Page 54 of Innocent Prey of the Bratva

But none of that is why I feel safe. It’s him. Kaz. He’s always beside me. Always watching. Always touching. He hasn’t let me out of his sight since the attack, like his shadow is permanently stitched to mine. And I should hate it. I should feel trapped. I should be screaming again about freedom and escape and normal life.

But…I don’t.

“I think I’m going to start charging you,” I say, glancing at him sideways as I skip a little harder to throw him off balance.

Kaz raises a brow, amused. “For what?”

“For therapy. Protection. Entertainment. Emotional damage. Take your pick.”

He chuckles, low and velvety. “You skipped past murder and imprisonment. How generous.”

“I’m in a forgiving mood.”

I squeeze his hand. It feels natural now, like I’ve been holding it all my life.

Maxim and Arina are both gone. Undercover missions, Kaz said, and I believe him—though there’s a part of me that misses them both. Arina especially. With them gone, it’s just him and me in this big, dangerous mansion with its endless rooms and cameras and secrets. I see Milo, too, but not always.

And I thought he’d shut down. I thought he’d grow cold and disappear inside himself after we had sex the first time. But he didn’t. He stayed.

He watched movies with me. Played chess. Watched me cook badly. Held me in bed at night like I’d vanish if he let go. Told me things I didn’t expect someone like him to know how to say.

He’s still a monster. Still unpredictable. Still a war wrapped in silk. But somehow, he’s mine. And somehow, I want to be his.

“Tell me something,” I say as we turn a corner in the garden. “If they hadn’t come for me…if there hadn’t been a bounty…would you still be keeping me here?”

Kaz stops walking. His jaw tightens like I’ve caught him off guard. But his hand doesn’t let go of mine.

“Yes,” he says simply.

I stare at him. “Because I’m yours?”

He nods, not even pretending otherwise. I should hate him for it. But I don’t. I’m terrified…because a small part of me is starting to feel the same way. And I don’t know what that makes me anymore.

Kaz suddenly slows to a stop.

“Let’s sit,” he says, gesturing toward the old sycamore tree near the west garden. The shade beneath it stretches long and cool across the grass, dappled with sunlight. It feels like a secret place—untouched by the weight of everything between us.

We sit down together. Close, but not touching.

A soft breeze moves through my hair, and I glance at him. He’s leaning back against the tree, one leg bent, his expression unreadable—just like always. But something about the curve of his mouth makes me feel like he’s finally relaxed. Just a little.

I lean in and press a kiss to his cheek. His stubble is rough against my lips, and he turns his head slightly like he didn’t expect it.

“Tell me something,” I whisper. “Something I don’t know about you.”

His gaze flicks toward mine, amused. “I hate olives.”

I burst out laughing. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What, my olive preferences aren’t intimate enough for you?” he teases, but I can tell he knows exactly what I’m asking.

I tuck my legs under me and tilt my head. “Something real. Something about…your family.”

And just like that, his entire body stills.

He stares ahead at nothing, jaw tight, lashes lowered. A silence stretches between us, long and brittle.

I wait.