"When we're not in the middle of a crisis. When there aren't people trying to kill us." He took another step back, putting more distance between us. "I'm not going to pressure you. Whatever this is—whatever it might become—it can wait."
"Can it?"
"It's going to have to."
He was right. I knew he was right. But some treacherous part of me didn't want to wait. Some part of me wanted to close the distance again, to lose myself in the heat of him, to forget about everything except the way his mouth had felt against mine.
I pushed that part down. Buried it deep.
"We should—" I started.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I grabbed it reflexively, grateful for the interruption.
The gratitude died when I saw the message. Unknown number. Three words.
We know where you are. We're coming.
The blood drained from my face. Rodion saw my expression change and was at my side in an instant—close, but not touching. The careful distance of a man who'd just learned where the line was.
"What is it?"
I showed him the phone. His jaw tightened, all trace of the man who'd kissed me moments ago vanishing behind the mask of the Bratva boss.
"Yegor," he called, already moving toward the door. "We have a problem."
He paused at the threshold, looking back at me. For a moment, I saw something flicker in his eyes—concern, maybe, or the echo of what had just passed between us. Then it was gone, replaced by the cold focus of a man preparing for war.
"Stay here," he said. "Don't leave this room until I come for you."
"Rodion—"
"Please."
The word was quiet. Almost soft. It stopped my protest before it could form.
"Okay," I said. "I'll stay."
He nodded once, then disappeared into the hallway. I heard him barking orders, heard the sound of men moving, heard the penthouse transform from sanctuary into fortress.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, my phone still clutched in my hand, and stared at the message on the screen.
We're coming.
The Petrovics were coming. And I was sitting here with kiss-swollen lips and a racing heart, trying to untangle a knot of emotions I didn't understand.
Whatever had just happened between us—whatever that kiss meant or didn't mean—it would have to wait.
But as I sat there in the silence, one hand pressed to my lips, I couldn't stop thinking about the way he'd looked at me before he left.
Like I was something worth fighting for.
Like I was something he was afraid to lose.
I didn't know what to do with that. Didn't know how to fit it into the careful framework I'd built my life around. But I knew one thing with absolute certainty:
Nothing was ever going to be the same.
Chapter 13 - Rodion
