Pathetic.The great Alexei Volkov, pakhan of the Chicago bratva, reduced to waiting like a lovesick teenager. Waiting for a woman who has every reason to disappear.
Kaz's words echo:She collects Volkov men like trophies.
My jaw clenches hard enough to crack teeth.Mudak.No.What happened between us was real. The way she deleted that intel, chose me over her family's safety. The way she came apart in my arms, whispering my name like a prayer.
Real. It has to be real.
Headlights sweep across the window.
My heart stops, restarts at double speed. I'm at the window before I consciously move, watching the black SUV pull through the gates. She's here. She came back. She chose me.
I stand too fast, vodka glasses rattling. I pace to the window, back to the desk, already planning. If she's coming back after they tried to keep her, there might be retaliation. I pull up additional security protocols, text my most trusted men to be ready.
Twenty minutes feels like twenty years before she reaches my quarters.
Home.When did this place become home for her? When did I start needing it to be?
The door opens and everything else ceases to matter.
Sofia stands in the doorway, and one look tells me everything. She's wrecked. Emotionally gutted, like someone carved out pieces of her at that dinner table. Makeup still perfect, hair fresh and brushed, silk dress unwrinkled, but somehow she looks like she's been through war.
"You came back," I say, voice rougher than intended.
"I said I would."
We stare at each other across the room. I want to ask what happened, who said what, why she looks like someone died. But she's here, she chose this, chose me, and that's all that matters.
"You could have stayed," I manage.
"I know."
She crosses the room in three strides and crashes into me. Her mouth finds mine, desperate and hungry, tasting of salt and need. My hands tangle in her hair, pulling her closer, needing every inch pressed against me.
This isn't tender. It's claiming. Her nails rake down my back through my shirt, sharp enough to draw blood. I bite her lower lip, swallow her gasp, walk her backward until her spine hits the door.
"They wanted you to stay," I growl against her throat, needing confirmation.
"Yes."
"But you didn't. You came back for me."
"I came back for answers," she corrects, and the distinction destroys me.
I hike her dress up, find nothing but bare skin underneath. Already wet, ready, and the discovery makes me growl.
Her hands fumble with my belt, shoving everything down just enough.
When I thrust into her, it's rough, fast, no preparation because we both need this. Need to feel something real, something that anchors us when everything else falls apart. She wraps her legs around my waist, heels digging into my back.
"Harder," she demands, teeth finding my throat.
I fuck her against the door. Each thrust rattles the wood, echoes through the hallway. Good. Let everyone hear. Let them know she came back to me.
"Mine," I snarl into her ear. "You're fucking mine now."
She doesn't tell me she agrees, but she gasps, pussy clenching around my cock.
Her orgasm triggers mine, her crying out my name while I empty myself deep inside her. We slide to the floor, both breathing hard, clothes askew, bodies still joined.
