I ejected the magazine, checked the chamber, and set the pistol on the table. "You can breathe now," I said softly.
His jaw clenched, and no words came out of his mouth. He was just looking. Yuri broke the silence first. "We got three down outside. No ID yet. The car they came in with was torched. Someone planned this."
Mikhail's voice was low. "Find out who. I want answers by morning."
"Yes, boss." Yuri turned and began barking orders to the others.
I watched Mikhail as he walked closer in slow, deliberate steps. The kind that said he wasn't sure if he wanted to thank me or interrogate me. His shirt was half open, and glass dust was in his hair, but his eyes... his eyes burned like he was trying to see through me. "You didn't freeze," he said finally.
"Should I have?"
His tone dropped. "Most people do."
"I'm not most people."
He stood right in front of me. The space between us felt heavy, and heat, smoke, and something unspoken shifted between us. He studied the pistol on the table, then looked back at me. "Where did you learn to shoot like that?"
"My father believed daughters should be as useful as sons."
"That's not an answer."
"No," I said quietly," it's the only one I'm giving."
His fingers brushed the table's edge, near the gun. "You kept this hidden."
I shrugged. "You didn't ask."
The muscle in his jaw ticked again. He hated losing control, even of small things. Especially around me. One of the soldiers returned with a report. "No more threats outside, sir. It's clear."
"Leave us alone," Mikhail said.
The men hesitated, glancing between us, then left. Only Yuri lingered until Mikhail nodded. The door closed, leaving us in a silence sharp enough to cut through. Mikhail finally spoke, in a low voice, almost a whisper. "You had a gun under your pillow this whole time?"
"Yes."
"And you never thought to tell me?"
I smiled faintly. "Would you have slept as soundly if I did?"
He stared at me for a long moment, then exhaled through his teeth, part anger, part disbelief. "You're something else, Isabella."
"That's what you married, isn't it?"
He laughed under his breath, but it wasn't amusement; it was frustration. "You scare the hell out of me."
"Good," I said, stepping past him. "Fear keeps people alive."
He caught my wrist, pulling me back gently. "Or it makes them dangerous. Make no mistake, darling wife, I never said I was scared ofyou."
I looked at his hand, then his face. His grip wasn't rough, but his eyes were searching, burning, like he wanted to strip every secret out of me.
"You should rest," I said finally. "You look worse than the men outside."
He didn't move, just whispered, "You don't even look shaken."
"I'm not."
And I wasn't. Because this… the smoke, the gunfire, the chaos, this was familiar, and it felt like home.
