Chapter 1 - THE HANDKERCHIEF HIS DEAD WIFE LEFT BEHIND
Victor Malenkov had just told me I was the first woman he'd touched in twelve years.
And I had absolutely no idea what to say.
My name is Grace Bennett. I was twenty-five years old, a nursing student at Boston College, and a waitress who could barely afford her apartment.
The man standing before me owned half the buildings on the waterfront and had a reputation that made even dangerous people nervous.
Yet his hands were trembling.
I looked down at the white linen wrapped around my palm.
The embroidered blue E had been sewn by someone who was dead.
Someone he still loved.
“Mr. Malenkov,” I whispered, “you don't have to give me this.”
His expression hardened.
“I said keep it.”
I swallowed.
“Then thank you.”
He looked toward my hand.
“That cut needs stitches.”
“Probably.”
“Then we're going to a hospital.”
I shook my head.
“I have a shift.”
He stared.
“Your hand is bleeding.”
“I noticed.”
For one unexpected second, his mouth almost curved into a smile.
Then my manager hurried toward us.
“Miss Bennett, you need to finish cleaning the broken glass before—”
Victor turned.
My manager stopped speaking.
“She needs medical attention,” Victor said.
“Of course, Mr. Malenkov.”
“And she'll be paid for her full shift.”
My manager nodded so quickly I thought his neck might snap.
Victor looked back at me.
“Come.”
I folded my arms.
“Ask.”
He went still.
Nobody in the Red Lion Pub breathed.
Then Victor slowly exhaled.
“Grace, would you allow my driver to take you to the hospital?”
I blinked.
The most feared man in Boston had just asked my permission.
“Yes,” I said quietly.
At Massachusetts General Hospital, a physician cleaned and closed the cut. There was no serious tendon damage, but I needed to protect the wound while it healed.
Victor waited outside.
When I emerged, he was standing beside a vending machine, looking absurdly uncomfortable.
“You stayed?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His eyes moved toward the handkerchief sealed inside my belongings bag.
“Because Elena would have wanted me to.”
I studied him.
“Your wife?”
He nodded.
Then he asked something that surprised me.
“Where did you learn to stay calm around frightened people?”
I smiled faintly.
“Nursing school.”
He looked toward my bandaged hand.
“You weren't frightened.”
I laughed softly.
“Mr. Malenkov, I was terrified.”
His expression changed.
“Then why didn't you run?”
“Because you looked more frightened than I was.”
He stared at me.
For a moment, something vulnerable crossed his face.
Then his phone rang.
He glanced at the screen.
His expression went cold.
“What is it?” I asked.
He showed me a message from an unknown number.
A photograph.
Me.
Standing outside the hospital.
Taken seconds earlier.
Beneath it were seven words.
SHE HAS ELENA'S HANDKERCHIEF. FINISH WHAT WE STARTED.
May you like
Victor went completely still.
Then he whispered, “Someone knows exactly what happened to my wife.”
