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He presses one more fierce kiss to my lips before rolling out of bed. “This isn't over.”

“I'm counting on it,” I reply, watching him pull on his clothes.

Erik moves toward the door with the same grace that first caught my attention. He pauses at the doorframe and looks back at me, his dark eyes drinking in the sight of me tangled in his sheets.

“Stay in my room today,” he says, his voice carrying that commanding edge that makes my pulse quicken. “I want to know exactly where you are.”

“Possessive much?” I tease, stretching languidly against his pillows.

“Completely.” He crosses back to the bed in two quick strides, capturing my face in his hands for one more searing kiss that leaves me breathless. “Mine.”

The single word sends fire through my veins. When he finally pulls away, I'm dizzy with want and something deeper—a happiness so complete it feels almost dangerous.

Then he's gone, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving me alone with the scent of his cologne on the pillows and the echo of three little words that changed everything.

I love you, too.

A laugh bubbles up from my chest, bright and startled. I cover my mouth with both hands, but I can't contain it. The sound spills out anyway, growing stronger until I'm practically giggling like a teenager with her first crush.

When was the last time I felt this light?

I roll over, burying my face in Erik's pillow and breathing in his scent. Everything about this should be wrong. I'm in love with a man who kidnapped me. A criminal whose family is at war with mine. My father is probably plotting to destroy the Ivanovs as I lie here grinning like an idiot.

But somehow, none of that matters. Not Igor's rage, not the danger, not even the impossibility of our situation. All that exists is this warmth spreading through my chest, this certainty that whatever comes next, Erik and I will face it together.

I stretch against the expensive sheets, feeling decadent and alive in ways I never experienced in my father's pristine world. Something is intoxicating about claiming this space—Erik's space—as mine, about knowing that beneath all his control and darkness, he's mine too.

The smile on my face feels permanent, carved there by the memory of his rough voice saying those three words. Even the distant sound of raised voices from somewhere in the compound can't dim this euphoria coursing through me.

I'm on top of the world, and nothing my father does can touch this feeling.

35

ERIK

Istride into the conference room, still feeling the ghost of Katarina's lips on mine and the warmth of her body against my chest. The taste of her lingers, making it hard to focus on anything else.

But the atmosphere in the room snaps me back to reality fast.

Nikolai sits at the head of the table, his face carved from stone. Sofia perches beside him, her usually composed features tight with worry. Dmitri leans back in his chair, but his casual posture doesn't hide the tension radiating from his frame. Alexi sprawls across from them, his wounded arm in a sling, fingers drumming an agitated rhythm against the polished wood.

“What's happened?” I ask, taking my usual seat.

Nikolai's steel-gray eyes lock onto mine. “Igor lost his fucking mind last night.”

“Define 'lost his mind,'” I say, though the sinking feeling in my gut tells me I won't like the answer.

“Three locations. Gone.” Dmitri's voice carries barely controlled fury. “The warehouse on Fifth Street, the laundromat downtown, and the club on Meridian.”

My blood goes cold. “Casualties?”

“Seven of our people,” Alexi says, his usual humor completely absent. “Including Marcus from the warehouse crew. Poor bastard was just doing inventory.”

“Igor used military-grade explosives,” Nikolai adds. “This wasn't some sloppy revenge job.”

I run a hand through my hair, the euphoria from moments ago evaporating completely. “Fuck.”

“That's putting it mildly,” Nikolai says. “He coordinated the hits within twenty minutes of each other. Professional. Efficient. And completely unhinged.”