CHAPTER Hl lacuna (n.) a blank space; a missing part Ronan ‘THe GUNSHOT WOUND IN My arm throbbed and bled through my shirt. I must have busted some stitches open when I punched Alexei. And then Albert, who simply opened the car door for me after Mila dismissed me from her life. I didn’t know how to get rid of this irritable, edgy sensation beneath my skin besides violence—and even that didn’t release the tight, hollow ache in my chest. It felt like she was stealing something from me. Pain I could stand. Robbery I could not. “T flew back for ‘important’ business just to watch you silently muse on all your life choices,” my brother said in Russian, sitting on my office couch. “Care to share?” I didn’t know how to explain the feeling in any other way, so I sat back in my chair and said, “She stole from me.” He raised a brow. “Your pet?” “Her name is Mila,” I growled. Kristian sipped the vodka in his glass, trying to conceal a smile. “So what’d she take? You do have some nice crystal glasses.” I didn’t know why I’d opened my mouth. Clearly, all of this was out of my element, and my brother was loving every second of it. I narrowed my eyes and tapped my pen on the desk as that unsettling feeling clawed at my chest.