Luciano waits a moment, then speaks. “You shouldn’t have lost your temper today. Not with him.”
“I know.”
He nods, lighting another cigar. “But it wasn’t the worst thing you could’ve done either. The man’s been too much for too long. People were starting to forget who actually runs New York.”
“I didn’t do it to remind them.”
He smiles. “Doesn’t matter why you did it. They remember now.”
Luciano stands, smoothing his jacket. Before leaving, he steps closer and gives my shoulder a firm pat—friendly enough to look respectful, heavy enough to remind me who still holds the room. “Get some rest, Morozov. You’ll need it.”
I nod once, watching him disappear through the side door with his men. The silence he leaves behind feels heavier than the meeting itself.
It’s almost noon. Mikhail and I step out into the hallway, the hotel buzzing with guards and the low hum of music from the bar below.
He nudges me with his shoulder. “So. How’s it feel?”
“How’s what feel?”
“Losing your temper in front of half the underworld and somehow making them like you more.”
I huff out a laugh. “Don’t start.”
My brother grins, unbothered. “You should thank me for not jumping in. I was tempted.”
“I noticed.”
“You’re welcome.”
We walk in silence for a while. My head’s still buzzing. I can feel the weight of everything pressing in—Boris’s smirk, Luciano’s approval, Kira’s eyes. The image of her trembling hands in the elevator keeps coming back, and I hate it. I hate that she’s in my head when she shouldn’t be anywhere near it.
Mikhail glances over. “You thinking about her?”
I don’t answer.
He laughs quietly. “That’s a yes.”
I stop walking. “You should go find a drink.”
He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. But you might want to figure out what that’s about before it ruins you.”
When he’s gone, I stand there for a while, alone in the hallway, the sound of distant traffic floating through the open windows. My reflection stares back from a nearby mirror, calm and collected, but I know it’s a lie.
I’ve spent my whole life keeping control, and in one day, I’ve let a woman I barely know shake it twice. That’s not who I am.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Kira
The elevator doors close, and the air turns thinner, heavier. I stand there for a moment, still facing the metal, listening to the sound of it carrying him upward. When it’s gone, the silence rushes in so fast it makes my chest ache.
My hand’s still shaking a little. I shove it into my pocket before I can think about why.
He told me to go inside, and I did. Because what else was I supposed to do? Stay there, fight him again in a hallway full of people who were already staring at us like we were part of the entertainment?
The door clicks shut behind me, and the room swallows me whole.
It’s huge. It feels unreal, like something out of a movie set. Pale marble floors stretch all the way to floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the city, the view glittering with early morning light. There’s a massive bed in the center, sheets the color of cream, tucked in with the kind of precision only professional hotel staff can manage. A thin chandelier hangs above it, crystal strands catching the light every time I move. Everything smells faintly of polish and money, sharp and clean, like no one’s ever actually lived here.
