He laughs softly. “Fair enough.”
Outside, rain begins to patter against the windows a sound that should be soothing but instead reminds me that the world is still out there, waiting. The consequences of our choices, and the lines we’ve crossed.Alliances still hang in the balance. Families still expect obedience.
But for now, in this stolen moment of peace, I allow myself to simply exist in the circle of his arms. To feel safe and wanted and cherished in ways I never thought possible.
To understand, why people make stupid decisions.
Because here with Rafa, feeling his heartbeat against my cheek, I realize this wasn’t a decision at all.
But in his arms, I know one thing with terrifying clarity?—
I didn’t just give him my body.
I gave him something far more dangerous.
My loyalty.
CHAPTER 21
Rafa
I waketo sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows and the devastating realization that I’m alone.
The bed beside me is cold, and the sheets are pulled tight with military precision—there is no indication that Kira was ever here or that we ever shared anything more than proximity. For a moment, I wonder if I dreamed the entire night—the connection, the way she looked at me.
Then I notice the scent of blackberry and vanilla lingering on the pillowcase, and I know it was real.
Downstairs, I find her exactly where I should have expected—at the kitchen table with her laptop open, multiple screens running data analysis programs, completely absorbed in work as if the previous night meant nothing at all.
She’s dressed in fresh clothes—black jeans, gray sweater, hair pulled back in its usual controlled style. Every inch the ice queen I first met at the engagement gala, not the woman who came apart in my arms just hours ago.
“Good morning,” I say carefully, gauging her reaction.
“Morning.” She doesn’t look up from her screen. “I’ve been analyzing the data from yesterday’s surveillance device. The audio quality is better than expected.”
Straight to business. No acknowledgment of what happened between us, no indication that anything’s changed.
“Kira—”
“The conversation logs show three distinct voices in addition to Alexei’s,” she continues, fingers flying across the keyboard with mechanical efficiency. “One matches Durov’s vocal patterns from old security recordings. The others are unidentified, but given the Russian being spoken, likely Bratva operatives.”
“Kira, we need to talk about?—”
“About what?” Now she does look up, her gray eyes as cool and distant as winter sky. “About the operational intelligence we gathered? About our next steps in tracking Durov’s network?”
The deliberate obtuseness hits me like a slap. “About last night.”
“What about last night?” Her voice carries just the right note of professional confusion, as if she genuinely doesn’t understand what I’m referring to.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
She holds my gaze for a long moment, then returns to her laptop with dismissive finality. “Last night was stress relief. Physical response to trauma and adrenaline. Nothing more.”
The casual reduction of what we shared to mere biology sends fury surging through my chest. “Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s complete bullshit, and you know it.” I move closer to the table, forcing her to acknowledge my presence. “What happened between us wasn’t just stress relief.”
