Stop.
"You don't get to decide this for me." Her voice shakes with rage. "You don't get to swoop in and—and buy me like I'm some?—"
"I'm not buying you."
"Then what do you call it?"
A strand of hair falls across her face. Before I can stop myself, my hand moves. Fingertips brush her temple as I tuck the hair behind her ear.
Her breath catches.
Mine does too.
What the fuck am I doing?
"Apparently," I say, and my voice comes out rougher than intended, "you're stuck in this house as a housekeeper for the rest of your life."
Kristen blinks.
Her eyes drop to my mouth.
Back up to my eyes.
Down again.
My pulse does something it hasn't done in years—it races. Not from adrenaline or violence or the cold calculation that usually drives my heart rate up.
From her.
I want to kiss her.
WHAT THE FUCK?
I don't kiss. I've never kissed. Sex is transactional. I state my terms upfront, no kissing, no cuddling afterward, no pretending it means something. Women accept or they don't. Most accept. They get off, I get off, everyone goes home satisfied and unattached.
Kissing implies intimacy. Connection. The exact vulnerability I've spent years avoiding.
And right now, looking at Kristen's parted lips, I want to taste her more than I want my next breath.
Get out. Get out of this room. Get away from this woman before you do something catastrophically stupid.
"I don't need your help." Her voice is barely a whisper.
I step back. My expression hardens.
"You're right," I say coldly. "You don't need my help. So go ahead. Walk out of here. Take Lily back to that apartment with the broken elevator and the locks that wouldn't stop stray cat, let alone the Bratva."
Kristen's face pales.
I should stop. I know I should stop. But the words keep coming, precise and brutal, designed to wound.
"They won't kill you right away, you know. That's not how they collect. First, they take things. Fingers. Teeth. Whatever they think will motivate payment." I tilt my head, watching her flinch. "And when you can't pay—because you can't, Kristen, let's not pretend otherwise—they'll take Lily."
Her hand flies to her mouth.
"Not to hurt her. At first. She's worth more as leverage. But children are fragile. They break so easily when?—"
"Stop."
