"It's their job," he says. "Working for the Morozov Bratva means that you know you might have to give your life at any moment in the protection of another. And that doesn't just include the bodyguards. The family also bears that responsibility."
"Hell of a way to live," I say.
He shrugs. "It's the only way I know."
"There has to be another way," I say, lacing my hands on top of my head. "I've got some money saved. I can move overseas and take a job there. There's a million places that need physician assistants."
"No, you will not," he says firmly. "You don't think that they can find you anywhere? You're a loose end, Ava. Powerful criminal organizations do not like loose ends."
"So you keep reminding me," I say. "Though the reality is that being under your family's protection was not enough to keep me safe. They still had the audacity to step into a wedding filled with crime families and pull me out through a bathroom window. This is not going to work."
"There are other options," he says. "I've been working on them." His face is half in shadow, and I can't see his expression well enough to know what's going on in his mind. Though to be honest, the man has Resting Poker Face. Unless he wants you to know, you'll never guess what he's thinking.
It occurs to me that I have never asked about any other options past my initial query in the hospital. "What if I did go to the police?" I say cautiously. "Then, I'm no longer your problem. They could maybe put me in witness protection or something."
"It doesn't work that way," he says, shaking his head. "Unless there is a person or organization to specifically identify andcharge for the crime, there would be no witness protection for you. Even with it, your safety is never guaranteed. For someone under police protection, the highest risk of assassination is during the trial."
"Well, that's very reassuring."
"I know you're new to this life." Dmitri's tone softens. "What you need to understand is the offense these fuckers have caused. They came intoourcity. The Morozov Bratva has a lock on New York. We do not allow human trafficking. It's always there, of course, popping up like fucking toadstools. We crush it wherever we find it. This is something very different. This is well organized, and the fact that it's happening right under our noses is a direct challenge to our authority."
He pulls off his tux jacket and his bow tie, sighing slightly in relief. "Right now, you are one of our best resources for finding theseublyudki,these fuckers. You might see something, or remember a face or a name. But regardless, you are now mine to protect."
Dmitri's face turns into the light and now I can see the slow curve of his smile. "Don't you remember racing into my arms?" He walks toward me slowly, with a panther's grace. "You knew I'd protect you. You knew instantly I wasn't one of them, didn't you?"
"I don't know what I thought." I rub my suddenly sweaty hands on my dress. "I was getting shocked repeatedly, my brain was oatmeal."
That's a lie.
Was I in agony? Yes. Terrified out of my mind? Of course. But… I saw his expression, his shock. I saw how his arms opened instantly as I raced into them. And then how he whipped out thatknife and tore that monstrous collar off my neck. I knew without proof or rational thought that he would keep me safe.
His giant hand cups my cheek, tilting my chin up to his. I don't pull away when he kisses me. Instead, my hands find their way up his shirt, clutching his collar as he deepens the kiss.
Andsucha kiss.
His mouth is firm, kissing me slowly as if this was the plan, just this kiss, the fusing of the two of us together. When his tongue traces the seam of my lips, I open them, letting him inside. I don't realize I've been sagging against him until he chuckles gutturally, and slides an arm under my ass, lifting me up into his arms easily. I wrap my legs around his waist, my hands around his neck and I kiss him back, tangling our tongues together, my fingers in his hair.
The veryscentof him feels safe, the pine and sea salt I've come to love, and a slight tinge of woodsmoke. My head tilts back as his lips find their way down my neck, his teeth fastening lightly against my rabbity pulse and I tighten my heels against the small of his back, hard enough that I think I hear his spine creak.
He's walking, I'm barely aware of it and I give a small yelp as my back finds the couch and he's over me, his hand brushing the hair away from my face.
"I want to make you feel good," he murmurs, so close that his lips move against the skin of my cheek. "Will you let me?"
Can I?
He pauses, his glacier eyes searching mine. I know he's waiting, wanting to see if this triggers me, if the weight of him pinning me down in this darkened room is too much. Nothing surfaces, though, no ugly memories. None of the terror I'd felt in thathorrible place. Only something as clear and clean as the look I see in his eyes, and I sigh in relief, arching my neck to kiss him again.
"Say the words out loud." He pulls back. "I need to hear them. I need to know that you're here with me."
"Yes," I say, running a hand down his chest. "Yes, I would like that."
Oh,nowa slow, taunting grin spreads across his full mouth. "That?" Dmitri questions solicitously. "Orthis?"
His hand goes to the strap of my dress, pulling it down and baring my breast as his other one pushes up under the slit in the skirt of my dress. His huge paw pushes higher, until the bottom half of me is bare, aside from a pair of skimpy undies that are technically useless in preventing anything that's about to happen. His dark head drops to my breast, capturing my nipple in his mouth, tugging with his lips, and then his teeth. A jolt sizzles up my spine, and my leg mindlessly wraps around his.
Dmitri's lips are warm, tracing from one breast to the other as his thumb makes a slow maddening trail up the thin skin of my inner thigh until it reaches the panel of my undies, which I am sure are already embarrassingly wet. How could he do this to me in the space of what? Thirty seconds?
Pushing his hips between my thighs, widening them, he asks, "Is this for me?" He's got a lazy, self-satisfied smirk that makes me want to both smack him and beg him to slide his fingers under that useless scrap of silk.
