“Cecilia.” Again, my voice cracks despite my effort. “Look at me.”
She doesn’t.
“Whatever you think you are, you’re mine, and you are not allowed to leave this room without me.”
“I can’t stay, Mikhail. Not after that. I?—”
I step closer. “You can and you will. Because if you take that step, you don’t just punish yourself. You destroy me. There’s no point without you.”
That makes her gaze slide over to me. She knows I mean it. I was prepared to die in that basement cell if her father had declined to marry her to me, and I’m prepared to die right here, tonight, if she decides her life isn’t worth living anymore. Because neither would mine.
“Just say the word,” I say, taking out my gun and pressing it against my temple with a smile. “Tell me to die, and I’ll do it.”
“Mikhail…”
“I’ll go first if you want.” I look up at her small frame up on that windowsill, on her short hair flowing in the wind, and close my eyes. My life flashes before them. The first time she saw me in the crowd of her recital. The first time she came to me in that basement. The first time I touched her, kissed her, inhaled that tantalizing orange blossom scent. I wish we had more time, but life doesn’t give a fuck about what I want—it never has, and it’s not going to start tonight.
At least I got to meet her. And what a kindness that has been to my barren heart.
“N-no,” she mumbles. “Please…please, stop!”
I touch my finger to the trigger, inhaling. I don’t care what I have to do to make her come down. Either she does it, or we both die.
“Please! Please, put it down!”
I open my eyes, and slowly, as if she’s waking from a sleepwalking episode, her free hand hesitantly stretches out to me. I’ve never reached for anything so fast. My fingers curl around her frigid wrist, and as soon as her cold skin touches mine, I pull her into me, wrapping both arms around her. I grip her so tight, there’s no more space between us. As I bury my faceinto her hair, her perfect scent floods me, telling me she’s here, that she’s alive.
“Fuck, sweetheart. Oh my fucking God,” I mumble, my eyes burning with repressed tears I haven’t shed since I was a child. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
Her delicate fingers clutch my shirt, tugging as she surrenders to me, her body wanting to collapse. I lower us to the floor, breathing in and out like I’ve just finished running a marathon. She’s crying uncontrollably, and I hold her with all my strength, like she could teleport back to that window frame any moment.
“I love you so fucking much,” I mumble into the top of her head. “I’ve got you now.”
A few hours later,after I’ve convinced her to take a sleeping pill, my wife is lying on my chest, breathing softly, free of her mental anguish. Her hair is splayed out on the white bandage wrapped around my chest, soft and velvety. I brush it with my palm, not daring to stop—nor wanting to—for fear she might wake up before she’s rested.
Beyond the closed windows, the night is quiet, the air freezing everything over. In here, the fireplace is on, bathing us both in warmth and comfort. I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying the event in my mind for the thousandth time.
I could have lost her.
If I’d been one second too late, that window frame could’ve been empty.
My hand tightens around her waist, making sure she’s still pulsing with life above me—and she is. Thank fuck, she is. Inthe amalgam of war, and power, anddebtand rage, it’s the only thing that still matters.
How the hell am I going to make this go away for her?
Therapy, maybe. But as soon as I consider it, I immediately recoil. Antonio forced her to go for years, intruding on her most intimate thoughts by discussing them with her shrink. I’d be surprised if Cecilia trusted another again.
If it were anything else, any physical threat I could oppose, I’d fucking do it in a heartbeat, at the cost of my own life. But the one thing I’m good at isn’t going to help her right now. I can only watch her suffer and keep her from hurting herself even more.
God fucking dammit.
It’s not enough. I don’t care what I have to do to make her smile again, or how long it will take, but I’ll find out. And I’ll do it. She deserves a man who will fight for her, who she can count on. Because I may be a monster and a lowlife, but this woman…she made my hollow heart her fucking home.
She brought warmth, joy, and laughter—things I was never supposed to enjoy. Not after everything I’ve done, everything I am. But she loves me—for some reason beyond my comprehension, she fucking loves me the way I am.
She could kill her mother, her father, and her entire fucking clan for all I care—it still wouldn’t change how I feel about her. There is nothing shecoulddo, in fact, that would make me not love this woman.
Tangling my hand in her hair, I bring my mouth to the top of her head with a groan. She stirs a little, but only to bring her hand closer to the hem of my t-shirt. It makes my fucking chest implode. It’s this simple, intimate gesture that points the fire burning inside me in a clear direction.
