"Or 'Property of Elena,'" his thumb rubbed my knuckles. "So the world knows I belong to you."
My brain short-circuited for a few seconds.
"Are you insane?" I tried to pull back, but he held tight. "Tattoos are permanent—youcan't just—"
"It's not an impulse," he interrupted, his eyes deadly serious. "I've thought about this for a long time. Since you said you're not my property, I realized—I can be yours. I am yours."
My heart clenched tight.
"Igor."
"I know it's crazy," he continued, his voice laced with a rare vulnerability. "But I need this."
He pressed my hand harder, his strong heartbeat thudding against my palm—thud, thud.
"I'm yours, Elena," he leaned in, forehead against mine. "Completely yours."
My breathing turned ragged. This man who controlled New York's underworld, the Bratva Don who made so many tremble in fear, was looking at me with an almost humble gaze, begging me to mark him as my own.
"You don't need to do this." My voice trembled.
"I do," he insisted. "Let me do this, Elena. Please."
That "please" broke through my last defenses. I nodded.
I watched as Igor opened my desk drawer and pulled out a professional tattoo kit—I had no idea when he'd stashed it there.
"You planned this," I accused.
"Yeah," he admitted without shame, starting to set up the tools. "I had the best artist teach me the basics."
"So you're doing it yourself?"
"No," he looked up, his gaze steady. "You are."
"What!" I jumped back. "I can't! I'll ruin your skin!"
"Even better," he said, stripping off his shirt. "It'll be your marks on me."
Bare-chested, he stepped closer and placed the tattoo gun in my hand.
"Hold my hand," he said. "I'll control the pressure and angle. You just follow my lead."
My hand was shaking.
"Igor, this is insane."
"I know," he gripped my hand firmly. "But I want to be insane—with you."
In the end, I gave in.
He sat on the sofa, and I straddled his lap. His large hand enveloped mine on the gun, guiding it to trace the letters on his skin.
"P-r-o-p-e-r-t-y..." I whispered.
Each letter, each line of ink, came with the buzz of the needle piercing skin. He didn't make a sound of pain, just watched my face intently.
"Does it hurt?" I asked, my voice tight.
