**********
An hour later, she was trying to slip toward the private wing, her hand clutching the pocket of her cardigan as if she were holding a live coal. I moved faster than she could react, caging her against the mahogany-paneled wall of the hallway.
She gasped, her back hitting the wood with a soft thud. I leaned in, my shadow swallowing her whole. I didn't care about being the "gentleman" monster right now. I was a Bratva boss, and my house was under threat.
"Who sent it?" I demanded. The words were a low growl, vibrating in the narrow space between us.
Mila stiffened, her chin lifting in that defiant tilt I had grown to both crave and despise. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't lie to me," I whispered, my face inches from hers. I could smell the faint scent of roses and the sharp, metallic tang of fear. "An unmarked envelope. Hand-delivered. Tucked away like a sin. Who is writing to you, Mila? Is it Enzo? Are you trade-dealing with the man who wants your head on a pike?"
"No!" she breathed, her hazel eyes flashing. "It’s nothing. It’s private."
"Nothing is private in this house!" I slammed my hand against the wall beside her head, the crack echoing like a gunshot in the silent hallway. My breath was hot against her ear as I leaned in, my body pressing against hers, pinning her intothe wood. "You are my wife. Your secrets belong to me. Your safety belongs to me. If you are communicating with the enemy, I will find out, and I will burn whoever touched that paper to ash."
"I'm not your prisoner, Alexei!" she whispered back, her voice shaking with rage. "You think you can just command my thoughts? You think because I carry your name, I’ve stopped being a human being?"
"You are carrying my child!" I roared, the mask finally slipping. "That makes you more than a human being. It makes you the legacy of this family. And if you are jeopardizing that for a secret, then yes, you are a prisoner. My prisoner."
I expected her to cry. I expected her to shrink away. Instead, she did something that shocked the very air out of my lungs.
She shoved me.
It wasn't a weak, feminine push. It was a hard, two-handed strike to my chest that actually forced me to take a step back.
"No, Alexei," she spat, her face flushed with a beautiful, terrible fury. "It doesn't."
She brushed past me, her shoulder catching mine, and retreated into our bedroom, slamming the door with a finality that left me standing in the hall, stunned.
Something had cracked between us. It wasn't the delicate fracture of glass; it was the bone-deep boom of thunder. I stood there for a long time, my heart hammering a rhythm of pure, unadulterated violence. I wanted to break something. I wanted to find the courier and rip his throat out.
I stormed away toward my office, knowing that if I followed her now, I would do something I would regret.
**********
Night fell like a shroud over the estate. I had spent the evening in a state of cold, vibrating fury, reviewing the security tapes until my eyes burned. I saw the courier. A nondescript man on a black bike. He had moved with the confidence of someone who knew exactly where the blind spots were.
The leak wasn't just a whisper anymore. It was a roar.
When I finally returned to the bedroom, the air was already thick with the residue of our earlier fight. Mila was sitting at the edge of the bed, still in her clothes, her silhouette sharp against the moonlight. She didn't look up when I entered.
"We aren't finished," I said, my voice like a serrated edge.
"I have nothing left to say to you," she replied, her voice trembling but defiant.
"You have everything to say! You are hiding a contact from the Italians while I am out there trying to keep the wolves from the door. You accuse me of treating you like property? I treat you like the most valuable thing I have! But you... you treat me like the enemy."
"You are the enemy!" she shouted, standing up to face me. "You took my life! You took my choice! You keep me in this gilded cage and wonder why I don't want to share my secrets with you? You don't want a wife, Alexei. You want a doll that doesn't talk back."
"I want a wife who doesn't get herself killed!" I stepped into her space, my hands balled into fists at my sides. "I want a woman who understands that in this world, a secret is just a bullet waiting to be fired. If you are hiding something that compromises this house, you are hiding a weapon that will kill us both. Is that what you want? To see our child born in a funeral home?"
She flinched at the mention of the baby, her face turning ashen. "I would never... I am trying to protect what's mine."
"What's yours is mine!" I grabbed her wrist, my grip tight—too tight, perhaps, but I was beyond caring about finesse. "Tell me who sent the letter, Mila. Tell me now."
"Let go of me!" She yanked back, her strength surprising me again.
The air between us didn't just feel hot; it felt like it was on fire. We stood there, panting, two predators locked in a cage of our own making. I looked at her—at the wild chestnut hair, the defiant hazel eyes, the curve of the mouth that had haunted my dreams and my nightmares.
