Her throat moves as she swallows, her eyes dazed as she heads back downstairs. I pull out my phone. One call. That's all it would take to set things in motion. To make her bakery thrive, to eliminate her financial stress, to give her everything she needs.
But not yet.
First, she has to accept me.
Then I'll give her the world.
I dial Iosif instead.
He answers on the first ring. "Finally."
"I need information," I say. "Property records. Business licenses. Financial history."
"For what?" he demands, and I can imagine the way his face scrunches when he is confused.
"A bakery downtown. The Pastry Cupboard."
Silence. Then: "Zakhar, what the fuck are you doing?"
"Fixing a problem," I reply, closing my eyes.
"By investigating some random bakery?" he gripes.
I sigh. "It's not random."
More silence. I can practically hear him putting the pieces together.
"This is her, isn't it? The woman you're staying with. The one you won't tell me about." He is beginning to sound resigned.
"Get me the information, Iosif, please. I need everything in two days."
"What are you planning?" he asks.
"Nothing. I’m making sure she has no reason to say no."
"To what?"
I smile, even though he can't see it. "Everything."
Lily
I can't stop thinking about his hands.
It's the middle of the night, two in the morning according to my phone, and I'm lying in bed staring at the ceiling, thinking about the way Zakhar's thumb brushed over my lower lip. The heat of his palm against my jaw. The way he held me there, not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough that I couldn't look away.
You're mine.
The words echo in my head, sending heat pooling low in my belly despite my best efforts to ignore it.
This is lunacy. All of it. A week ago, I was alone, struggling, numb. Now there's a Bratva soldier on my couch who's decided I belong to him, and instead of being terrified, I'm lying here wet and aching and wanting things I have no business wanting.
I throw off the covers and pad to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. My reflection stares back; flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, hair a mess from tossing and turning.
I look like a woman who is steadily losing her mind.
Fuck.
I should send him away tomorrow. Tell him he's healed enough, that the deal is done, that he needs to go back to his life and let me return to mine.
