I stand there for several moments, waiting, but she never engages the lock.
It’s a small sign of trust, but I’ll take it.
5. FIRST KISS
ROSIE
Afew weeks go by and I try hard to settle in as a Bratva wife, but it’s hard. I’m no longer allowed to work at the Tankard. Once I publicly became Alexei’s wife, my job as a bartender became too exposed. And the owner, Pete, does not want a bunch of armed men protecting one of his bartenders. Especially since he’s keeping the deals he does with the Bratva on the down low.
If it wasn’t for Liza offering me to help with her dog rescue, I’d be bored out of my mind.
And then there’s figuring out how to live with this husband of mine.
The Bratva enforcer who I know lives a life of violence outside of the penthouse walls, but so far he’s been nothing but courteous to me. I think.
It’s hard to read him.
This evening, the apartment is quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the faint click of the TV remote. Alexei’s on the couch, one arm stretched along the back, the other resting onhis thigh, gaze on the screen but for some reason watching with the sound off.
He’s in a dark T--shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the fabric tight enough that I can see the muscle shift when he moves, making the gorgeous ink designs on his skin ripple.
I’m at the kitchen counter, pretending to sort through the mail. Bills, flyers, a thin envelope with my name in blocky letters that I haven’t opened because I’m scared of what it will say about my college and loan “options.” Those are words that feel like they belong to someone else now. If the bar isn’t safe enough, imagine a college campus.
I flip a flyer over, pretend to read it, but my eyes keep flicking toward him. He’s always so still. Like the eye of a storm. The way he sits there, quiet, covered in ink and danger, and yet somehow, I feel nothing but safe in his company.
For the first time in my life, I’ve found worry-free safety. And it’s not a place. It’s a person.
“What are you looking at?” he asks without turning.
I flinch, guilt prickling up my neck. “Nothing.”
“Liar,” he says, voice low, rough. He finally turns his head, pale eyes catching mine. “You’re looking at me like you’re trying to figure out if I’m a monster.”
I drop the flyer, the paper fluttering to the countertop. “I’m not?—”
“You are,” he says. “You’re trying to see if I can be trusted. Or if you should run.”
My heart stutters. “I will not run.” He’s so far from the truth, but I don’t know if I can admit that to him. To admit that to myself. The island separates us, but I can feel the heat coming off him, the way it radiates through the air. “I’m not thinking about running,” I say. “I’m trying to figure you out. I want…to understand you.”
He exhales, slow, like he’s weighing every word. “Understand me?”
“Yeah,” I say. “You’re not the only one who’s trying to navigate this. I live in your house, wear your ring. I want to…make this work, somehow.”
He stands, the couch cushions springing back into place. He walks around the island, boots soft on the hardwood, and stops a few feet from me. “Okay,” he says. “Ask.”
I blink. “You’re kidding.”
“No.” His mouth quirks, almost a smile. “I want help you figure out the answers you need.”
I clamp my fingers around the edge of the counter, the granite cool under my palms. “Why… why did you agree to this? To marrying me? You could have… not. Danyl could have found someone else. Someone who’s… not a bartender. Someone who’s not broke.”
His eyes darken. “Because you’reyou,” he says. “You’re a girl who works too hard and cares too much about her father even when he doesn’t deserve it. Because you’re the kind of person who’s brave enough to stand up to two Bratva men when faced with an impossible choice.”
I stare at him, mouth dry. “You’re saying I’m… special.”
“No,” he says slowly. “I’m saying you’re the right person. For this. For this situation.” He grabs the back of his neck. “I’m not trying to be romantic. I’m trying to be honest. I agreed to this because I can protect you. Because I can give you something that looks like safety, even if it’s not perfect.”
“And what about me?” I ask, voice small. “What is my role in this? What am I supposed to do in this life?”
