I remember blood. I remember the sound he made when I broke him. I remember cutting the ties from her wrists with shaking hands that had never shook before. I was the one who lifted her. The one who carried her out. The one who killed him and ordered my men to erase every trace of his existence as if he’d never drawn breath.
I took her home. And then I didn’t leave. I stayed outside her house for days, sitting in the dark, watching her bedroom light turn on and off, listening to the silence between breaths, making sure she slept. Making sure nothing ever came near her again.
Even now, hearing her tell it in her own words, that same white-hot fury burns in my chest, sharp enough to split abone. Instead of telling her the truth, I pull her closer. I cradle her against me, resting my chin on her head, my hand sliding through her hair in slow, steady strokes. Grounding her. Grounding myself.
Part of it is fear. Fear that she’ll see it as a betrayal. That I kept this from her. That I watched her from the shadows after she left Russia. That after that night, the check-ins Lev asked for weren’t enough anymore.
I didn’t just protect her. I obsessed over her safety. Nothing like that was ever going to happen again. Not while I was breathing.
I know how it looks. I know what it sounds like if spoken aloud. A man who saves her, then watches her, then falls in love with her.
But I didn’t choose this.
I kept my distance for years. Forced myself to stay in the dark where I belonged. I had no idea that the moment she stepped into my space for real—when she looked at me, touched me, and trusted me—I’d realize the pull was mutual.
Like magnets snapping together after years of resisting gravity.
Maybe I was meant to save her that night. Maybe whatever twisted fate governs this fucked-up world decided our lives would intersect long before either of us understood why.
“Thank you for listening to me, Drago,” she whispers against my chest.
The words hit harder than anything else tonight.
“Always, baby,” I murmur, because that part is the easiest truth I’ve ever spoken. Maybe I could just tell her everything now? Get it out. Would it be the end of the world?
She sits up, her fingers brushing my stubble, and I lean instinctively into her touch. I don’t deserve how gentle she is with me.
“Is my dad going to go crazy about this?” she asks quietly. “You know him better than I do.”
The familiar ache tightens in my chest. It’s easy to see that Lily wants a relationship with her father. That she’s excited to have him back, like a piece of her that was missing all this time. And being with me, that’s going to drive a wedge in between that. It’s going to stop her from getting the dad she deserves. I know Lev. I know this is a line that I can’t come back from with him.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. I won’t lie to her. Not about this.
She chews on her lip, worry flickering behind her eyes.
“This isn’t something you have to carry,” I tell her. “If he’s angry, it’ll be at me. I’ll handle it. I promise.”
She sighs, tracing the ink on my forearm absently. “It would kinda be easier if he just… went back to Russia.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “You don’t mean that.”
She cups my face, her eyes burning with certainty. “I do. I can’t lose you because of him.”
Something loosens in my chest at that. “You won’t,” I say, and for the first time tonight, I believe it.
She smiles, playful now. “So… am I going to be your dirty little secret?”
“Never,” I say immediately.
I tap her nose. “Maybe for a few days while I figure out how not to get my throat slit.”
Her mouth drops open, and I’m not entirely sure I’m joking.
There are lines you don’t cross. And this—us—is one of them. Or it was. To Lev, it will feel like betrayal.
But it’s real. And I won’t pretend otherwise.
“A little sneaking around is fine,” she concedes.
