Less than an hour later, we’re back at the mansion, and the compound has settled into a tense, agonizing quiet.
With one mission in mind, I step into the bedroom, fully aware that Leonid is waiting for me.
His dark silhouette rests against the window. The air between us is still thick with the residual heat of last night, but the stakes have completely changed.
“I didn’t see you all day,” I say softly, crossing the room to stand just a few feet away from him. I swallow the lump of fear in my throat, forcing myself to look directly into his unreadable eyes.
“I was working.” His tone is icy, but his gaze even more so as he takes in my messy hair and Henry’s blood on my clothes. “Shouldn’t you be in a hurry to wash that off?”
I shake my head, then take a step forward. “No. We need to talk about it—about my friend, Henry. He’s the friend of mine who called in a favor that night on the docks.”
Leonid’s face stays blank. There’s no twitch of his eyebrows or the slightest pull on his lips as he speaks. He stares at me like he’s never felt a single emotion in his life.
“What about this…friend?”
I don’t hesitate. “He’s hurting and he’s terrified. Your men have him locked in the basement, but he shouldn’t be there. He has nothing to do with Vasili, or the ports, or the smuggling. He was wrongfully taken and tortured.”
I take another half-step closer, my hands clasped tightly in front of me to hide their shaking. “Please don’t hurt him. I’ll do anything.”
“You’ll kneel down and worship me?” he says in that flat, unmoving tone.
I clench my jaw and curl my fingers by my side. “If that’s what it takes.”
Now his eyebrows twitch. It’s slight, but it’s there, and it hints at displeasure before it disappears. “No.”
“Leonid, please…”
I knew without a doubt that he would make this process more unbearable than it should be. What he doesn’t know is that I’m ready for anything.
“You’ll kneel forhissake. You even beg for this man. Pathetic,” he scoffs. “He must be very important to you. Who is he? Schoolmate? Ex-boyfriend?Lover?”
The underlying jealousy is loud enough to distract me. I wonder why he says it like that, like it means anything to him if Henry was more than a friend to me.
But as swiftly as the thought comes, I disregard it, focusing on what’s more important.
There’s no way he’s jealous.
Right?
“He’s just a friend,” I stress, hoping he believes me. “A friend and nothing more. And he’s completely innocent.”
He listens to me in absolute silence, but a dark cloud masks his expression until there’s a visible flare just beneath his cold exterior—the subtle tightening of his jaw until a muscle leaps in his cheek.
I brace myself for a ruthless, flat-out refusal.
But then he speaks. “Fine.” It’s a murmur, a low growl that rumbles at the back of his throat. “He’ll live.”
That’s all he says before brushing past me and slamming the door behind him.
My mind is reeling, his dark voice stuck in my head.
He said yes.
And that’s a good thing.
I should feel a wave of pure relief. I should be jumping for joy and celebrating this unexpectedwin. Having Leonid agree to anything certainly calls for a few victory laps.
But instead, my blood runs cold. Because I know what this is. I can sense the heavy, suffocating growth of his possessiveness wrapping around me like a vise.
