"Everyone is," I murmured. "Even you."
He didn't like that; his grip tightened, but not enough to hurt. His breathing changed, became heavier and faster. His control was slipping, and we both knew it.
Then, he kissed me. It was hard, rough, and almost desperate, like he was trying to remind himself who was in charge. His lips crashed into mine, and for a second, I almost let him believe he was.
When he pulled back, his eyes burned. "You think I won't find out what you're hiding?"
"You can try," I whispered.
He ran his thumb across my lip. "You make me crazy."
I smiled against his touch. "That's why you keep me."
He laughed under his breath, dark and low. "Or maybe I'm keeping you to figure out what you're really after."
"Maybe I'm doing the same," I said, meeting his eyes.
The words hung between us, sharp and quiet. He stepped back, finally letting go of my wrist.
"Go to bed," he muttered. "Tomorrow, we will talk."
"Tomorrow," I said softly, "you'll still have questions."
He slept like a man who had finally let go of the world; the city outside was quiet, and the air was heavy after the storm. A bruise colored his arm, a thin cut traced his temple, and a piece of glass still shimmered in his hair, but he didn't notice.
I watched him; the rise and fall of his chest was steady, calm, and almost innocent. My fingers brushed his jaw, and it was warm, alive, and human. For a man who'd spilled so much blood, he looked too peaceful. Giovanni's name echoed in my head, soft, sharp, and unforgiving.
He shifted slightly, and his hand reached for me even in sleep, like his body remembered a need his heart didn't understand, and I almost pitied him. I used to think he was a monster, someone I should run from, but monsters don't dream with furrowed brows and restless hands.
I leaned closer, close enough to feel his breath against my skin. He wanted protection to keep me safe from the world he built with blood, but the truth was cruel and quiet.
He was the one who needed saving from me.
Chapter Twelve
Mikhail’s POV
It took several minutes for me to bring my mind to this meeting. It was later in the afternoon on the day of the attack. I was in my home office with my brothers, yet I couldn’t get my whole mind off her until Viktor called me to order, twice.
Normally, such a meeting would have held at any of our warehouses, but I suggested it be held in my office at the penthouse. While I didn’t explicitly state it, my reason was simple: I didn’t want to leave her alone. My brain knew the attack couldn’t be repeated within such a short time frame, and she’d be safe. But my heart didn’t like the thought of leaving her at the penthouse.
And there was the mystery that was wrapped around her like a blanket; it was driving me crazy. The shock I felt when she grabbed a secret gun and joined in the gunfight like a fearless fighter was probably second to none. I couldn’t deprive her of sleep when the attack already did that. But I wanted answers today, I just didn’t know if I’d get them.
I was surprised and glad when Viktor agreed to meet Roman and me at my penthouse.
“Roman, your sources also point to the Italians?” Viktor inquired.
“Positive, brother. I hadn’t even gotten anything on the findings of Mikhail’s men before I came down here with the information. My main men clearly heard some VIP clients at the casino ramble about Caruso’s side clashing with the Lobanov Bratva because of an unexpected snake.”
“The fucking snake is none other than him. Marco,” I uttered, my anger rising at the mention of his name.
“Now, that’s not the worst of it,” Viktor revealed, steepling his fingers.
“What? He owes the Bratva more money than we thought?” Roman inquired.
“His betrayal runs farther than we thought. Not just of us, of his family.”
Hearing the discussion head in the direction of his family made me sit upright, a protective curiosity taking over. My wife was the bastard’s family. So, even if she was technically a Lobanov, she was still Marco’s family, the only family he now had.
