In that one moment when I had my arms around her, she wasn’t terrified of being mine. Not anymore. She came with me to that party with not a clue about where I was taking her. She hung out with Rodion and Niko, surrounded by a bunch of other criminals, and never even flinched. Not like she did before, when I first brought her here.
Even if she was born into the mafia, she’s been more sheltered than any girl I’ve met in our world, and she’s stillbraver than most, eager to explore and have fun. I hate that watching her experience my dark corner of the universe with so much awe is suddenly a sight to behold.
And she has nothing—nothing. I’ve taken her away from her passions and her routines. She fucking loves her routines. She used to go for walks by the beach every Sunday morning, visited Lucia Donatello every Thursday, had two rounds of piano practice at home—one in the morning, one in the afternoon.
I know all this and more because I’ve watched her, seen her, understood her.
Only to rob her of everything.
Here, she’s dragged from place to place, given new bedrooms, no piano to play, a house full of people she doesn’t know, and she’s still fucking finding it in herself to be by my side when I’m on the brink of death, when I don’t deserve it.
Part of me feels an annoying shred of guilt. But the other, fucked-up part—the one that owns most of me—knows better. Lately, the balance has shifted in her favor. This whole thing is probably about settling the debt I accumulated, nothing more.
Still, for some reason, no matter how much I offer her, it never feels like I’m doing enough to get ahead of this game we play.
“Fuck this,” I mutter to myself, getting out into the cold air as I slam the car door shut behind me.
Cracking my neck muscles, I pin a cigarette between my lips and light it up as I make my way into the foyer. I don’t know where Cecilia is, nor should I wonder. This wing alone is a maze of rooms and corridors, which is why I’m completely fucking stunned when I see her peep her pretty head out through the cracked door of the library.
And she’s smiling.
A wave of something flammable courses through me, making every atom in my body come to a halt. Her chestnut hair isloose down her back, and she’s wearing long stockings under an oversized sweater that looks like…mine.
Jesus fucking Christ.
She looks so beautiful and, dare I say, happy to see me.
Through no fault of my own, my cock hardens at the sight. I ignore it. In fact, I ignore it so fucking much, I almost exhaust my cigarette in one go, just to make the damn thing work faster. It’s supposed to distract me from her, but who the fuck am I kidding? It never works. I didn’t mention it to her when she asked me why I smoked.
“Hi,” she chirps, sauntering over to me with an old book in her hands—one I know too well. She clutches it to her chest, looking up at me with big, bright eyes. “Is it done? Your work at the…um…warehouse.”
It’s impossible not to lower my gaze to those soft, perfect lips as she speaks.
“Yep,” I say, clipped, as I walk past her into the living room. I can hear her small steps behind me, and I wince, my breath deepening as I force my body to ignore the pull of her proximity. The room fills with the sound of alcohol as I pour some into a glass from the decanter.
“I found this in the library,” she says. “The margins are annotated, and your name is scribbled at the end. I take it you’ve read it a lot?”
I take a big gulp of whiskey, watching her side long. “Isn’t it obvious?” I ask, the sting of my words making me want to punch myself in the fucking face.
“Well, yes, but?—”
Putting my drink down, I continue my trail into the dining room, where dinner is about to be served.
“What’s with you?” she asks, making a beeline after me. “Hey, look at me.”
Her hand wraps around my arm, and the flammable feeling that coursed through me at the sight of her earlier explodes beneath my skin, crackling like the nearby fireplace.
I turn to her, nostrils flaring. Her gaze flinches, and I want to scoop my eyes out so I don’t have to see the pain growing on her pretty face because of someone like me. I can’t get myself to think straight—not since that goddamn kiss that took my breath away. Still, I ignore the discomfort twisting inside me, shoving it down to the same dark place I never look at.
“I know you feel like we developed some bond since we kissed that night, but you have to see it for what it is, Cecilia.” I grit my teeth. “Mindless fun. And if we ever fuck, it’s going to be the same thing. You’ve been around me enough to know I’m not the kind of man who stays in one place for too long. So, for your sake…” I look away, dragging a hand down my face. “Stop putting your heart into this. Either accept it for what it is or stay away from me if you can’t. Trust me, I’m offering you a kindness. I’m no good for you, and you sure as fuck aren’t good for me.”
Her throat bobs a little, but she swallows down her true reaction. Instead, her lips curve upward, and a calm settles over her pretty face. Everything she was on the brink of feeling transfers to me, and suddenly, I’m the one drowning in pain.
“My heart was broken a long time ago, Mikhail. By my father, by people who I thought were my friends. For you to break it now would be impossible,” she says.
She places the book on the dinner table—Crime and Punishment—and taps it twice with her index finger.
“I don’t know what the hell happened to you or why you’re reacting this way, but you’re right. I know you well enough by now to know you’re just pushing me away. My advice? Sort yourself out, and do it quickly, because the woman you lured into that basement isn’t the same one you married. Thanks to you,” she smiles coldly.
