In truth, if I got caught in the crosshairs of a conflict, I doubt my former husband would have noticed—let alone cared.
My heart hammers as I watch Miko rein in the chaos with astonishing ease.
The sound of a gun cocking echoes through the dead silence. “Go ahead, make one more move,” he warns, his deep baritone vibrating into the very marrow of my bones, and I shiver with his calm intensity.
His men haven’t even reached the commotion, but both of Pyotr’s squabbling ex-captains stand frozen in place, as if they don’t dare move a muscle and anger Miko.
It’s the strangest sense of relief, to witness the iron hold he has on the world around us.
Suddenly, I understand why he said marrying him would keep me safe.
No one, not even Pyotr’s men, would risk openly defying Miko.
He is a man without fear. Or mercy.
And now, he’s my husband.
Chiaroscuro men converge on the two brawling Russians, restraining them before the fight can get any more bloody. And just like that, the conflict is over.
“Get them out of my sight,” Miko commands.
The ex-captains protest as they’re dragged from the room, and the tense silence that follows hangs heavily in the air.
My heart continues to flutter, my pulse erratic despite the danger being over.
“Miko?” Gio murmurs, stepping up beside his brother.
Miko bristles, his grip on my waist tightening, and he tucks me further behind him as if triggered by the instinct to protect me even from his brother.
Gio raises his palms in a show of surrender, his eyebrows lifting in surprise as his gaze flicks curiously in my direction.
“Party’s over,” Miko growls darkly.
As if on cue, the guests start to filter from the ballroom, an eerie hush settling arounds us as they go. Miko’s brothers escort them out, thanking several of the guests for coming as the Chiaroscuro men ensure they find the exit.
As soon as the room is clear, Miko turns to face me, and the thunderous look on his face steals the breath from my lungs.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his deep voice vibrating through my core as genuine concern flashes across his face.
It’s only then that I realize I’m shaking. A high-pitched ringing floods my ears, and as I suck in the first lungful of oxygen in I don’t know how long, I suddenly feel lightheaded.
The dizziness only intensifies as I try to nod.
Miko’s brow buckles into a look of distress. Slowly, tenderly, he reaches out to take my hand.
And with his other arm snaking firmly around my waist, he holds me up as if he can tell how close I am to collapse.
“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he says softly, steering me gently toward the hall.
I let him lead me, still overwhelmed by the shock of what just happened and the unrelenting flashbacks that invade my mind.
I’ve spent so long pushing down my emotions, building up a dam to hold back the memories I can’t handle.
But it feels like, with Pyotr’s death, all my coping mechanisms have been blown wide open, and now I can’t stop the onslaught of fear and pain that crashes down on me like waves along a rocky shore.
I’m so lost in the vivid recollections of cruelty and violence, I don’t even notice where Miko’s taking me until the doors to the master suite close behind us.
My old bedroom.
