I let out a breath. “Honesty before control. That’s all.”
A bitter little smile curls at his mouth. “That sounds simple when you say it.”
“Most impossible things do.”
He studies me for a long second, then leans in. His mouth brushes mine once, barely there, asking in a way I don’t think Nikolaj has ever asked before. Not with words, with the restraint of it. The held breath. The space left for refusal.
I close the distance and kiss him properly. He exhales into it like something in him gives way.
The kiss starts soft, but not easy. There’s too much under it for easy. It’s slow and careful, his hand still cupping my cheek, mine at the back of his neck, our bodies angled toward each other without rushing to close every space.
I taste fear in him. Not literally, not like blood or coffee or the whiskey he had earlier. I taste it in the way his mouth trembles once before he steadies it, in the way he kisses me as if he’s memorizing and apologizing at the same time, as if every press of his lips has to say what he couldn’t get right in words.
I pull back to breathe against him. “I’m not leaving.”
His eyes open, pale and startled. “Vincenzo.”
“I’m not leaving,” I repeat, firmer now. “Not tonight. Not because of this. You made one mistake, then came here, terrified enough to apologize with your whole chest. I’m angry, and I’m still yours. Those things can exist in the same room.”
The next kiss is different. He’s the one who starts it, but this time there’s no sharpness, no attempt to take control before vulnerability makes him feel exposed.
He kisses me with everything laid bare, and I feel the fear in it so clearly I almost can’t breathe. His mouth moves over mine slowly, deeply, devastatingly, and I answer with both hands on his face because I need him to feel the steadiness of me.
I need him to know I’m not a ghost he has to chase through memory anymore. I’m here. I’m choosing to be here. Even furious, even hurt, even with the whole world outside the door waiting to sharpen consequences out of our names.
He makes a sound into my mouth that I have never heard from him before. Not a moan, but something quieter. Wounded. The kind of sound a man makes when relief hurts almost as much as fear did.
My eyes burn, and this time I don’t bother being embarrassed by it.
We kiss for a long time.
Long enough that the night shifts around us. Long enough that my anger stops sitting between us like a wall and becomes something we both lie beside, acknowledged and not allowed to be the whole bed. Long enough that his body finally loosens against mine, one heavy arm sliding around my waist, his chest pressing closer, his leg tangling with mine.
The kiss remains slow, painfully slow, and somehow, it’s more intimate than anything desperate would’ve been. We have torn each other apart with hunger before. This feels like putting a hand over the wound and holding pressure.
When we finally stop, we don’t move far.
His forehead rests against mine, and his breathing is uneven. My fingers are still in his hair, and his hand is over my heart, directly over the ink of his name beneath my skin, even though my shirt covers it now. He knows where it is anyway. He always will.
“You’re going to kill me,” he whispers.
I let out a soft, shaky laugh. “You’re very dramatic for a man who spent the last decade building a reputation as a soulless executioner.”
His mouth brushes mine, almost a smile. “You’re bad for my image.”
“I’m excellent for your character.”
“My character is already ruined.”
“Then I’m improving the ruins.”
He lets out a faint huff of laughter, but it fades quickly. His eyes are still too serious when he pulls back enough to look at me.
Something changes in his face then. I see it happen and don’t understand it fast enough to name it. A decision. A shift. The fear doesn’t leave, but it organizes itself into purpose, and with Nikolaj, that is always dangerous in some way.
“What?” I ask.
He slips out of the bed with sudden intent, leaving the sheets cold where his body was. I push myself up on one elbow, watching as he crosses the room toward the chair where he left his coat.
