My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
It’s Niko. My cousin. Head of the Chicago wing of the Rusnak Bratva.
I snatch the phone off the nightstand, careful not to wake her.
Warehouse. Eleven a.m. Don’t be late.
I drag a hand over my face, force myself to look away from Sasha. One second, she’s soft and warm, tangled in my sheets; the next—steel slams back into place inside me.
Bratva first. Always.
My jaw ticks. I lock the phone, drop it face down. The softness of the morning cracks, gone like it was never here.
I swing my legs off the bed, stand, and dress without thought—black shirt, slacks, watch, gun. Each piece slides on like a switch flipping inside me. The man who wanted to stay is dismantled piece by piece, until only what’s required remains.
In the kitchen, I make coffee. Two cups. My hand pauses over the second one, and for a breath, I almost laugh at myself. What the fuck am I doing? She has no business in my life. Just like I have no business in hers. My head clears, my chest hardens.
Okay, yes, she was a very good lay, but that’s it. Nothing else matters. Sex is sex, and I’ve had plenty.
Two cups of coffee in hand, I pad back through the silent apartment. The weight of the Bratva is already on my shoulders, pressing me into the man I need to be. Detached. Ruthless.
But when I reach the bedroom, I stop.
She’s still asleep, one arm curled against the pillow, hair spilling like silk across the sheets I ruined her in. The city light slipping through the glass brushes over her bare shoulder, painting her skin in silver.
I lean against the doorway, breath stalled in my chest.
Exquisite. That’s the word. Too exquisite for me. Too beautiful for this world.
For one dangerous second, I forget the text. Forget Niko, the blood waiting for me. All I see is Sasha, fragile and soft, like she was made to be kept and not touched by the filth I drag behind me.
I force my fingers tighter around the mugs until the heat bites.
She doesn’t belong in my world.
And I can’t stop looking at her anyway.
Suddenly, she stirs, lashes fluttering before her eyes blink open. The moment she sees me, her lips curve into a wide, unguarded smile that knocks the breath out of my chest.
“Good morning,” she says, her voice husky with sleep, too warm, too sweet. “God, I haven’t slept that good in ages,” she giggles.
I straighten from the doorframe, masking everything I feel behind calm efficiency. “Morning,” I answer, tone clipped.
Her smile falters, just slightly, but she doesn’t call me on it. She pushes herself up, pulling the sheet around her, hair tumbling loose over her shoulders. The sight nearly undoes me again, but I remind myself of the text. Of what waits for me beyond this room.
I cross the space and hold out one of the mugs. “Coffee.”
“Thank you,” she says softly, fingers brushing mine as she takes it. She looks at me with something unspoken in her eyes, but I ignore it.
I sit down on the edge of the mattress, not close enough to touch, not even close enough for her warmth to reach me. A deliberate distance.
She notices. I can see it in the way her shoulders straighten, in how her smile tightens into something polite, uncertain. The happiness from seconds ago fades, replaced by confusion she tries to hide.
I sip my coffee, silent. Pretending not to see the shift. Pretending it doesn’t feel like I just shut a door between us. I take another slow sip of coffee, forcing myself to meet her gaze. “You feeling okay?”
She nods, a small smile tugging at her lips, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes now. “Yes.”
“Good.” I set the mug down on the nightstand, my movements deliberate and controlled. “I have some urgent business I need to attend to.” The words are steady, but inside they taste like iron.
