She glances around at all of us. “What about you? You could’ve died. For me. A stranger.”
Vanya laughs, bringing unexpected warmth to this cold place. “Oh, we didn’t do it for you, love.” He winks at me. “Well, maybe one of us did.”
I shoot him a glare that would prompt most men to rear back.
He just grins wider. “Besides, any excuse to mess up Gio’s perfect hair was worth it. Man spends more on product than I spend on suits, and that’s saying something.”
A reluctant smile tugs at Chloe’s lips.
Vanya has that effect on people. He eases even the most unbearable situations, making them more manageable. It’s why he’s so good at extracting information. People tell him things they shouldn’t, just to please him.
Kirill works in silence, his stitches neat and precise. Three, four, five… Eventually, I lose count. The pain fades to background noise, to a dull throb beneath my skin. He concentrates on my arm, repeating the process.
Through the thin walls, I hear Max outside, arguing with someone on the phone.
Probably Roman.
Probably about me.
“There.” Kirill cuts the thread and sprays the puckered flesh with disinfectant. “Try not to tear them out doing something stupid.”
“No promises.”
That earns me the faintest twitch of his lips. As close to a smile as Kirill ever comes.
He focuses on Alexei next, examining a gash on the other man’s forearm. Vanya excuses himself to make a call, leaving me alone with Chloe for the first time since the warehouse.
She slides down from the arm of the sofa to sit beside me, not quite touching. In the few centimeters separating us, her heat blazes.
“Thank you. For coming for me.”
No drama or tears, just quiet gratitude.
I think of her bound to that chair, Gio’s gun to her head, and the rage that nearly consumed me.
The absolute certainty that I would burn the world down to retrieve her.
“Always.” A promise I intend to keep.
Blood still crusts my knuckles. Evidence of what I am, what I’ve done.
Her hand finds mine anyway, threading our fingers like they belong together.
Chapter 34
Kolya
Cottage Seven is quiet, with only Max’s snores from his broken nose filling the air. The four enforcers claimed the beds, joking about how unmarried couples shouldn’t share a room.
Realistically, they just didn’t want to sleep on the lumpy couch, even if it meant sharing a bed with another man. Considering they spent the last week racing around, trying to stop or at least mitigate the Falcones’ attacks on us, I’m not going to begrudge them for choosing comfort over ego.
Chloe and I cuddle on the couch fully clothed, waiting for morning. Sleep isn’t even a consideration.
I’m savoring the feel of her, safe in my arms.
Chloe’s thumb traces circles on my palm. She looks at me, then at the door, a question in her eyes.
I nod.
