When he pulls back, I'm breathless.
"The bail was easy," I whisper. "Just money. But the custody case? That was personal. That was me deciding your family was worth breaking laws for."
"When did it happen?" His voice drops lower. "When did we stop being fake?"
"I don't know." My hands slide into his hair. "Maybe when you taught me to shoot. Maybe when you looked at me like I was worth protecting, instead of just a job. Maybe the first time you called mekotyonok."
"Little kitten." His smile is small, dangerous. "Except you're not. You're a wolf in kitten's clothing."
"Is that a compliment?"
"It's the truth." He rolls us so I'm pinned beneath him, his weight delicious and grounding. "You blackmailed a judge to keep my daughter. You killed two men to protect her. You posted two million dollars without blinking to get me home." His eyes burn into mine. "When did you stop fighting for your inheritance and start fighting for us?"
The question lands like a blade between my ribs.
"I don't know," I admit. "Maybe the same moment I stopped calling this fake. When Mila called me Mom the first time, and I didn't correct her. When I realized I'd rather die than let Matthew hurt either of you."
"Isabelle—"
"Don't." I press my fingers to his lips. "Don't say something that makes this more complicated than it already is. Not when Wesley's coming in—" I glance at the clock, "—two hours with intel on Matthew's next move."
"Then we have two hours." His teeth graze my fingers. "Any ideas how to spend them?"
"We probably shouldn't?—"
"Probably not." He's already kissing down my throat. "But I've never been good at 'probably.'"
"Sergei—"
"Tell me to stop, and I will." His mouth hovers over my collarbone. "But if you say my name like that again, I'm going to take it as encouragement."
I should stop him. Should focus on the war we're fighting, the evidence we're gathering, the uncle we're about to destroy.
Instead, I pull him down and let the rest of the world disappear.
Later—afterround two leaves us both spent—I lie with my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow.
"Thank you," he says quietly. "For what you did. The bail. The judge. All of it."
"I'd do it again." I trace the scar bisecting his ribs. "I'd do worse."
"I know." His hand slides into my hair. "That's what scares me. Not that you can't protect yourself. That you're willing to destroy everything to protect us."
"Us." I lift my head, meeting his eyes. "You keep saying that."
"Yeah." His smile is small. Real. "Us. You, me, Mila. Whatever this is."
"Family," I whisper. "This is family."
Something flickers across his face—surprise, maybe, or fear, or hope. Then it's gone, hidden behind the Wolf's mask.
But I saw it.
And that's enough.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Wesley.
Arriving in 30. Have updates on Matthew. You're going to want to hear this.
