Page 31

The night before I left L.A., the sky bled into the city like an open wound—red, angry streaks across the horizon, like it knew what I was about to do.

I stood alone on the balcony, staring out at the estate, a half-glass of bourbon in my hand and a full war brewing in my chest.

The Pahkan’s voice still echoed in my ears. “You’re needed in Moscow. Factions are splintering. I want you there in Russia to head it all.”

I said nothing at first. Just listened to the burn of my cigar and the silence that followed.

“We’ve made arrangements for Katya,” he added after a pause. “She will join you when things are much calmer.”

That’s when I spoke.

“Nyet, Pahkan .”

“No?”

“It’s a tough decision, but no. I want her to live a normal life, away from…this person that I am and the life I lead. I want her to be happy.”

There was a hesitation. I heard it, like even he couldn’t believe I meant it. But he didn’t press. Egor Yezhov knew me too well and sometimes respected me when my decisions turned to stone, refusing to crack or bend.

I spent the whole night awake, staring out over the city.

The same city where I had once held her tiny hand crossing the street when I had to pretend to be that kind of father who bought her strawberry ice cream in public places on Saturdays, who taught her how to ride a bike in the alley behind the safe house because the park was never safe.

Katya was my only softness in this fucking brutal world. And I was leaving her.

The next morning, the car was already humming downstairs. My bags were packed, my men waiting. The cold inside me was numbing. But still, I climbed the stairs to her room like a man walking to the gallows.

The door creaked when I opened it, just a crack. Morning light filtered in through the gauzy curtains, bathing her in a golden glow.

She was curled under her blanket, cheeks flushed from sleep, her black hair spread over the pillow like an inky waterfall.

She looked peaceful.

I stepped in, slowly. My boots made no sound. My heart, though? It was a fucking war drum.

I knelt beside her bed, reached out with a hand that had broken men, ended lives, and brushed the back of my knuckles against her cheek. She stirred, mumbled something in her sleep, then settled again.

I wanted to say something. I wanted to tell her I loved her, that I would come back, maybe someday, that everything I was doing was for her.

I stood.

My eyes burned, but I wouldn’t let one tear fall.

I turned to Fedor. He was my most trusted and loyal.

“You watch her with your life, no matter how far we go. I want your eyes and ears on her all the fucking time.”

He nodded once, tight. “Da, Boss.”

And then we left. I didn’t look back. Didn’t let myself hear the sound of her soft breaths as I disappeared from her doorway, because if I had, I wouldn’t have made it down the stairs.

***

I lay still, the sheets tangled around my legs, blinking at the ceiling. I hadn’t moved much. Not in hours. Not in days. Not really since Katya left, which was six months ago.

The ache was still there, dull but constant, like a bullet wound that never quite healed right. I’d taken hits before. Knives to the gut, a bullet to the thigh, a bottle across the head.

But this just felt like a different kind of pain, similar to the one I had felt when she went into a coma, but a thousand times worse than I was willing to admit.

I never expected her forgiveness. Hell, I never even expected understanding. But watching her walk out that day shattered the cold walls I thought I had.

Security was the least of my concerns. Katya was protected. There was a twenty-four-seven surveillance, monitoring her every move, in addition to the dozen trained soldiers I dispatched to keep an eye on her. I recently learned that she started composing her music again, which was good.

She looked like she was getting on fine on her own, like she had years ago, before I came back into the picture.

The regret of feeling like I had lost my daughter again gnawed at me, but what’s done was done. I couldn’t change the past, however much I tried. Mistakes were made, and we were dealing with the consequences the best way we could. Moving forward was the only option.

I shifted the sheets aside and swung my legs off the bed, planting my feet on the warm floor. The air was sharp in my lungs, and I welcomed the sting. As always, pain made things real.

I glanced at the corner of the room. The door was ajar, and I heard the clanking of pots from the kitchen. And it rushed back to me that I still had Elena.

I pulled on a shirt, ran a hand through my hair, and stepped into the hall. My feet moved before my mind caught up.

She stood by the counter, her back to me, hair pulled into a messy knot, and wearing one of my shirts, which clung to her hips. She was focused on something in front of her: a pan filled with scrambled eggs.

The morning light caught her profile just enough. She looked so beautiful. The pregnancy had done a number on her, adding a puff to her neck and cheeks, a rounder curve to her hips, and a fuller pump to her breasts.

Sometimes, watching her made my cock hard until it hurt.

Without thinking, I stepped forward, drawn like a man chasing warmth in the dead of winter. My arms slipped around her waist, instinctively, like they’d always belonged there. My hands found her belly, soft and round beneath the fabric, and I groaned like an insatiable man in heat.

Elena tensed beneath my touch, just for a heartbeat, before she let out a slow breath, almost shaky, and leaned back into me.

“Good morning. You’re up early. Couldn’t sleep?”

Her spine met my chest, her ass pressed against my cock, her shoulder brushing against mine, and in this moment, it felt like the world stopped falling apart.

