I watch Ava walk through the doorway, her eyes going wide as she takes in the space. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Strip, Italian leather furniture, a kitchen with marble countertops that have never been used. The kind of wealth most people only see in magazines.
"This is where you live?" she asks.
"When I’m in the city, yes." I close the door behind us and set her duffel on the floor beside it. "I own properties all over, but my family own this hotel and it’s a useful base for… business."
"Business." She says it like it tastes bad in her mouth. "You mean Bratva business."
"Yes."
Her eye brows flicker as though she already knew the answer and is surprised I gave it anyway.
“I didn’t expect you to bring me to a place like this,” she murmurs as she walks to the windows, hugging herself as she stares out at the glittering chaos below. From up here, Vegas looks almost beautiful. Almost clean. You can't see the desperation, the addiction, the thousand small tragedies playing out in those neon-soaked streets.
“Where did you expect me to bring you?” I ask, although she is right. I was supposed to take her to a warehouse we own out of town.
She shrugs as she turns to me, and then frowns when she meets me eyes.
"How many people have you killed?" she asks quietly.
I could lie. I probablyshouldlie. But something about her standing there, small and fragile against those massive windows, makes me want to give her the truth.
"I don't keep count anymore."
She flinches. Just a tiny movement, but I see it.
"Does it bother you?" I move closer, drawn to her like metal to a magnet. "Knowing what I am?"
"Yes." She doesn't move other than to tighten her arms around herself. "It terrifies me. But..."
"But?"
"But I'm not running." Her voice cracks on the words. "I’m not looking for a way out. Or a weapon. I'm standing here wondering if you're going to hurt me or..."
"Or what, Ava?"
The look in her eyes nearly breaks me. Fear and desire and confusion all tangled together. "Or if you meant what you said. About keeping me."
Christ. She's going to destroy me.
I close the distance between us in three strides, backing her against the window. She gasps, her arms finally dropping so she can brace herself if she falls. Instead, she comes up against the cool glass. I can feel her breath on my throat, sweet and warm. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to touch her, to claim her, to make her understand that she belongs to me now.
But I force myself to stop. To just stand there, caging her in with my arms, giving her space to breathe while I eliminate any chance of escape.
"I never say things I don't mean," I tell her. "You're mine now. Not because of your father. Not because you're useful. You're mine because the moment I saw you, something inside me recognized something inside you."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"No," I agree. "It doesn't. But I've spent fifteen years being the Devil. The one who solves problems no one else can solve. I'm good at it because I feel nothing. No guilt. No remorse. No fear. And I’m very,very, patient."
My hand comes up to her face, cupping her jaw. Her skin is so soft it makes my chest ache.
"And then I watched you for three weeks," I continue. "Watched you fight every single day just to survive. Watched you refuse to give up even when you had every reason to. Watched you be brave and angry and afraid all at once. And I felt everything."
Tears spill down her cheeks, and I catch them with my thumb.
"I'm not a good man, Ava. I've done things that would make you sick. I've hurt people. Destroyed families. I am exactly what they call me. I’m the Devil. And if you're smart, you will be afraid of me."
"I am afraid of you," she whispers.
