"So could you."
The simple logic of her response makes something crack open in my chest. She's right, of course. We both could have died. We still might, if rescue doesn't come. But she chose to risk her life for mine anyway, and I still can't reconcile that choice with everything I know about human nature. People don't sacrifice themselves for strangers. They don't jump into storms for menwhose background checks reveal exactly what kind of monster they are.
Yet she did.
I lie back on the sand, hyperaware of her breathing beside me, of the warmth radiating from her body in the cooling night air. The shelter is small enough that I can hear every shift of her position, every soft sigh as she tries to find comfort on the unforgiving ground. My body responds to her proximity with an urgency I haven't felt in years, desire mixing with something deeper that I refuse to examine too closely.
The watch presses against my wrist like an accusation. Three seconds. That's all it would take to activate the beacon. Three seconds to end this, to return to my empire, to put distance between myself and this woman who makes me feel things I've spent two decades ensuring I'd never experience.
My thumb finds the crown again, pressing lightly, not enough to activate but enough to remind myself that the choice exists. I could call for rescue right now. Should call for rescue. Every moment I delay costs me territory, costs me men, costs me the absolute control I've built through calculated ruthlessness.
But I don't press harder.
I tell myself it's strategic. We need to assess the situation fully, understand what resources are available, ensure we can survive until rescue arrives. It's logical to wait until morning, to make decisions in daylight rather than darkness. The rationalization sounds hollow even in my own mind, but I cling to it anyway.
Aria shifts beside me, her breathing evening out as exhaustion finally claims her. I turn my head slightly, just enough to see her profile in the starlight. Her face has relaxed in sleep, thedetermined set of her jaw softening, and she looks younger somehow. Vulnerable. Beautiful.
I should look away. Should close my eyes and sleep, conserve energy for whatever tomorrow brings. Instead, I watch her breathe, memorizing the curve of her cheek, the way her lashes cast shadows on her skin, the slight part of her lips.
The realization hits me with the force of another wave.
I'm choosing to stay stranded. Choosing to delay rescue. Choosing to remain on this island with a woman I barely know, and the reason has nothing to do with strategy or assessment or any of the logical justifications I've been feeding myself.
I want more time with her. More time in this space where I'm not the Pakhan, where violence and calculation don't define every interaction, where someone looked at me and chose to save my life without expecting anything in return. More time to understand why she jumped, why she's not afraid of me, and why her independence both irritates and fascinates me in equal measure.
The truth terrifies me more than any rival's bullet ever has.
My thumb moves away from the watch's crown, and I close my eyes, listening to Aria's steady breathing beside me. Tomorrow, I'll activate the beacon. Tomorrow, I'll return to my empire and the life I've built. Tomorrow, I'll put distance between myself and these dangerous feelings.
But tonight, I choose to stay stranded.
7
ARIA
Iwake to the sensation of being watched.
My eyes flutter open to find Nikolai already awake, propped on one elbow, those ice-blue eyes tracking my movements with an intensity that makes my breath catch. The morning light filters through the gaps in our makeshift shelter, casting shadows across the sharp planes of his face, and I'm suddenly hyperaware of how close we are. How we've been sleeping side by side for three nights now, our bodies learning the rhythm of each other's breathing, the warmth we share in the cooling darkness.
The intimacy of it should terrify me. Instead, it feels almost natural, like we've been doing this for years rather than days.
I stretch, my muscles protesting the hard ground, and his gaze follows the movement. Heat floods my cheeks as I realize my sports bra has ridden up slightly, exposing a strip of skin at my midriff. His eyes linger there for a heartbeat before he looks away, his jaw tightening with what might be restraint.
"Morning," I manage, my voice rougher than intended.
"Good morning." His accent is thicker in the mornings, I've noticed. The Russian edges are more pronounced, wrapping around the English words in a way that does things to my pulse I refuse to examine too closely.
I push myself upright, needing distance from the warmth of his body and the dangerous thoughts circling in my mind. We need to focus on survival, not whatever this tension is that builds between us with each passing hour. I've spent three years building a business on discipline and focus. I can apply those same principles to keeping us alive.
"We should expand our food sources," I say, crawling out of the shelter into the already-warm morning air. "The fish you caught yesterday won't last forever, and we need variety to stay healthy."
Nikolai follows me out, his movements fluid despite the cramped space. "What did you have in mind?"
I lead him inland, toward the scrubby vegetation that clusters near the freshwater spring. My knowledge of edible plants comes from years of researching herbs and ingredients for Thyme & Tide, hours spent learning which wild plants could elevate a dish and which would send diners to the hospital. I never imagined that research would one day keep me alive on a deserted island.
"This," I say, kneeling beside a low-growing plant with thick, succulent leaves. "It's a type of purslane. Completely edible, high in omega-3s. We can eat it raw or cooked."
Nikolai crouches beside me, close enough that I catch the scent of salt and sun on his skin. His shoulder brushes mine as heleans in to examine the plant, and electricity arcs through my nerve endings at the contact.
