Page 27

Chapter 27

Quiet Is a Lie We Tell Ourselves

Vasiliyi

T he adrenaline fades, leaving behind a brutal kind of clarity. My limbs are heavy, my muscles torn between exhaustion and tension. Every bruise throbs in sync with my heartbeat. I can still hear the echo of gunfire, Galina’s breath hitching in fear, the sickening shatter of glass. It loops in my head.

But she’s safe. She and the baby are alive. That’s the only thing holding me together right now.

Jaromir’s latest call replays in my mind. Raffe and the others cleared the penthouse. No bodies, no sign of Matvei. Just destruction. Damaged walls, scattered blood, shattered glass—and then, insult to injury, a car bomb. They rigged my private vehicle to explode. One of my men died bringing it down. That could’ve been us.

It nearly was.

I don’t know what twists tighter in my chest—the fury or the guilt.

“Sit,” Galina says, nudging me into my office bathroom. Her voice is firmer than her touch, which is surprisingly gentle as she presses on my shoulder until I lower myself onto the edge of the tub.

“You’re bleeding,” she adds, already pulling supplies from the cabinet.

“It’s nothing,” I grunt, but the sting in my thigh says otherwise. I glance at the full, steaming tub beside me. “You didn’t wash up yet?”

“I will,” she says without looking at me. “But you first.”

She kneels beside me, wetting a cloth under warm water. The overhead lights make her hair gleam, her expression drawn in quiet focus as she dabs gently at the blood on my face. Her fingers skim the cut near my jaw, and I flinch—not from pain, but from the intimacy. I don’t let people touch me like this. I don’t let anyone tend to my wounds.

But she’s not anyone.

“You protected me,” she murmurs. “Now let me do the same.”

Her hands are steady. Her voice is soft. And somehow, that does more damage to my defenses than any bullet.

“You missed your calling,” I mutter. “Could’ve been a nurse.”

She snorts. “With my bedside manner? I’d terrify patients.”

She reaches my shoulder and pauses, brushing her fingers over the deeper gash there. “This one needs stitches.”

“Leave it,” I say, catching her wrist. “It’s not a big deal.”

She narrows her eyes. “And I’m used to people listening when I talk.”

Her stubbornness should irritate me. Instead, it grounds me. Anchors me. This woman—this fierce, clever, maddening woman—will never let me bleed alone. And maybe, for once, that’s not a weakness.

“Fine,” I exhale. “But just clean it. No needles.”

“Baby steps,” she mutters, disinfecting the wound with careful pressure.

Each sting keeps me tethered to the here and now. Not the carnage of my penthouse. Not the man we almost lost. Just this. Her hands on me. Her quiet strength. The stillness between storms.

And for the first time since everything went to hell, I start to believe we’ll survive it.

“The bath will help with the soreness,” Galina murmurs, trailing her fingers through the water. “You should get in.”

Her tone brooks no argument—soft but firm, the way she handles everything that matters. I arch a brow but don’t protest. My body aches in places I didn’t know could ache, and the promise of heat is too tempting to ignore.

I lower myself slowly into the tub, keeping the wounds outside of the water and biting back a hiss as the heat envelopes my skin. The pain dulls almost instantly, replaced by the kind of heavy relief that makes you forget your limbs exist.

Galina sprinkles something into the water—salts, maybe. Eucalyptus and mint curl in the steam, fresh and clean. Not the kind of scent I’d choose, but it’s hers. Familiar. Comforting. She must’ve asked Jaromir to stock the cabinet with her favorites. Little by little, she’s been leaving fingerprints all over this space, softening the hard edges I’d stopped noticing. Making it feel like something more than just mine.

She steps in and sinks down in front of me, leaning back against my chest without hesitation. Her body fits against mine like she was made for it. The press of her spine, the way her head tips just under my chin—it settles something wild and restless inside me.

For a while, we say nothing. Just let the silence wash over us.

Then she speaks, voice quiet, raw. “Are you okay?”

I don’t answer right away. I don’t want to lie. “Are you?”

She exhales softly, the sound feathering against my throat. “I will be.”

We both know that’s the closest either of us will come to admitting how rattled we still are.

“Tired?” I ask, brushing a hand down her arm.

“A little,” she says. Then after a beat: “Vasiliy?”

“Mm?”

“I don’t want to just survive anymore,” she whispers. “I want to live.”

Those words hit harder than any bullet. I press my hand over her stomach, still flat and soft beneath my palm. She’s not showing yet, but I swear I can feel something there—potential, promise, a flicker of the life we’ve fought so hard to protect.

“We will,” I say, voice rough. “You. Me. The baby. All of us.”

She half turns in the water, facing me. Her hands cradle my jaw, and she kisses me—not with heat or hunger, but with something quieter. Steadier. A vow. It’s not about lust this time. It’s about trust. About choosing each other, even when the world outside keeps trying to tear us apart.

And for the first time in a long damn while, I start to believe that living—truly living—might actually be possible.

Her fingers skim the back of my neck, drawing shivers from my skin. I groan as she deepens the kiss, my cock stirring. Heat pools in my stomach and creeps south, coiling through my loins. She’s got a magic touch, igniting a need in me without ever breaking the kiss. When she fully turns around to straddle my hips, I let out a sound that’s a mix between a laugh and a moan.

