Something flickered in his gaze, and then he laughed too, a rare, low sound that warmed me all the way through.
"Fine, Emilia Lobanov," he said. "The woman who dares to outshine the Pakhan."
I shoved lightly at his chest, grinning. "You're impossible."
"And you're ambitious." His hand slid back to my waist, anchoring me. "I should be threatened, but all I feel is pride."
My throat caught again, but this time it wasn't fear. It was too emotional, too fast, and too deep.
"I just want a life that feels like ours," I whispered.
His thumb brushed my lips, quieting me. "Then that's what we'll build. Brick by brick, day by day. And no one will touch us again."
I closed my eyes for a second, letting those words sink deep. The air was cool, but his body was warm against mine. For once, I didn't feel like I was reaching for something impossible. I felt like maybe, just maybe, it was already in my hands.
I opened my eyes and smiled faintly, tilting my head against his shoulder. "Do you realize," I said softly, "that to me, you're already everything?"
He stilled. For a man who commanded armies, silence was rare. But he went utterly still at those words, his hands tightened against me like he couldn't trust himself to move.
"Say it again," he murmured, his voice was rougher now.
"You're everything," I repeated, steady this time.
His lips pressed into my hair, lingering there, his breath shaking against me. And for once, there were no enemies, no shadows, just us.
The city stretched wide around us, but all I felt was the warmth of his hand at my back, his heartbeat under my palm, and the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of the life I'd only dared to dream of.
***********************
The evening came softly, not loud like the nights before. No voices raised in strategy, no slammed doors, no gunmetal clicking in shadows. Just the quiet hum of the city outside and the clink of plates as food was carried by staff.
I sat at the long table, the kind that once made me feel like a stranger in his house. Tonight, it didn't. Tonight, it was just us.
Viktor waved the men away when they tried to serve. "Leave," he said. His voice was calm, not sharp, but final, and they bowed out.
When the door shut, he turned to me, already reaching for the bottle on the table. His big hands dwarfed it, but instead of pouring himself first, he poured mine. Not wine, it was juice. He filled the glass slowly and carefully, then slid it across to me.
"Pakhan pouring drinks?" I teased, raising a brow.
His mouth tugged into the ghost of a smile. "For you, always."
I couldn't help it; my cheeks warmed. He sat down next to me instead of at the head of the table, close enough that our arms brushed. He didn't let anyone else touch the plates either; he cut the meat himself, slid pieces onto mine first, as though I couldn't lift a knife on my own.
It should have been ridiculous. It should have been too much. But my chest ached at the care in it. We ate in silence for a few minutes, then I set my fork down and looked at him.
"When," I asked softly, "was the first time you really noticed me?"
He didn't hesitate; his eyes flickered to mine, sharp and certain. "The night you defied me."
I blinked. "Defied?"
He leaned back a little, his scarred hand resting on the table. "Everyone bows. Everyone fears, but you don't. You looked at me like you'd rather burn than break."
I laughed, shaking my head. "I thought you'd kill me for that."
He leaned closer, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered," I almost did. Instead... I couldn't look away."
Heat rushed through me, and my hand went to his arm without thinking. "That was when it changed?"
