She shifts, lashes fluttering, and then her eyes open. For a moment, she simply looks at me, curious and unguarded.
“Why are you staring at me?” she asks, her voice rough with sleep.
I huff a quiet breath. “Because you’re beautiful.”
Color warms her cheeks before confusion takes over. “What… happened last night?”
“You fell asleep in the bath,” I say gently. “I found you there. I brought you to bed.”
Her brows knit together as memory filters back in. “You carried me?”
“Yes.”
“And dressed me?” she presses.
“My shirt,” I clarify. “Nothing more.”
She studies my face as if weighing whether to believe me, then exhales. “How am I feeling?” she asks, answering my unspoken question. “Angry. Still. Furious, actually.”
“At your father.”
“At everything,” she says sharply. “At the Bratva. At what he’s doing to Alexi. At what he’s done to me—my whole life.” Her jaw tightens. “I don’t want this future he’s planned.”
I reach out, brushing my thumb lightly over her knuckles. “I may have a solution,” I say carefully. “One that protects you. And Alexi.”
Her gaze sharpens. “You do?”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” I hold her eyes. “I won’t let either of you be destroyed by this.”
The silence stretches—then she leans forward suddenly and kisses me.
It’s impulsive, unguarded. Surprise lasts only a heartbeat before instinct takes over. I deepen the kiss, my hand sliding to her waist, the world narrowing to the warmth of her mouth and the certainty of her choice.
The door slams open.
“Are you out of your damn mind?” Alexi’s voice cuts through the room like a blade.
Anya pulls back, turning toward her brother, fury flashing. “Don’t you dare,” she snaps. “He didn’t take advantage of me. He protected me.”
Alexi’s glare shifts to me, dangerous and unyielding.
I release Anya and stand. “We’ll talk,” I say evenly. “All of us. Over breakfast.”
I grab my things and head for the door. “I’m taking a shower.”
As I leave them behind, I already know—nothing is going to stay simple from here on out.
The room service cart sits between us like a neutral party—silver domes, the smell of strong coffee, eggs, bread still warm. Dominic pours coffee without comment, watching everything with the quiet awareness of a man who knows when to stay out of the line of fire. Anya sits beside Alexi, shoulders tense, chin lifted in defiance. Alexi hasn’t touched his food.
His attention is fixed on me.
“You,” he says flatly. “Tell me exactly what your intentions are toward my sister.”
The question is sharp, protective, and entirely expected. I set my cup down with deliberate care and meet his gaze without flinching.
“I care for Anya,” I say. “More than I want.” I glance at her briefly before returning my attention to him. “And I intend to protect her.”
Anya’s breath catches softly. Alexi’s jaw tightens.
