A knock sounded on the door, and I rolled my eyes.
“Definitely Dimitri,” I said. “He can’t leave you alone for an hour.”
Viktor’s laugh was low as he left the bed.
I burrowed into the covers as he quickly put on his trousers and went to the door.
When Viktor came back into the room, I asked, “Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” he answered, undressing again as he approached the bed. “It looks like there’s no mole in the Bratva, after all. It’s the rival political factions orchestrating it. My men discovered there might be a plan for a public attack to claim you. But that can’t work.”
“They’ll have to pass through my husband,” I added, grinning as he pulled me against his body.
“Damn right,” he agreed. “I thought you’d be scared.”
“I’m not,” I told him. “Love conquers all.”
Chapter Sixteen
Viktor's POV.
Dimitri's words still rang in my head long after he shut the door. A kidnapping attempt at the gala. A public stage.
They weren't coming for me, but they were coming for her. I then sat in silence, the room was empty except for Emilia sitting at the edge of the bed. She was quiet, thoughtful, and too calm for the weight of what we had just heard. She didn't ask questions, or maybe she already knew there were none I could answer. My whole life, I'd fought battles in alleys, in boardrooms, in dark corners of the city. But nothing had ever rattled me like the thought of her standing under those chandeliers, every pair of eyes watching, knowing some of those eyes wanted her gone.
My instincts were simple: lock her away, bar every door, and post a man at every corner. But this wasn't about instinct. This was about power. If I kept her hidden, they would smell weakness, and in my world, weakness bled faster than gunshots.
And for the first time, my Bratva duty and my heart were on opposite sides of the same war.
************
The next evening, the house was restless, and my men walked heavily, with their voices lower. I knew they felt it too, that sharp edge of something coming. I tied my cufflinks, adjusted the collar of my black suit, but it felt like armor instead of clothing.
"Do you ever get tired of pretending you're not nervous?" Emilia's voice came from behind the door of the dressing room. And then, I smirked without even looking up. "I don't pretend."
"Yes, you do," she said. I could hear the faint rustle of fabrics as she moved inside. "You pretend all the time, with them and with me."
The door creaked open, and when I looked up, the air left my lungs.
She stood there in a maroon gown that clung to her like it had been stitched by the devil himself. Her hair was pulled back into a chignon, her neck was bare, and her lips were painted in the same shade as the silk hugging her body. And for a second, I forgot the gala, the Bratva, the danger. All I could see was her, my wife. Emilia.
"Say something," she whispered, her voice catching.
I then walked toward her slowly, with my eyes never leaving her face. "I almost don't want to leave anymore." My hand brushed her jaw, thumb grazing her cheekbone. "Not when you look like this."
Her lips curved into a soft laugh, but her eyes searched mine, and they were serious beneath the teasing. "That bad?"
"That is dangerous." My tone was rougher than I meant. "Do you realize what you're doing to me, Emilia? Walking out like this, where every bastard in that room will stare?"
She tilted her head, holding my gaze. You've stared since the day you took me, so why should tonight be any different?"
I exhaled hard, pulling her closer and pressing my forehead against hers. "Because tonight, they'll try to take you. And I will put a bullet in anyone who tries."
Her hand rose to my chest, light but steady. "Viktor... I trust you."
Those two words, though simple, cut through me deeper than anything Dimitri had said that night before. Trust, from her, after everything.
"You shouldn't," I muttered. "Not after what I've done, but you do."
