I laugh, shaking my head. "No, this. Us. A relationship. I'm not the perfectly poised lady that sits at a politicians side. I don't know how to smile at galas if I'm not there to kill someone."
The admission feels almost too vulnerable, like I'm exposing parts of myself I usually keep locked away. I've never been anyone's anything, never had someone look at me the way Victor does. I don't know how to be soft, how to fit into the world he's building for himself.
Victor kisses the top of my head, his lips lingering there. "I don’t need that, Danika. I need a queen who can charm the prime minister over dinner and slit an enemy's throat in the alley out back."
I tilt my head to look up at him, and he meets my gaze.
“I've done this all my adult life and I've finally realized, I don't want to do it alone anymore. In fact, I don't want to do it with anyone else but you.”
I reach up and rub his face, feeling the stubble scratch against my palm. In that moment, I realize I have finally found my exact match. We're like two monsters who fit perfectly together in this dark world we live in.
He kisses me, slow and deep, and I lie back on his chest for a few moments, letting the comfort of his presence wash over me.
But the thoughts come back in. Reality.
"So," I say, running my fingers up and down the lines of muscle again, "how do we handle Ivan and this feud?"
32
VICTOR
Ilie there, post-sex bliss radiating through my body, with Danika next to me. She's warm against me, her blonde hair fanned across my chest, and for the first time in weeks, maybe months, I feel something close to peace.
Then she asks the one question I don't want to think about.
"So, how do we handle Ivan and this feud?"
The words just sit between us. Up here at 40,000 feet above the ground, it feels almost sacred, but it's not over. No matter how much I want to pretend otherwise, no matter how much I want to keep her in this bed and forget everything else exists, the world doesn't stop spinning because I fucked the woman who's slowly capturing every piece of me.
I stare at the ceiling, feeling the shift inside me. The romantic haze, the softness I let myself indulge in, is still there, but the atmosphere changes. My brain kicks into gear. The part of me that's spent years in backrooms and offices, negotiating deals and manipulating outcomes, takes the wheel.
I exhale slowly, organizing my thoughts before I answer. "Now, we do what I do best, baby. We play politics."
Danika lifts her head, her blue eyes narrowing slightly.
I swing my legs out of bed and walk to my battered bag, the one that somehow survived the firefight at the hotel. I pull out some clothes and get dressed. I roll the sleeves of the white dress shirt up to my elbows and leave it unbuttoned. The air in the cabin is cool against my chest, but I'm still hot from what we just did.
I find another dress shirt and turn, holding it out. "You can wear this."
She sits up and takes it with a small smile. The sight of her naked body makes my chest tighten with something possessive and primal. But I force my mind to stay on track.
I walk over to the small mahogany desk in the corner of the suite. On it is a laptop, almost as big as the desk's surface. I sit, the leather chair creaking, and power it on. Behind me, I hear the rustle of fabric as Danika slips into the shirt.
When I glance back, she's buttoning it, the hem falling mid-thigh, her legs bare beneath it. My oversized dress shirt swallows her frame, and the possessiveness flares again, hot and insistent.
She's mine now. Every inch of her.
She walks over, barefoot, and stands behind me, her fingers resting lightly on the back of my chair. "What are you doing?"
I start typing, my fingers moving quickly across the keyboard. "Every one of these jets has a computer you can use. I'm logging into my family's encrypted servers so nothing we do on here is traceable."
She leans closer, her breath warm against my ear as she watches the screen. Login credentials, firewalls, and security protocols; it's second nature to me now.
When I finish, the screen flashes green, and I turn in my chair to look at her. "Let me have the ring."
Her gaze drops to her hand, and for a moment, she hesitates. The fake diamond causes conflict in her eyes.
"I'm going to upload it and show you what's on there," I say, keeping my voice steady.
