He glances at the monitors, then at me. “It’s about the girl.”
I arch a brow. “Seraphina.”
He nods. “She’s… different. The men talk about her. Some with curiosity, some with nerves. She stirs things up.” He hesitates, searching for the right words. “She’s a distraction.”
I let the silence stretch, considering. “Distraction can be useful. It keeps the others on their toes. Reminds them nothing is ever secure.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Pavel leans forward, elbows on knees. “She’s gotten under your skin. I see it, Boss. You’re not as careful when she’s in the room. You let things slip.” He gives me a look that borders on insubordinate. “Is that wise?”
A flare of irritation sparks in my chest, but I tamp it down. Pavel has earned a long leash. “My focus hasn’t wavered.”
He shakes his head. “Not yet, but it will. You can’t treat her like everyone else. You’re harder on her than on some of the men. She’s not Bratva. She’s just a civilian. Maybe you’re being too harsh.”
The words hang there. In any other context, I might laugh—me, too harsh? But the idea gnaws at something old inside me.
“She’s stronger than she looks,” I say. “She needs boundaries. She’s reckless, could ruin us if she wanted.”
Pavel’s gaze sharpens. “If she breaks? What then? Will you destroy her, or let her destroy you?”
He doesn’t raise his voice, but the challenge is clear. I tap a finger on the desk, staring at the feed of Sera pacing in her room, her frustration radiating off the screen. “She won’t break.”
Pavel shrugs, but there’s concern in his eyes. “She’s not an enemy, Miron. She’s lost. You’re the one making her dangerous.”
The words sting because they’re true. Sera unsettles me in ways no one else has. Not just the temptation, but the possibility that in controlling her, I’ve let something slip through my own armor.
“She’s not lost,” I say, voice softer than I intend. “She’s adapting. She’ll find her place.”
He leans back, a little sigh escaping. “Just don’t forget why we have rules, Boss. They keep you safe as much as her. Don’t let her be the crack in the wall.”
He stands, nods again, and leaves me alone with my screens, my thoughts, and the echo of Sera’s voice thrown against the locked door.
I watch her pace, fists clenched, lips moving with words I can’t hear. She refuses to be still, refuses to settle. Part of me wants to go to her, to explain—what, exactly? That everything I’ve done is for her own good? That the world outside is worse than anything she’ll find here? That her rage is the one thing keeping me honest?
I push the thoughts aside. Pavel’s warning rings in my head:“Don’t let her be the crack in the wall.”
Control is everything. If I lose it now, if I let Sera become more than an obsession—if I let her into the places in myself I’ve spent a lifetime defending—then I risk more than just my power. I risk the entire world I’ve built.
I return my attention to the screens, forcing myself to watch with a cold eye. The rules will hold. I won’t let them break, not even for her.
But as the hours pass and her defiant pacing finally stills, I feel the edges fray. In the silent glow of the monitors, I watch her curl up on the bed, shoulders shaking, stubborn tears she tries to hide even from herself. And I wonder, not for the first time, if Pavel is right.
Maybe she is the crack in the wall. Maybe, for the first time in my life, that’s exactly what I want.
Chapter Thirteen - Seraphina
The morning crawls by in fragments of restless half sleep. I lie on my side, watching the pale light crawl across the far wall. Every time I close my eyes, his face rises behind my lids. I remember the heat of his breath, the press of his hand on my skin, his nearness at the desk, how his eyes never looked away.
The memory unsettles me. My body betrays me, prickling at the thought of his thumb tracing my jaw, the dark promise in his voice. I tell myself it meant nothing. It was fear. Shock. Adrenaline.
I roll onto my back, glaring at the ceiling. My heart hammers, insistent as the memory that clings to my skin. I shouldn’t want anything from him.
I shouldn’t think about his touch, shouldn’t remember the way my breath caught or the small, traitorous sound that slipped from my lips. I try to convince myself it was all nerves,all a cruel reaction to danger, but the thought lingers, sticky as smoke.
When I finally drag myself out of bed, the world feels too quiet. The house is a maze of soft carpets and shuttered windows.
The air is thick, holding its breath. I listen for the familiar drone of Miron’s voice, for the shuffling footsteps of his men, but all I catch is the faint hum of a vacuum cleaner down the hall. The tension in my shoulders only tightens. Even the threat feels absent, replaced by something heavier: expectation.
I wander downstairs, moving slowly, wary of corners. The hush is broken by a sudden burst of childish voices; high, impatient, full of energy no adult can hope to match.
