But there's something else. Something harder underneath the fear. I can see it in her eyes. Eyes that should be soft but aren't. There's steel there. Rage buried so deep most men would miss it.
I don't miss shit.
And fuck me, that rage makes her even more beautiful.
"Walk me through it."
She tells me the story. Voice steady. Just nervous enough to seem genuine. She describes Volya's entrance. His anger. His accusation. The gun. The instinctive reaction. The kill.
I watch her mouth move. Watch the way her lips form words. Wonder what they'd taste like. Wonder if she'd bite if I kissed her? I hope she would.
She makes it sound like something she read about, something she saw in a movie, not something she's trained for.
But I know better.
I watch her, reading every micro-expression, every slight hesitation, and every tell Aleksandr and his idiots are too stupid to catch. But I'm also cataloging other things. The curve of her jaw, the way her throat moves when she swallows , and the small scar on her collarbone her sweater doesn't quite hide.
I want to trace that scar with my tongue. I want to learn every mark on her body, and to add a few of my own.
When she finishes, I let the silence stretch. Let it get uncomfortable. Let her wonder if she fucked up somewhere. Let myself imagine what it would be like to have her looking at me like this every day. Waiting for my judgment. Waiting for my approval.
Waiting for me.
"You've been trained?"
"Foster care." She sticks to her script. "Group homes. You learn to take care of yourself or you don't survive. I took a self-defense class once. It came in handy."
"Mm." Bullshit. Complete bullshit. But I don't call her on it. Not yet. Because calling her on it means this conversation ends. Means she leaves, and I stop getting to look at her.
And I'm not ready for that.
Not even fucking close.
I look at Aleksandr, forcing myself to look away from her even though it physically hurts. "Is she useful?"
"Yes." Immediate. Good dog. "The men trust her. She's careful, professional. She's one of our highest earners. And clearly she's capable of handling herself in dangerous situations."
The men trust her. Something dark and possessive coils in my chest. I don't want the men looking at her. Don't want them anywhere near her.
She's mine.
The thought should terrify me, send up every red flag I've ever learned to recognize. Instead, it settles into my bones like it was always meant to be there.
Mine.
My eyes move back to her. I can't help it, it’s like fighting gravity. "You understand the situation you're in."
She nods. "I know I may have caused problems. I know I should have let Aleksandr handle it."
"You killed a man without authorization." Flat. No inflection. "That's the kind of thing that gets people executed. That's the kind of thing that ends lives."
I'm trying to scare her. But all I can think about is that if she dies, I'll never see her again. Never hear her voice. Never get to find out what makes her laugh or what makes her scream.
Her voice stays steady when she nods. "I know."
Brave. Fuck, she's brave. And that just makes me want her more.
I reach behind me and pull out the envelope I prepared earlier. I drop it on the table between us like it's nothing , like I'm not using it as an excuse to be connected to her, to make her further tied to the Bratva. To tie her to me in whatever small way I can.
