Page 58 of Anton

I chuckled. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

The growl of my stomach made the decision for me. Taking a cautious bite, I chewed slowly. Not bad. A little bland, maybe, but under the circumstances, I wasn’t about to complain.

“Not quite Michelin Star, but with a little salt and pepper, they’d be excellent,” I teased, humming in appreciation as I wolfed the rest down.

Anton chuckled, finishing his own plate even faster. I stared in awe.

“And you’re a magician as well? Now you see them, now you don’t!” I laughed, gesturing at his empty plate.

Anton’s laughter rumbled low, his shoulders shaking slightly as he leaned back. There was something disarmingly casualabout the moment—no arrogance, no pretence, just him. It caught me off guard, leaving a faint, unspoken ache in its wake. I wanted things to always be that way between us.

The warmth of the food and his easy presence made it almost possible to forget how precarious our situation was. Almost. The threat of discovery hung in the air, faint but inescapable. We’d likely have to run again soon. But for now, though, I felt relaxed, if only for a moment.

“How long do you think it’ll take Marko to find us?” I asked, setting the plate aside once I’d had my fill.

Anton leaned back, resting against the wooden wall behind him. “Honey, I’m not sure. Marko’s the best. He’ll find us. Then the Rominovs will come out in force. They might even be heading this way now.”

I nodded, though the uncertainty gnawed at me. “And in the meantime?”

“We wait. Stay out of sight.” His gaze softened as he looked at me, pulling me close. “And talk, maybe. There’s something I need to tell you.”

My stomach flipped at his tone—low, steady, serious. “This sounds ominous.”

He didn’t smile, didn’t try to soften the edges of what he clearly needed to say. “It’s about before. About why I pushed you away.”

I froze, my hands instinctively curling into the blanket. “I know you’ve been through a lot, Anton. People talk. I’ve heard bits and pieces about your family… and Louisa.”

His jaw tightened, the faintest flicker of pain crossing his expression. “Louisa was my twin. My little sister. I was older by five minutes,” he said quietly. “She was bright, stubborn, too clever for her own good. She… she died when we were eighteen. I should have protected her, but I didn’t.”

I reached for him, my fingers brushing his arm. “Anton, you can’t?—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted gently, his voice firm but not unkind. “I know what you’re going to say, but I’ve lived with that guilt for a long time. It doesn’t just go away. It lingers, festering until…”

I stayed quiet, letting him find the words he needed to say.

“After Louisa… I couldn’t stay at home. Everything reminded me of her. So, I joined the army. Thought maybe I could leave the memories behind, but they followed me. It did get better, though. The guilt faded, and finally, I reached a point where I could think about her, remember her growing up without that gnawing pain of failure clouding the memory. That’s when I met Elaine.”

I’d heard the name before, but hearing it now, in his voice, sent a strange pang through my chest. “Your fiancée?”

“Yeah.” He exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. “Elaine was… volatile. Fierce. She reminded me of Louisa in a lot of ways. We served together, and eventually, we got engaged. We were going to get married after we left the forces.”

He paused, his gaze distant and his throat working as he swallowed hard.

“But?” I prompted gently.

“One night, we had a stupid argument. It wasn’t even important, but it got under her skin. She stormed off. The following morning, she must’ve still been pissed about it because she disobeyed a direct order and walked right into an ambush.” His voice dropped, each word heavy with old pain. “She got herself killed. And two of my men.”

“Oh, Anton…”

“I was in command, Marcie.” He finally looked at me, his dark eyes filled with a rawness that stole my breath. “It was my responsibility to keep them safe. I failed. Again.”

I shook my head, my heart aching for him. “No. That’s not fair. You can’t carry that alone. She made a choice.”

“One she might not have made if we hadn’t argued,” he said, his tone quiet but firm.

I shook my head again, more vehemently this time. Anton was carrying all this guilt, and none of it truly belonged to him. His sister had overdosed, I knew that much. An addict who made a fatal mistake. No matter what Anton believed, that wasn’t on him.

If I was being brutally honest, I’d lay more of the blame at the Rominovs’ door—after all, they used to be one of the biggest suppliers of cocaine in London. When I’d first started planning events for the Rominov family, I hadn’t known about their Bratva link, but since my friends became involved with Bratva men, I’d learned a lot more.

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