Kaz's jaw works. "She killed Mikhail. She deserves—"
"She's MINE."
The words echo through the warehouse, bouncing off metal and concrete until they fill every corner. My body responds despite everything. Heat pooling low, that familiar ache even now, even here. I hate myself for it.
"Mine to punish. Mine to judge. Mine to kill if I decide she's earned it. NOT yours."
"The family—"
"I AM the family." Alexei's voice drops to that register that makes grown men pray. "I'm pakhan. And you just committed treason by taking what belongs to me."
The possessive words shouldn't affect me. Shouldn't make me remember his hands on me at the lakehouse, gentle and claiming. But my body doesn't understand context, only remembers his touch.
The gun in Kaz's hand wavers. Just for a second.
"Misha would have wanted—"
"Don't." Alexei raises his own gun, aim steady despite the blood making his grip slippery. "Don't you dare speak for my brother."
One of Alexei's men has been creeping along the catwalk. He tackles Kaz from behind, the gun clattering away into warehouse depths. They struggle, but it's already over. More men swarm up the stairs. Kaz goes down screaming curses in Russian, promising vengeance, promising Alexei will regret this.
Alexei doesn't even watch. He's already walking toward me, and my heart pounds harder with each step.
He cuts my restraints with the knife from the dead guard. The blade is still warm from its owner's hand. The zip ties fall away, leaving deep grooves that seep blood. The Weapon notes the damage. Days to heal, possible nerve involvement. The woman doesn't care.
I don't move. Can't move. Can't look at him.
He's breathing hard. Blood everywhere. His hands, his face, splattered across the white shirt that was clean this morning when he made me breakfast at the lakehouse, when he kissed me like I was something precious. Other men's blood, painted on him like war paint. The copper smell mixes with his cologne, violence and tenderness in the same skin.
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
His bloody fingers grip my chin, force my face up. Make me meet those pale eyes. The warm wetness of blood transfers to my skin, marking me.
I expect relief. Maybe tenderness. The gentle man who sobbed in my arms about his mother, who showed me how to tend a bonsai with infinite patience, whose hands shook when he told me about becoming his father.
Instead: pure fury.
"You RAN."
The word cracks between us like a whip.
"Alexei—"
"You fucking RAN. Into the forest. Without a word."
"I had to—"
"You had to WHAT?" His grip tightens, and I taste copper where my teeth cut the inside of my cheek. "Go to Marco? Choose your family over me? Again?"
I flinch. The word 'again' cuts deep because he doesn't even know how wrong he is. Doesn't know about the first time I chose his family over mine, water over blood, and got everyone killed.
"I broke for you." His voice cracks on the words, and hearing his pain is worse than any physical blow. "I showed you things I've never shown anyone. Told you about my father, my mother. Sobbed in your arms like a child. And you RAN."
"I know."
"WHY?"
