"What?"
"The driver. Describe him."
I pull the sheet tighter around myself, suddenly feeling more exposed. "I don't know. Young, maybe early twenties. Had tattoos on his neck."
"Tattoos?"
"Yeah. I noticed because they weren't in his profile picture on the app. He looked different."
"Jesus Christ." He stops moving entirely, and I watch the color drain from his face. "That wasn't the delivery driver."
"What?"
"That was one of Dmitri's men." He's moving now, fast, pulling on his shirt. "The real driver probably never made it past the lobby. They intercepted him, took his place, and came up here to confirm you exist."
"No. No, that can't?—"
"You gave him a note saying you're being held captive." His laugh is harsh. "You confirmed to Dmitri where you are and that you want out. Do you understand what that means?"
I can't breathe. "I didn't know?—"
"Of course you didn't know!" He's not yelling, but somehow that's worse. "That's the whole fucking point of keeping you here, keeping you safe, keeping you away from exactly this situation!"
"I was scared! I was confused!" My voice cracks. "I didn't know what I wanted!"
"And now Dmitri knows about you. Knows you're here. Knows you matter to me." He's pulling on his pants, his jacket, transforming back into the Pakhan. "He'll use that. He'll come for you."
"Ivan—"
"You wanted to leave so badly? Congratulations. Now you've painted a target on your back."
"I don't want to leave. Not anymore. I was confused, but now I know?—"
"No." He cuts me off, voice sharp as a blade. "You don't get to tell me what you want. Not after this."
"I was going to say I want to stay. I want you."
He goes still and looks at me. For a breath, there’s a glimmer—hope, maybe relief—but it feels fragile, like I wasn’t supposed to notice. Then it hardens, and he’s cold again.
"You don't leave this room without me anymore," he says flatly. "Not until Dmitri is handled. Not until I know you're safe."
"You can't lock me in here?—"
"I can. I will." He crosses back to the bed, looms over me, and I see both the man who just made love to me and the killer who walked into the diner, bleeding. "You're MINE, Lila. That means I keep you safe. Even from yourself. Especially from yourself, apparently."
"Ivan, please?—"
"Someone could have taken you tonight. Dmitri's man was here. In this building. My building. My territory. Saw you. Now they know you're not some girl I'm protecting. They know you matter."
"Would you even care?" The question escapes before I can stop it.
He kisses me. Brutally. Claiming. Punishing. When he pulls back, his eyes are blazing.
"I would burn this entire city to ash if someone hurt you," he says against my mouth. "Don't test me."
The intensity should terrify me. The possessiveness, the control, the absolute certainty in his voice that I belong to him.
Instead, heat pools between my legs again.
