“Say it again,” he growls, pinning me against the wall. His eyes aren’t cold now; they’re wild, a storm of possessive rage. “Say it again and see what happens.”
I try to hold my glare, to look unbothered, but his grip, his nearness, the heat coming off him—it all snatches the breath from my lungs. “I already did,” I snap. “I’m not yours. You don’t own me.”
His face lowers to mine, his breath hot at my ear. “If that’s true,” he says, voice gone quiet and deadly, “then all those other men will meet their death tonight.”
The promise in his tone freezes me. It’s not an empty threat; I see it in his eyes, in the set of his jaw. This isn’t bluster—this is the Bratva talking.
He exhales sharply, as though fighting himself, and then—almost tenderly—he sets me back on the bed, fingers trailing off my arms. His eyes are still wild when he turns toward the door.
I lunge forward, grabbing his arm before he reaches the door. “Wait! I—I was only kidding!” My voice cracks slightly, and my heart is racing a mile a minute. “There’s been no one…. Just you. Only you.”
He freezes, his back still to me. I can feel the tension in his shoulders, the storm in him still simmering. Slowly, I feel him exhale, a long, deliberate release, and when he turns, the fire in his eyes has dimmed—just a little.
“You’d better mean that,” he mutters, voice rough, but calmer now. There’s still heat there, but it’s less sharp, more…contained.
“I mean it,” I insist, stepping closer, daring to hold his gaze. “No one else. Just you, Lev.”
He studies me, silent for a beat that stretches too long, then finally lets his arms drop to his sides. The wildness in his expression softens, replaced with something heavier, possessive but measured.
He steps closer, the air around him thick and sharp. “Don’t play like that,” he growls, voice lethal. “I don’t mess around, Sasha. You…you belong to me. Alone.”
My chest tightens, my heart hammering. The words burn in a way I didn’t expect, possessive and dangerous, and I can’t look away.
He turns sharply and walks toward the door, leaving me frozen on the bed. The click of the door closing behind him echoes in the room like a verdict.
I sink back into the mattress, breathing hard, my mind racing. Him saying it—that I belong to him—it’s terrifying. And yet, impossibly, it makes my pulse spike in a way I can’t deny.
My breath is uneven, hands trembling in my lap.
Not from fear.
From anticipation.
The realization hits me like a slap. I hate myself for it, but I can no longer deny it—my body is betraying me, my pulse still running wild from his voice, his touch.
I want him.
Now, just as much as I wanted him in Milan. Maybe even more.
I press my palms against my thighs, trying to steady myself, but the shiver crawling up my spine won’t go away.
He’s gone, but he’s everywhere. I cannot escape Lev Rusnak.
Chapter 10 – Lev
I stand in the gardens, the early morning sun painting gold over the perfectly trimmed hedges, and I feel a strange tension coil in my chest. Mikhail is beside me, clipboard in hand, detailing the seating arrangements and the flow of the day. I hardly listen. My mind isn’t on flowers or chairs.
It’s her.
Sasha.
Tomorrow, she will be mine by law, bound to me and this world she’s never wanted any part of. I tighten my jaw, trying to tamp down the sudden heat in my veins. I can’t afford distraction. Not now. Not with her.
“Lev,” Mikhail says, voice low, pulling me back. “The florist says we need to decide on the centerpieces. Are we going with the red roses, or—”
I cut him off with a wave. “Doesn’t matter.” I can already imagine her face, the fire in her eyes, the stubborn tilt of her chin. Tomorrow, none of that will matter legally. She’ll belong to me.
Mikhail smirks knowingly. “Okay.”
