“Your new keys,” he repeats, like the meaning is obvious. “I’ll wait here until you’re inside.”
I turn the envelope over in my hands, then look up at my building. What the hell did Kirill do?
I race inside, not stopping until I’m standing in front of the door to my apartment.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter, digging out the new keys.
His men replaced my dummy lock. The cheap hardware-store special I installed over the electromagnetic locking system hidden in the doorframe. From the outside, it looked like a shitty normal lock, but passing my phone over the hidden sensor in the frame engaged the rare-earth magnets. It creates a seal that could withstand a police battering ram.
I’d say Kirill’s team are idiots, but honestly, most people are. And hell, I do good work.
I push open the door. The apartment looks exactly as I left it this morning. Laptop on the desk, textbooks stacked beside it, coffee mug I forgot to wash by the sink.
Next to the door frame, a security keypad glows green, its little screen displaying the word DISARMED.
When I close the door behind me, I spot a new security chain mounted on the inside. A small white card is taped to the wood, the handwriting unmistakably masculine:
You’re in a city that doesn’t forgive carelessness.
The alarm code is 1018.
Below that is a phone number.
Okay, insisting on chauffeuring me home is one thing, but having his men break into my place without permission and install a security system. No fucking way.
I take my phone from my purse and dial the number on the card.
“Evelina.” Kirill’s voice is raspy and pleased, like he was expecting my call.
“We need to set some boundaries,” I snap. "You can't break into someone's apartment, change their locks, and install an alarm without asking.”
His low chuckle is unaffected. “I can, and I did. Let’s call it a security upgrade, and you’re welcome. Your original lock wouldn’t stop a teenager with a credit card. I fixed the problem.”
I stomp further into the apartment, throwing down my bag and kicking off my heels.
“That’s not the point,” I grumble. “This is an invasion of privacy.”
“I don’t take chances with what’s mine.” A deliberate pause. “With my employees, I mean.”
The correction comes three seconds too late to be convincing. His words settle beneath my ribs, warm and unwanted, pulsing like a second heartbeat.
“And I didn’t rifle through your panty drawer,” he continues. “I just ensured your safety. What’s the issue? You don’t like when a man looks out for you?”
“Not especially.”
I’ve always prided myself on being self-sufficient, never needing anyone, especially a man. But there is something darkly seductive about a man like Kirill Baronov taking care of me.
Dating while connected to the Syndicate means most guys know what I’m capable of. They’ve seen me fight, hack into government databases, and dismantle complicated security systems. They treat me like one of the guys, a buddy they sleep with.
Last year I hooked up with Dimitri, one of Pavel’s guys. We’d meet up after work, fuck, order takeout, talk about encryption protocols. Then I’d go home. He never offered to walk me out or drive me anywhere. Never checked in to make sure I got home safe because why would he?
It’s what I wanted. Someone who didn’t make demands of my time, my energy, my life. Someone who was DTF but didn’t care if I called them the next day. Or ever again. Someone who’d never get close enough to leave me first or reject me. When the person who was supposed to love you most disappears without a trace, you learn not to let anyone get that close again.
Dimitri fit that perfectly. So did the guy before him. And the one before that.
But Kirill isn’t playing by those rules. He’s blatant about what he wants. And though it’s a huge pain in the ass and a gross invasion of my privacy, there’s a warmth spreading through my chest that I don’t know what to do with. Being taken care of feels foreign and terrifying and kind of nice, which is exactly why I need to shut this down.
“Next time you want to play bodyguard, how about you ask first?” I say, letting the edge bleed out of my voice.
