I do, but I can’t stop watching him. The way he looks at me—like I’m the only thing worth seeing in the world—it makes my chest ache in a good way. Every action, every small movement, is worship, proof that since he rescued me from Christos, my life has been his obsession, his mission. He’s doted on me, indulged me, and done everything I’ve asked without question.
I feel happier now than I have in weeks, maybe months. But a shadow lingers in the back of my mind, one I haven’t shared with him or anyone. The fact that no one’s heard from Viktor gnaws at me. Christos is gone, thank God, but what if Viktor isn’t finished? What if he comes after me?
I keep my lips pressed together, letting the worry stay locked inside, unwilling to spoil this fragile peace Lev has fought to build around us.
As I eat, Lev finally speaks, his tone casual, almost too calm for the weight of his words.
“The Petropoulos threat is neutralized,” he says. “Christos is in Bratva custody. And Viktor Markovic was found dead last night—under…suspicious circumstances.”
My fork freezes halfway to my mouth. “Dead?” I breathe, eyes wide.
He nods once. “Dead.”
The relief that floods me is so sharp it almost hurts. My chest feels lighter, my breath easier. It’s over. It’s really over. “Who killed him?” I ask, voice small.
Lev only shrugs, the corner of his mouth twitching in that way that tells me everything and nothing all at once. I know him well enough to recognize silence when it’s deliberate. I stare at him for a long second, then smile faintly. He doesn’t have to say it. I know. He handled it for me.
Setting the tray aside, I climb onto his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck. He exhales, one hand coming to rest on my back, the other threading through my hair.
“I’m perfectly happy now,” I whisper against his shoulder.
He laughs softly, a deep, warm sound that rumbles through his chest and into me. “Good,” he says. “That’s exactly how I want you.”
He studies me for a long moment after my laughter fades, his expression turning thoughtful. Then, with that calm,measured tone of his, he says, “Sasha, I want you to know something.”
I lift my head from his shoulder, curious.
“You’re free,” he says simply. “Completely. I’m giving you back your passport today. You can return to your job if you want, go anywhere you like. You don’t owe me anything.”
For a moment, I just blink at him. His words don’t register right away—maybe because part of me had already accepted that my life was tied to his now. I search his face, waiting for the smirk, the condition, the half-truth. But there’s none. Lev looks deadly serious, like he’s trying to give me the world back in one breath.
A slow smile creeps across my face. “You’re giving me my freedom?”
He nods once. “It’s yours. It always was.”
I tilt my head, studying him, the way his eyes soften when he looks at me. Then, quietly but firmly, I say, “I’m not leaving.”
That catches him off guard. His brows lift slightly. “You’re not?”
I shake my head, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I’ll go back to work when I feel like it. But not yet. My place is with you now.”
He exhales—half disbelief, half relief—and the faintest smile tugs at his mouth. For a man who never runs out of words when giving orders, he suddenly looks like he has none.
“Sasha…” he murmurs, voice low, like my name just became something sacred.
I press my forehead against his and whisper, “I’m exactly where I want to be.”
We stay like that for a long while—just breathing each other in, the morning light slanting through the curtains, soft and gold. Eventually, I slide off his lap and sit beside him, our shoulders touching.
For the first time in days, it feels like peace.
He picks up my hand, his thumb tracing the scar along my wrist—the faint mark that never fully healed. “Your mother would’ve been proud of you,” he says quietly. “For surviving. For fighting back.”
I swallow hard. “She made her mistakes, Lev. But she did what she thought was right.”
He nods slowly. “We all did. And we all paid for it.” His voice carries that edge of regret he rarely lets slip. “The things I’ve done…the people I’ve hurt. Sometimes I think I’ve been trying to make up for all of it by keeping you safe.”
I squeeze his hand. “Maybe we both needed saving.”
