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She crosses her arms over her chest, looking into the distance. “I am not leaving with you.”

“The fuck you’re not. You should—” He pinches the bridge of his nose as if calling for the right way to do things and it eludes him.

“Don’t tell me what I should do. You’re not my Pakhan.”

“I am the head of the family.”

She huffs. “I thought I was Italian until five minutes ago.”

He inhales deeply as if to gather patience. Oh, he’ll definitely need that.

“I am going to bed,” she says and stands up.

“Julia,” I say again, but that name sounds foreign to me.

“Stop calling me that. I have no idea who that person is,” she yells, then she calls for Kill, who struts after her.

Without her as a buffer, Mika prowls to me and throws a right hook to my face. The punch hits my cheek, causing me to stumble. I deserve it, so I take his anger—my head spinning with tonight’s events.

Cupping the sides of his head, he paces around. “I am so fucking pissed at you right now.”

“You wouldn’t have let me take her otherwise.” I need her like she’s oxygen and I can’t breathe without her.

“For a fucking good reason. Only thinking—”

He stops himself as a shudder rocks him, and I remain quiet. All those sordid, scintillating, painful yet arousing times are private. I am not about to share that with him or anyone else.

“She’s stubborn,” he says, but it’s not with residual scorn but with something warmer.

“She is. It will take some time. I’m moving back to the penthouse. No one will touch her, Mika. I swear. If she wants to stay here, she can. She’s family.”

“If only things were different…”

Yeah, she could have been the person to cement our union as my wife. We would share a bond that overshadows anything else.

A low groan vibrates in his throat. “I am not sorry I hit you.”

“You can hit me again. What I did—”

“I don’t want to know, so don’t tell me. Some things are better left unsaid,” he says in a haunted voice.

I frown, having the impression he’s talking about more.

“I’ll try again later.”

I nod and accompany him to the door when he suddenly stops. “Why?”

“I love her.” I love her like a dying man clinging to his last memory.

He walks out, leaving me to simmer in my misery.

Taking a bottle of whiskey with me, I climb up the stairs. When I open the door, I come to an abrupt stop. She’s in my bed with Kill at her legs.

What the fuck is her plan now? I gave her the freedom she deserves and now she’s staying of her own accord. I can’t even drink myself into a stupor in peace.

Placing the bottle down on the nightstand with more force than necessary, Kill instantly perks his ears. He detects no intruder, so he resumes his slumber.

The liar is not asleep. I can see her rolling her eyes at me even while keeping them closed.