of strength.Roman gave me that.“You don’t have
Raven “I watched you slaughter your own flesh and blood out of greed and pure evil.” Roman says. “Even wild animals protect their young, yet you butchered your own family without a shred of remorse.”Roman’s voice remains eerily calm, but every word lands like a blade.“It took nothing short of divine intervention for me to get out of that house alive with her. From that night on, everything I did, every lie I told, every smile I forced, every step I took toward you, had only one purpose.”He takes another step closer.“To make you pay.”His jaw tightens, years of restrained hatred flickering across his face.“Do you have any idea how difficult it was pretending to be your friend? Sitting across from you, listening to you talk, shaking your hand… when all I wanted was to drive a knife through your heart and watch you bleed for what you did?”“And you think I’m the one who’s going down tonight?” Gerald asks, not a trace of remorse in his voice. “You’re the one who’s going to d
RavenThe first security guard goes down before I can even register what’s happening. Gunshots tear through the air as Roman’s men and Gerald’s soldiers erupt into a brutal firefight. Roman keeps me behind him, shielding me with his body as he shoots his way through the building.Blood stains the front of Roman’s jacket, streaked dark across his collar and splattered along his jaw like something out of a nightmare I never allowed myself to imagine.We burst through the doors into the living room, and Gerald is already on his feet. Four armed men fan out in front of him, weapons raised, their faces hard with the kind of readiness that only comes from hearing gunfire outside your own walls and knowing exactly what it means.Gerald doesn’t look surprised so much as furious at being caught off guard in his own house.“What is this, Roman?” His voice is tight, controlled, refusing to let fear seep through. “Have you finally gone mad?”“Your time is up, old friend.” Roman’s voice is p
RavenRoman stands in front of the mirror in the dressing room, methodically strapping his holster into place beneath his jacket, in a way that tells me he’s done this more times than I’ll ever know. His phone is pressed between his shoulder and his ear.with cleaner punctuation and dialogue:“We move before midnight,” he says into the phone, his voice flat and certain. “Not a minute later. Gerald’s people rotate shifts at twelve fifteen, and I want us inside before that window closes.” He pauses, listening. “Get the lineups ready. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”He ends the call and slides the phone into his pocket, checking his reflection one last time, and that’s when he sees me in the doorway.I watch his eyes move over me, the leather jacket, the fitted holster strapped along my thigh, the look of a woman who has stopped waiting to be protected and started preparing to fight.“I’m coming with you,” I say.“No.”“Roman…”“It’s far too dangerous, Raven.” He turns to face me
RavenI pull out my phone.Her name is Vivienne Cole. I’d known the name long before Roman ever did, everyone knew Vivienne Cole. She was Miss America at twenty-two, she has the kind of beauty that didn’t seem real, the kind you stared at as a little girl and genuinely wondered if she was a differe
Roman I have been in rooms with presidents. I have negotiated deals that made grown men sweat through their suits. I have buried a woman I loved and kept my composure at her graveside because my daughter needed me to be steady and I was. I am not steady right now. I knew she was coming. I had
Raven In a few minutes, I’ll see Roman again after three years apart, and God help me, I might lose my mind just thinking about it. James drives smoothly and unhurriedly, as if there is no such thing as urgency in the world. I’d forgotten that about him. I’d forgotten a lot of things about Boston
RavenHis hand closed over my wrist and guided it gently away. Then his fingers were there instead, and the difference was immediate — the difference between trying to tickle yourself and someone else doing it. He found my clit with easy, unhurried pressure and I gasped so hard I almost choked on i







