“People are asking for your death,” I tell her. No preamble, no softening. Just truth.
Her breath catches. Color drains from her face. “What—”
“Rival families. They know about the breach. They want you eliminated as proof I maintain proper security. They’re calling it a liability that needs to be erased.”
“And?” The word comes out barely above a whisper.
“I refused.”
She stares at me, processing. “Why?”
“I don’t take orders from the Volkovs. Or anyone else who thinks they have authority over my decisions.”
“That’s not—” She swallows hard. “That’s not what I’m asking. Why refuse? Why not just…?” She can’t finish the sentence. Can’t say the words.
Why not just kill me.
“You’re under my protection now,” I say. “What happens to you is my decision. Not theirs.”
“I don’t want your protection.”
“You have it anyway. Whether you want it or not.”
Her pulse is still racing under my fingers. I can feel every beat, every surge of blood through her veins. She’s terrified, but she’s not running. Not pulling away. Not even trying to escape my grip.
“There will be consequences,” I continue, thumb pressing slightly harder against her pulse point. “For refusing. For keeping you alive when they want you dead. Internal pressure, political maneuvering, possibly violence if they decide to test my resolve.”
“Then let me go.” The words rush out desperate. “Release me. Send me away. I won’t talk, I’ll disappear, they’ll never—”
“No.”
“Why not? If I’m causing problems, if keeping me here is—”
“Because they’d find you within a week. Kill you within two. And because—” I stop myself before saying too much.
Because I’m not ready to let you go. Because the thought of you out there, vulnerable, beyond my control makes something violent rise in my chest.
“Because what?” she pushes.
I release her wrist. My thumb drags once over her pulse point, deliberate and slow. Feeling the jump, the reaction she can’t hide.
A warning. A promise. An acknowledgment of what’s building between us whether we want it or not.
“Because this is where you stay,” I say quietly. “Under my roof. Under my authority. Safe from people who would hurt you to get to me.”
“I don’t need—”
“Yes, you do. You just don’t want to admit it.”
She’s shaking slightly. Not from cold. From the weight of everything I’m not saying, the implications hanging heavy between us.
“What do you want from me?” she asks.
Everything.The truth sits on my tongue, but I swallow it back.
“Cooperation. Compliance with security protocols. No more attempts to escape or contact anyone outside this house.”
“And in exchange?”
