I try to sleep but only manage a few fitful hours. Sometime after two in the morning, movement beside me pulls me back to consciousness.
Tony is thrashing in the sheets, and his face is contorted and his breathing harsh. His hands claw at the pillow like he’s fighting something I can’t see.
I’ve watched my brothers go through this. Dmitri still has nightmares about our father’s death, about the violence thatshaped his childhood. Alexei wakes up swinging sometimes, lost in memories of fights that have nearly killed him.
I know better than to startle a man trapped in his own personal hell.
“Tony.” I keep my voice soft as I reach for his shoulder. “Tony, wake up. You’re safe.”
He doesn’t respond. His body jerks, and a sound escapes his throat that’s somewhere between a groan and a sob. Whatever he’s reliving, it has him completely in its grip.
I shake him gently. “Tony, come back to me. It’s just a dream.”
His eyes fly open, and for a terrifying moment, he doesn’t see me at all. His gaze is wild and unfocused, fixed on something far away. His chest heaves with ragged breaths.
“It’s me,” I murmur. “It’s Sasha. You’re in London. You’re safe.”
Recognition slowly filters back into his eyes. He blinks several times, and his breathing begins to steady. When he finally focuses on my face, I see the exact moment he realizes where he is.
“Sasha.” My name comes out hoarse. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Don’t apologize.” I inch closer and wrap my arms around him. “I’m here.”
He’s trembling. This man who faced down Adrian’s guards without flinching, who took a bullet and kept fighting, is shaking in my arms like a frightened child. I don’t ask what he was dreaming about. I don’t need to.
I just hold him.
His arms come around me slowly, tentatively, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to accept the comfort. I press my cheek against his chest and listen to his heartbeat gradually slow from its frantic pace.
Minutes pass. His breathing evens out. The trembling subsides.
“Chechnya,” he finally whispers into my hair. “I was back in Chechnya.”
I tighten my grip on him but don’t say anything. He’ll tell me what he needs to tell me. Pushing won’t help.
“Six men died because I trusted the wrong person. Because I let my feelings cloud my judgment.” His voice is barely audible. “I’ve spent three years trying to make sure that never happens again. And now…”
“Now what?”
“Now I’m terrified tomorrow will end the same way.” His arms tighten around me. “That people I care about will die because I made the wrong call. Because I missed something. Because I wasn’t good enough to keep them safe.”
I pull back just enough to look at his face. Even in the low lighting surrounding us, I can see the fear in his eyes. The guilt he still carries for men who died years ago.
“Tony.” I cup his face in my hands. “What happened in Chechnya wasn’t your fault.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you. I know the man who threw himself in front of bullets to protect me. Who gave up everything he was working toward because he couldn’t stomach hurting my family.” I holdhis gaze. “That man doesn’t make careless mistakes. That man does everything in his power to protect the people he cares about.”
“And sometimes everything isn’t enough.”
“Sometimes it isn’t,” I agree. “But that doesn’t mean we stop trying. It doesn’t mean we let fear make our decisions for us.”
He closes his eyes and leans into my touch. “I can’t lose you, Sasha. Not like I lost them.”
“You won’t.”
“You can’t promise that.”
