Now I was lying in the arms of a man who'd kidnapped me, mourning his departure before he'd even left. I'd slept with him. Worked for his organization. Started to build something that felt terrifyingly like a life within the walls of my prison.
Stockholm syndrome, the rational part of my brain whispered. That's all this is.
But the whisper felt hollow. What I felt for Vasily was too complicated for a clinical label. Too tangled up with anger and desire and grudging respect and something deeper that I refused to examine too closely.
He stirred in his sleep, murmuring something in Russian I couldn't understand. His arm pulled me closer, his face pressing into my hair.
I closed my eyes and breathed him in—expensive cologne and clean skin and something underneath that was purely him.
Tomorrow he would leave. Tomorrow I would be alone on this island, waiting for news, hoping he survived a war that existed partly because of me.
But tonight he was here. Warm and solid and alive.
I curled into him, matching my breathing to his, and tried not to think about how empty this bed would feel without him.
Chapter 14 - Vasily
Leaving her was the hardest thing I'd ever done.
I stood in the doorway of the bedroom, watching her sleep in the gray light of predawn. She'd kicked off the covers during the night, and the thin silk of her nightgown had ridden up, exposing the curve of her hip, the softness of her thigh. Her hair spread across my pillow like dark fire, and her face was peaceful in a way it never was when she was awake.
I wanted to crawl back into bed. Wanted to wrap myself around her and pretend the outside world didn't exist, that Pankratov wasn't escalating, that three of my men weren't dead because I'd been too distracted to deal with the threat sooner.
But the Pakhan couldn't hide on an island forever. My empire needed me. My men needed to see that their leader hadn't gone soft.
And the mole needed to die.
I crossed to the bed and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open.
"Vasily?"
"I'm leaving." I brushed the hair from her face. "Go back to sleep."
"What time is it?"
"Early. The jet is waiting."
She sat up, the sheets pooling around her waist. Even half-asleep, she was beautiful—flushed and tousled and so achingly real that my chest constricted.
"Be careful," she said.
Two words. Simple. But from her, they meant everything.
"I'll call tonight." I kissed her properly then, deep and slow, memorizing the taste of her. "Every night. I promise."
"You'd better."
I forced myself to pull away. Forced myself to walk to the door. At the threshold, I paused and looked back.
She was watching me with those dark eyes that saw too much. Something passed between us—not words, something deeper. An acknowledgment of what we'd become to each other, even if neither of us was ready to name it.
"I'll be back soon," I said.
"I know."
I left before I could change my mind.
***