I closed my eyes. Breathed her in.

“Morning, sweetheart. Three hours of sleep after we spent all night fucking in the car, in the shower, and on the bed, is enough time, isn’t it?

She still smelled like jasmine and slow, gentle sex from last night.

But the jasmine reminded me of the scent that used to trail behind Katya when she came in laughing from the garden, her face smudged with dirt and her hands full of lavender.

“You were thinking about her again, weren’t you?” Her hands paused over the bacon strips in another pan before they moved again. “It’s fine. I think about her, too. A lot, actually. And I don’t think I’ll ever stop hoping that she’ll come back.”

“That will be good, if she does. Katya’s a big girl. No, scratch that; my daughter is a grown woman. She’s fine. She’s paving her own path in life, and I’m fine with it. I’m…happy with it. But I’m more focused on building what we have.”

My fingers splayed across her stomach, and I felt the faintest kick. Just a flutter, but it stopped my breath.

“Fuck.”

The ache in my chest tightened. I hadn’t realized how much I needed this closeness and warmth with Elena and our baby.

“I can feel our baby,” I whispered. “He’s strong.”

Elena nodded silently, her hand covering mine. Her fingers were smaller, trembling just slightly, but warm.

“Sometimes, I’m not confident that I know how to do this,” I admitted. The words scraped out of me. “Especially not after Katya.”

“Me, neither, but we’re learning and doing better each day.” She pushed the plate aside gently, staring blankly at her coffee mug. “We’ll be great parents, Damien. Our mistake won’t define us.”

I turned her gently, my hands brushing against her sides as I guided her to face me. Her skin was warm beneath my fingertips, like the touch alone was enough to burn through ice.

Her eyes met mine.

God.

Those eyes—green, wide, and full of everything. I cupped her jaw, grazing the edge of her cheekbone with my thumb.

Her lips parted slightly, her breath hitching, and I felt a gravity-like pull toward her.

“What have you done to me?” I muttered, barely recognizing my own voice. It came out low, rough, soaked in raw desire and hunger.

And something else that was a mix of admiration and respect.

She was the one who slipped past the armor. She was the mistake I kept making, the comfort I couldn’t seem to kill. The softness I wasn’t supposed to crave.

Her gaze flicked to my mouth, just once. And that was all it took.

The space between us vanished like it was never there. Roughly, I crushed my mouth to hers, and she met me halfway, her hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer, deeper, like she wanted to drown in me the same way I was drowning in her.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t clean. Her body pressed to mine, soft curves against hard muscle, and my hands— fuck —my hands didn’t know where to stop. Her back, her hips, the swell of her belly.

Nothing existed outside of her. It was just her. Only the fire she lit in the ruins of my cold, damned heart.

And when we finally pulled apart, we were both breathless. Our foreheads touched, sweat-damp and trembling, our hearts beating too loudly between us.

I kept my arms wrapped around her, like if I let go, she might dissolve into smoke and take this fragile peace with her.

She stroked my cheeks and ran her fingers through my hair. I groaned. I always liked it when she did that.

“I hope that wasn’t a guilt kiss? You know, because you’re secretly feeling bad about everything that happened. I’d understand if you needed that moment to be distracted.”

“Did you feel the same way last night?”

“Maybe a little? It’s like you grew hornier after she left. We do it everywhere now. The other day, you called me to your office and fucked me right after you had a meeting. I thought, maybe you needed something else to occupy your thoughts, and sex is your go-to.”

“Couldn’t it be your pregnancy hormones?”

She laughed. “Damien, that doesn’t make any sense.”

I closed my eyes. How did you tell someone the truth when you barely knew how to say it out loud?

“It’s not a go-to distraction,” I rasped. My voice cracked on the edge of something I hadn’t let myself feel for a long time. “You think I’d hold you like this…if it was only guilt? You think I fuck you the way I do, because of guilt? ”

Elena swallowed hard, her eyes searching mine. “Then what is it?”

I hesitated, my hands tightening around her waist. This was so fucking hard to admit.

“It’s you,” I said. “It’s always been you. Even when it shouldn’t have been. Even when I should have hated myself for it.”

I felt her breath catch. Her fingers trembled against my chest, but she didn’t pull away.

“Is that your way of saying that you…you love me?”

My jaw clenched. I looked into her eyes and finally let the last of my armor crack.

“I might as well get it over with. Yes, it is. I love you.”

The words burned as they left my mouth, burned like a brand searing into flesh, and yet they felt right.

With tears in her eyes, she exhaled and pressed her lips to mine again, softer this time. Slower.

“That took you a century to admit, but mine will only take a second: I love you, too,” she whispered against me. “Even when I didn’t want to. Even when it hurt. But I love you, Damien.”

I didn’t answer her with words. There was nothing left to say that wouldn’t unravel me. So I just held her tighter, like a man clinging to the only part of the world that still made sense. For the first time in a long, bloody life, I finally let myself believe I didn’t have to be alone in the dark.