“You want to know why I left? Because you are cruel. You are ruthless. You are the monster Dean sees, and you wield that cruelty against people! You lead a Russian mafia syndicate. You expect me to bow to you, to put up with your anger, your terrifying rages, and your need for control, not to mention every swing of your opinion of me, even at the cost of my safety and my career. I won’t do it. I won’t be one of your casualties!”
I turn and start walking toward one of the rooms I know is empty. I need distance, I need space, I need to know that I am not just a piece on his chessboard.
But Dmitri follows, his footsteps heavy and fast behind me. He grabs my arm, spinning me around. I try to pull away, but his grip is like steel.
“Stop running!” he demands.
“I’m not running!” I yell back. “I’m standing still. For the first time, I am standing still and telling you the truth about what a bastard you are. You hurt me, Dmitri. Your words hurt me more than any bullet ever could. And if you keep lashing out at me, if you keep treating me like a disposable asset to control, I will walk away, and I will never look back, and you will have driven me there yourself.”
Dmitri’s eyes are furious, his jaw tight, the veins in his neck popping out. I can tell his primal instinct is to crush this defiance, to shut down the source of his pain. I see a glint of the monster, the terrifying rage that could break a man’s neck or a woman’s heart without a single flicker of remorse.
I hold his gaze in defiance, looking right into the storm, letting him see my own fury, but also the deep, genuine pain. I let him see the consequences of his actions laid bare—the absolute certainty that if he takes one more step into that cruel persona, he loses me forever.
We start at one another for a long, agonizing moment. He could call my bluff, dare me to try to leave, or he could destroy me altogether.
But then, I see it. The hardness in his eyes dissolves, replaced by a sudden, stark realization, a terror more potent than any fear of death. He realizes I mean it. He realizes that the defense mechanism he uses to keep the world out, the way he sinksinto hispakhanpersona, is actively destroying the one thing he desperately needs to hold onto.
His grip loosens. His big hand slides from my arm, cupping my cheek instead. His thumb brushes away the one rogue tear that finally escaped my control.
“Clara.” His voice is rough with emotion. “I cannot lose you. Do you understand? I cannot. If you run, if you leave, if you are hurt, I lose my center. I lose my control.”
“You have to learn how to begentle around me. You have to learn how to trust me when I tell you I care about you, even if the rest of the world has proven themselves capable of betrayal. If you treat me any differently than that, Dmitri, you will always get the same result. I will leave.”
He stares at me, trulyseeingme for the first time since we stepped out of the car. The dark, terrifying intensity is still there, but now it is mixed with a desperate, naked vulnerability that makes my knees weak.
“The thought that you could be the one who hurts me the most, the one who takes everything, Clara, I cannot survive that again,” he confesses, the words tumbling out of him.
He steps back, his hands resting on my shoulders, anchoring me in place. “I did not have you followed to hurt you,” he whispers. “I had you followed because if something happened to you, if I were too late, I would burn down the world.”
It is a twisted form of love and control, but I recognize the sincerity in his admission. He doesn’t know how to protect without dominating.
I take a deep, shaky breath, inhaling the familiar scent of him.
“I’m here now,” I say simply. “I just told you that I will never betray you. I am not the mole. I will fight this by your side, but you have to stop fightingme.”
He pulls me to his chest, not in a tight embrace, but as a silent acknowledgment, a desperate anchor.
“I need you to tell me what you need, Clara, because I do not know how to do this. I only know how to conquer and protect. I’ve forgotten how to be soft. I lost that part of myself when Lauren died.”
“I need you to listen to me when I tell you that you are safe with me,” I say gently. “I need you to trust me.”
He lowers his head, resting his forehead against mine. The vulnerability is overwhelming, radiating off him like heat.
“I am sorry. I was wrong to doubt you. I was wrong to hurt you.” He pulls back slightly, looking straight into my eyes, the statement clear and raw. “I will try. I will remember how to be soft again. Just stay here. Stay with me. Please.”
He’s asking forme. He’s asking for my presence, my commitment, my future. He’s asking for the only thing he cannot buy or conquer.
I reach up to stroke the stubble on his jaw. “I’m not going anywhere,” I confirm. “But this is not a truce, Dmitri. This is an understanding. If you cross this line again, if you lash out at me again, I’m gone.”
He nods once, accepting the condition. Then he takes my hand and leads me to the mastersuite.
“Shower,” he says. “Wash off the street, the smoke, the anger. We will talk about Dean, about the mole, about everything else in the morning.”
He is giving me time and space.
I nod before walking into the massive bathroom, the marble cold beneath my bare feet. I don’t need to look back to know he’s standing in the doorway, watching me. Protecting me.
I peel off my clothes and step into the shower. As the hot water hits my skin, washing away the fear and the danger, I replay the conversation in my mind.
