My breath stutters. "That sounds like a threat."
"It's a promise."
Then he's moving away, back toward the couch. Leaving me sitting there, heart pounding, skin too hot, every nerve ending aware of him in a way that terrifies and excites me.
He does terrify me.
But not enough to make me send him away.
More than that, I like it. At some point between patching him up and now, I began to enjoy his company. Enjoy not being alone every minute of the day. At some point, I even confessed tomyself that it was nice to be looked at by a man, even one as big and dangerous as Zakhar.
I clean up the dishes in silence. He settles back on the couch, closing his eyes.
I watch him for a long moment. This dangerous man in my safe space. This stranger who's become something else in just three days.
This is a complication I can't afford but don't want to lose.
Tomorrow, I tell myself. Tomorrow I'll figure out what the hell I'm doing.
Tonight, I just need to sleep.
But when I lie in bed, door cracked so I can hear him if he needs anything, all I can think about is the way he looked at me across the kitchen table.
Like I was already his and soon he will be done waiting for me to catch up.
Zakhar
Day six, and everything is going according to plan.
Except it isn't a plan. Not really. Plans imply strategy, careful calculation, moves plotted out three steps ahead. This is something else. Something more instinctive.
Inevitable.
I watch Lily from my position on the couch, pretending to scroll through my phone while she moves through her morning routine before heading downstairs. Then sounds drift up through the floorboards, the hum of the mixer, the clang of metal pans, her footsteps crossing from oven to counter and back again.
She's been awake since four in the morning. I know because I heard her get up, heard the shower run, heard her try to move quietly so she wouldn't wake me.
I've been awake since three.
My wounds are healing faster than she realizes. The shoulder is almost sealed, barely more than an angry, pink line under the fresh bandages she applied yesterday. The one at my side pulls when I move, but it's manageable. Painkillers help, but mostly it's just biology. Dubovich men heal fast. Always have.
I could leave now if I wanted to. Only I don't want to.
My phone buzzes. Iosif, again.
Iosif:It's been six days. The Pakhan wants answers.
Me:Tell him I'm working.
Iosif:On what? You won't tell me where you are. You won't explain what you're doing. This is starting to look suspicious.
Me:I'm recovering from being shot.
Iosif:You've recovered from worse in less time.
He's not wrong. But I'm not about to explain that I'm choosing to stay in a failing bakery with a woman who doesn't know she's already mine.
Me:I'll report when I'm ready.