“Really?” I ask, amused. “You want to go again?”

“It’s the pregnancy,” she answers, rolling her eyes. “And how hard you always make me come.”

“Happy to oblige, lisichka .” I chuckle, my hands sliding up her thighs and kneading her ass.

It only takes a second or two to guide my cock to her warm, willing pussy. Her arousal wets the head of my shaft as I push inside. The ring of muscle slides down my length, easing the movement with how turned on she is.

Galina shudders as I bottom out, her walls squeezing me in rhythmic pulses that send a bolt of bliss right up my spine. It’s so good. Tight. Hot. Fucking amazing.

Every inch of her body is illuminated by the fluorescents, her skin glistening with droplets of water. I can’t tear my gaze away. Each perfect little whimper cranks my arousal to an unbearable degree. She feels too good. Her curves and muscles pressing against my skin, drawing sounds from my mouth that never would have come out before.

“Take your fill,” I growl, resisting the urge to take control.

She rocks her hips with slow, steady movements, eyes half lidded as she tries to control her breathing. Wet hair sticks to her forehead, a flush creeping up her cheeks. Tight moans escape her throat, the erotic sounds making my cock pulse.

When she lifts a leg and puts her foot on the edge of the tub, I’m forced to brace myself. Our eyes meet, a battle of wills flaring between us as we stare each other down. This is a different type of fight—a dance of passion and hunger.

I grind my teeth, my pulse racing.

She digs her nails into my skin, her cunt clamping down harder on my throbbing cock.

Her name fills the room, bouncing off the tiles.

The water flows around us, lapping at our heated skin in warm caresses. It crests against Galina’s skin with each thrust, generating a wild burst of sensation that brings us closer and closer to the edge.

Afterward, both of us panting and sweaty, we hold each other. My heart thunders in my chest, somehow soothing instead of alarming. Galina is the first to break the silence, pulling the drain before the water gets cold.

“That was, um, nice,” she says.

I tilt her chin up and lean forward. I place a soft kiss on her bruised lips, then her forehead, lingering in the comfortable bubble of safety we’ve built in this little space.

“Nice isn’t exactly how I’d describe it,” I muse.

She bites her bottom lip and then turns her gaze to mine.

“Very nice?” she suggests with a teasing smile.

I shake my head and laugh. This gorgeous woman beside me—I know now that my life is all the more exciting for having her in it.

A knock at the door breaks the spell. “Boss?” Jaromir’s voice carries through the wood. “I have some information about the bomb. It was military grade. This wasn’t some amateur operation. I’ve already had Raffe start on new security protocols. And I had the office prepared for you both to sleep here tonight.”

The mention of the bomb makes Galina’s fingers dig into my arm. I cover her hand with mine, squeezing gently. The reality of our situation crashes back, but I refuse to let it shatter this moment of peace we’ve found.

“Good man.” I run a hand down Galina’s spine, feeling the tension in her muscles. “We’ll be out shortly.”

I help Galina out of the tub, my hands firm on her slick hips to keep her steady. She doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. Words aren’t what she needs right now. I wrap a towel around her shoulders, catching the subtle tremor in her limbs as I steady her. Her green eyes are distant—haunted. Like she’s still in that room, still hearing the gunfire.

Once she’s dry, she reaches for a second towel and begins patting me down. I let her. My ribs ache, my thigh burns, and every muscle feels like it’s been put through a meat grinder, but her touch makes it bearable. She’s gentle with the worst of it. Focused. Intent.

When we finally leave the bathroom, the office looks different.

Jaromir’s been here.

The leather couch has been transformed into a makeshift bed—pillows, blankets, even a soft throw folded at the edge like this is normal. Like this place has always been ours.

“It’s not the penthouse,” I say, easing down onto the bed with a quiet grunt. “But it’ll do.”

Galina sinks beside me, careful not to jostle my injuries. She curls into my side like she belongs there. Like she’s always belonged there.

“As long as we’re together,” she murmurs, “I don’t care where we sleep.”

Her words hit somewhere deep. I pull her closer, my arm looping around her shoulders. Outside, the city moves on, oblivious to the blood we spilled, the war we escaped. But in here, it’s just us. Her heartbeat under my palm. The slow, steady rhythm of something that feels dangerously like peace.

“Sleep,” I whisper, brushing her hair back. “I’ve got you.”

She makes a soft sound—half sigh, half promise—and drifts off, her breath warming my chest. I stay awake, listening. To the hum of the club below. To the ghosts still pacing the corners of my mind.

She’s here. We’re alive. And that should be enough.

But it’s not. Not for the men who tried to take this from us. Not for the ones who think they still can.

Let them try.

Let them send bombs, knives, bullets.

They’ll learn what it means to touch what’s mine. What’s ours.

The weight of her body against mine. The fragile swell of life between us. These are the things I’ll protect with everything I am.

Tomorrow, I’ll hunt them down.

But tonight?

Tonight is hers.

I press a kiss to her forehead, anchoring myself in the quiet. In the warmth. In the promise we’ve built from blood and survival.

She’s enough.

We’re enough.

And no one’s taking that from us. Not ever.