She shatters with a scream, her body convulsing around me, and the sensation triggers my own release. I bury myself deep inside her, groaning her name as I come harder than I can remember.
We stay frozen like that for a long moment, both breathing hard, our bodies still joined. Before I can catch my breath, the elevator chimes. My head snaps up. No one should be here at this hour.
I pull away from Eva to move to a position to see the elevator better, when shots suddenly ring out and bullets start flying.
19
EVA
The glass explodes inward before my brain can process what's happening. One second, I'm fumbling with the buttons on my blouse, my body still humming from Roman's touch, and the next, the world erupts into chaos. Sharp cracks split the air—gunfire, my mind supplies with sickening clarity—and Roman's body slams into mine, taking me down to the floor with brutal efficiency.
His weight crushes the air from my lungs. My cheek presses against the expensive carpet, and I taste copper—blood, I realize with horror, though I don't know if it's mine or his. Roman's hand is on the back of my head, holding me down with one arm while the other moves with terrifying purpose. I hear the metallic slide of a gun being drawn, and when I manage to turn my head slightly, I see him produce a weapon from the back of his waistband with the practiced ease of someone who's done this a thousand times.
This isn't my boss. This isn't the man who just made love to me against his desk. This is someone else entirely. Someone lethal and controlled, his blue eyes cold and calculating as he rises to acrouch, using his desk for cover while keeping his body between me and the shattered windows.
He returns fire with deadly precision. Three shots, each one deliberate and measured. No panic. No hesitation. Just cold, efficient violence.
The shooting stops as suddenly as it started. Through the ringing in my ears, I hear a heavy thud and realize it's a body hitting the floor. Roman moves forward, his gun still raised, and I watch in frozen horror as he approaches a figure sprawled near the doorway. Blood pools on the carpet, spreading in a dark stain that will never come out. The man's eyes are open, staring at nothing, and I can't breathe, can't think, can't process what I'm seeing.
Roman killed someone. Right in front of me. With the same hands that touched me moments ago, that made me gasp his name, that held me like I was something precious.
"Eva." His voice cuts through my shock. He's kneeling beside me, his hands on my face, forcing me to look at him instead of the body. "Are you hurt? Look at me. Are you hurt?"
I shake my head, unable to form words. My whole body is trembling, my teeth chattering despite the warmth of the office. Roman's blue eyes search my face with an intensity that should comfort me but only amplifies my terror.
"Stay here," he orders, his voice low and controlled. "Don't move. Don't look at anything. Just stay here."
He stands, already pulling out his phone, and I hear him speaking rapid Russian. The words are too low for me to follow, but his tone is clipped, authoritative. Giving orders. Managing a crisis with the same efficiency he brings to business meetings.
I don't know how long I sit there on the floor, my back against his desk, my half-buttoned blouse hanging open. Time feels elastic, stretching and compressing in ways that make no sense. It could be minutes or hours before the elevator chimes and Lev Baranov steps onto the floor.
His dark eyes sweep the scene… the shattered glass, the body, me huddled on the floor, Roman standing with his gun still in hand, and his expression doesn't change. No shock. No surprise. Just grim acceptance, like this is something he's seen before. Something he expected.
Lev nods, already pulling out his phone. He makes a single call, then moves to the body, checking pockets with clinical detachment, photographing the man's face with his phone.
"Yakovlev's crew," Lev says after a moment. "I recognize him. Low-level soldier, but the setup was too clean for him to have planned alone."
The elevator chimes again. More men step out. Four of them, dressed in dark clothing, carrying equipment I don't want to identify. They move with the same practiced efficiency as Roman's security team, but there's something different about them. Something harder. More dangerous.
"Cleaners," Lev says, noticing my stare. His tone is matter-of-fact, like he's introducing me to the janitorial staff rather than people who erase evidence of murder.
I watch in numb horror as they work. The body is wrapped in plastic sheeting with disturbing speed. Blood is scrubbed from the carpet with industrial-strength chemicals that make my eyes water. The shattered glass is collected, every fragment accounted for. One man is already measuring the window frame,presumably to arrange replacement glass. They work in near silence, communicating with hand signals and brief words in Russian.
It's choreographed. Practiced. They've done this before—manytimes before.
My mind fractures trying to process it. This isn't just Roman being involved in something illegal. This is an entire infrastructure designed to make violence disappear. To erase evidence. To ensure that what happened here tonight never officially existed.
Are they going to kill me, too?
The thought crashes through my shock with sickening clarity. I saw everything. I'm a witness to murder. Roman might have just made love to me, might have held me like I mattered, but I know what he is now. I've seen the monster beneath the expensive suits and controlled demeanor. What's to stop him from having these "cleaners" make me disappear along with the body?
My hands start shaking harder. I press them against my thighs, trying to stop the tremors, but it's useless. My whole body is betraying me, fear flooding my system with adrenaline that has nowhere to go.
Roman appears in front of me suddenly, crouching down to my eye level. His hands cup my face with surprising gentleness, forcing me to meet his gaze. Those piercing blue eyes that usually make my pulse quicken now make my stomach clench with terror.
"Eva," he says, his voice low and intense. "Listen to me very carefully. You can never tell anyone what happened heretonight. Not Megan. Not your brother. Not the police. No one. Do you understand?"
I nod, my throat too tight to speak.
