Another shot cracked the air, and my ears rang. My heart drummed in my throat.
"Stay down," Viktor practically barked.
He wasn't crushing me, but he was a wall, and I felt his weight, steady and heavy.
The door burst open, and Dimitri stormed in with his gun up; his eyes were hard. "Clear the windows!" he shouted, while two guards ran after him, rifles sweeping every shadow.
I couldn't move. My fingers clenched Viktor's sleeve until my knuckles hurt. I was small, raw, furious, and scared all at once.
Dimitri looked at the broken window, then at me. He didn't soften. "Professional shot, not random. " He said, his voice flat. "That shot was for her."
"For me?" I whispered, and my stomach dropped away.
"One of Romano's rivals," Dimitri said. "They want to humiliate you. Prove you can't protect what's yours."
Viktor's jaw locked, and his hand on my wrist became a vise. "They just signed their own death warrant," he said, coldly.
Guards scanned the balcony and yelled updates. The room buzzed with motion, the bullet's sound kept looping in my head like a threat.
I wanted to ask why, why me? Why now? Dimitri's words answered before I could speak. I wasn't a person to them, but I was leverage, a weak point they could strike at.
Or a pawn on a chessboard... That thought lit a hot flame in my chest. Men were running through the halls with guns because of me. Because I'd been pulled into this life. Because of me, someone wanted to show Viktor he was weak.
"I shouldn't be here," I said, my voice breaking. "This is insane."
Viktor turned his head slowly, like a predator considering his prey. "You're here because I put you here," he said. His voice was low and sharp. "You'll stay where I put you."
"People could have died... for me." My words felt ridiculous.
"They will die," he said plainly. "But you won’t."
His voice hit me harder than the gunshot. He sounded like a man who would burn a city just to keep one person breathing.
Dimitri pulled out his phone. "We move. The sniper had backup. Sweep the grounds."
"Do it," Viktor snapped without taking his eyes off me. His thumb brushed my wrist hard, but not unkind. I wanted to yank my hand free, but his touch was iron.
The guards left, and the suite was a mess. Glass glittered on the floor like frozen rain. Cold air rushed in through the broken window.
"You're bleeding," I said before I could stop myself. A thin red line cut across his temple.
He didn't look at it. "You're shaking," he answered.
Of course, I was shaking. I'd almost been killed, but under the fear was something else... The tight grip he had on me left me angry and confused. He held me like I belonged to him and didn't plan to let go.
"You are mine," he cut in. No softness. No questions. "And no one touches what's mine."
The wind whispered through the broken glass, and his words sat heavy between us.
I should have pushed back, told him he was mad. I should really have told him I wasn't an object, but the words died under his gaze, and a part of me— raw and aching— listened and believed.
The suite smelled of smoke and iron. My hands still trembled, but something in me moved, and I refused to be helpless.
"That's nothing," he said, trying to shrug away the cut. He sounded annoyed at being fussed over.
"You're bleeding," I said, softer this time.
He gave me a look like he was weighing me. "It's just glass, don't fuss."
