I think about the promises he made that night. The vows that shaped him into the man he is, the man who would rather lock me away than risk losing me the way he lost her.
I ache for that boy. I want to gather him in my arms and tell him it wasn't his fault, that he did everything he could, that his father was the monster, not him. And part of me wants to surrender. To put on the collar and accept his protection and let him keep me safe in this beautiful cage. To be the thing he can control, the person he doesn't have to fear losing because he's eliminated every possible threat. To give him what he craves, even if it costs me everything.
But I can't.
Because I'm not Katya. I'm not a child who needs protection. I'm a woman who needs a partner. And if Ilya can't see the difference, if he can't learn to trust me, if he can't love meenough to let me be free, then this—whatever this is between us—is doomed.
I touch my throat where the choker sat last night. The skin is bare now, unmarked except for the faint impression the metal left. It felt right when I put it on, like finally admitting that I’m his.
But I'm also mine. And I can't forget that. I can't let his trauma and his fear and his desperate need for control erase the person I am.
I can’t let my desire or my compassion trap me here, in this gilded cage.
27
ILYA
Ican't breathe.
The thought of Mara walking through the world without my eyes on her, without me shadowing her every step, without the surveillance feeds showing me exactly where she is at every moment—it makes my chest constrict until I feel like I'm drowning.
She wants freedom. She wants control over her own life.
She wants things I don't know how to give. Not to someone I care about.
I stand at the window of my office, looking out over the city, and I try to imagine it—Mara at the gallery without cameras tracking her movements. Mara in her apartment without my men stationed outside. Mara making choices, going places, talking to people—all without me knowing.
The panic that rises in my throat tastes like bile.
I've built an empire on control. Every piece of my organization, every man who works for me, every transaction, every threat—I know about it. I control it. Control is what’s kept me alive over the years. Control is what allowed me to survive in the Bratva when I was too young and too angry and too reckless,when my father’s enemies would have gladly killed me and taken what was his.
Control is all I have.
And Mara is asking me to let go.
I press my palm against the cold glass, watching the city lights blur. I think about the way she looked at me when she made her demand, the determination in her eyes. She's not asking anymore. She's telling me what she needs, and if I can't give it to her, she'll… stop giving herself to me. Even if I kept her here, there would be no illusion any longer that she wants to be, no desire, no warmth, no lust from her. Everything I want from her I’d have to take knowing she’s fully unwilling.
That’s a line I’m not willing to cross. And the thought of losing her makes something crack inside my chest.
But the thought of not knowing where she is, of not being able to protect her, of something happening to her while I'm blind to what’s going on—that's worse than anything I can imagine.
I've already lost one woman I cared about. I won't survive losing another.
A memory rises unbidden, without me really wanting it to: Katya's laugh, the way she used to tease me about being too serious. And then it shifts, from her laughing face to her broken one, and blood on the tile of our foyer. I shove it down, teeth grinding as I drag myself back.
I can't think about that now. I can't let the past paralyze me when the present is already slipping through my fingers.
My phone buzzes. It’s Kazimir.
"We have movement," he says without preamble. "Sergei's meeting with his suppliers Thursday night in the warehouse district, near the port."
Relief washes over me. Finally. Something I can control.
"You're certain?" I ask, my voice steady despite the chaos in my head.
"The source is solid. He gave us the location, the time, even the security detail. He’ll have four guys with him. Nothing we can’t handle."
I turn away from the window, my mind already shifting into tactical mode. This is what I know. This is what I'm good at. Planning, strategy, violence—this is all what I’m capable of handling easily. This feels like a haven right now.
