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I took her straight to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed with her still in my arms.

The plan was to tuck her into the bed and let her sleep, recover, but I couldn't stand the idea of leaving her, or even having her out of my arms. Not yet.

With one arm braced around her waist, my other hand stroked the back of her head, my fingers weaving through her soft hair. I could say I was trying to soothe her, but really, it was for me.

I had to know she was there. I was the one who craved the constant reassurance that she was fine, that nothing else could happen to her, that she was protected in my arms.

She wasn't the only one who had been shaken. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw all those guns pointed at her in the video. I saw the red handprint on her face and the lines around her delicate wrists.

Every time I closed my eyes, I was reminded how close I came to losing her.

"You're protected now,moy kotyonochek," I murmured into her silky hair that smelled of the vanilla shampoo the hotel stocked. "I've got you. No one can get to you here. No one can touch you. You are secure. I'm here."

She didn't answer, but her hands fisted my shirt, holding onto me as if I were the only solid thing in a world spinning out of her control. She clung to me like I was her lifeline, and that was exactly what I wanted to be.

It was what I had to be, because if I was her anchor, then she was mine.

I craved control of the situation. Be the one she cameto when she was scared, the one who sheltered her from the storm.

It was a dangerous realization.

She was mine. Not just owned—not just claimed.

She was mine in a way no one else had ever been. In a way that I didn't know was even possible. She was mine in a way that made me understand the foolish things Artem and Kostya had done.

I understood why Kostya chased Marina from Russia to New York, then Chicago, and back again. I understood why Artem faced down an army by himself to keep Viktoria protected.

I'd do the same, and so much more for Alina.

The way my heart ached and my soul burned made me understand how Gregor's priorities had changed and why the world worked the way it did.

I loved money; I craved power, and I had always lost myself in the beauty of violence. But none of it mattered anymore.

All of it paled when compared to this woman, who was quivering in my arms.

There was nothing I wouldn't do for her. Nothing I wouldn't gladly give up just to see her smile, to hold her body against mine.

I used to scoff at men who thought like this, but I had been a fool because I didn't understand what this was. What it meant.

I was in love with her.

Not just because she had a hot body or was a natural submissive. It wasn't because of the glimpses of fire sparking in her eyes when she fought me.

It was because she was made for me, and I for her. She was the other half of me, and I could not live without her by my side.

The realization hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest.

She was my everything, and I had let her be taken from me.

I had to show her I was sorry. I had to prove I was capable of taking care of her, of being the man she deserved.

Slowly, carefully, I peeled her out of her ruined clothes. They smelled like cop coffee and the enemy. I was going to have them burned.

I went to the closet intending to grab one of her shirts and yoga pants, but I grabbed one of my T-shirts instead. It was an older one that had softened with age.

I slid it over her head, and she still said nothing as she slid her arms into the sleeves before wrapping her arms around her waist.

The T-shirt was far too big. It practically swallowed her whole. It was almost enough to hide the way her body shook.