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Dimitri doesn’t complain when I add several bottles of water, juice, and seltzers to the basket, and a small part of me wishes I still wore his jacket so I could see his arm muscles bulge.

After a full circuit of the store, I snatch a few packets of gum from the shelf under the counter and toss them into the full basket.

On a whim, I grab a handful of sour candies and random lollipops and stick them into the corner of the basket before stepping aside so Dimitri can set the container on the counter.

The total rings up to less than a quarter of what he gave me.

I head back toward the vehicle anyway, hoping he’ll forget, but after opening the trunk and placing the bags inside, he takes a jerky and cheese combo pack and steps back. With a flick of his eyes, he demands I choose a snack. I sigh and grab a protein bar and bottled water.

With him as a crowd deterrent, I nibble my way through half the protein bar as we visit the bakery next door. After I pay for our selections, he peels the paper back from mine and swaps it for the protein bar.

The freshly baked mini loaf of sourdough warms my hand, and I fight the urge to close my eyes and moan as I savor the first bite.

We stash our new wares in the vehicle and visit a few other shops before he leads me into a tiny sit-down diner.

He settles me into the corner booth with my back against the wall and pulls up a chair to sit at the end of the table, where he can still see the rest of the restaurant and out the glass front door.

I don’t taste the food, my nerves too jumbled as we sit in silence, the sense of intimacy unexpected.

The muscles flexing in his jaw as he chews create the sexiest show I’ve ever seen. His Adam’s apple bobbing with every swallow fills me with erotic thoughts. The way his lethal fingers handle his utensils lights a spark in my core.

I tear my eyes away from him and focus on my plate.

He doesn’t pressure me to eat more when I stop after eating less than half of my meal. Even though I threw everything up, yesterday’s enormous meal and the bread still make me feel heavy.

After we finish eating and pay the bill, I leave the rest of the money on the table, tipping the waitress more than she probably makes in a week and meet Dimitri’s eyes, challenging him to correct me.

He doesn’t.

When he steps into the next booth to give me room to pass, his eyes flit to our waitress, and no longer tucked into a corner with him filling my senses, I realize by the roundness of her belly that she’s several months pregnant.

Ice infects my veins and my soul feels hollow for a second, but I remember Perla’s tiny fingers curled around my thumb and square my shoulders.

Giorgio, Nico, and Ermanno wouldn’t hesitate to tip the woman, but the Russian’s approval still shocks me. His icy expressions and the brutality lurking in his eyes make him look like an emotionless killer, which is why any show of kindness knocks me off guard.

I swallow the ball of emotions in my throat and lead the way back to the car.

Less than thirty minutes later, he pulls into the parking lot of a tiny rundown motel and instructs me to stay buckled in the car before he rolls the windows down half an inch and turns off the engine. I sit with my heart in my throat as he shuts and locks the door before stalking into the lobby.

Even though he returns before the sun warms the car, sweat trickles down my sides when he returns.

The acrid stench of my fear breaks through my body spray, and I wish I could reapply, but don’t want to drown the car and give myself away, so I stare out the window as he wedges himself behind the wheel.

He drives around to the back of the building and backs into the parking spot in front of the last room furthest away from the main entrance.

I check for any type of security and find none. When Dimitri steps out and walks past my door without a word, I stay in my seat and watch him enter the room through the side-view mirror.

He returns a few seconds later and transfers the bags from our shopping into the room before closing the trunk, opening my door, and offering me a metal key on his palm.

I take it, avoiding touching his flesh as much as possible, and close my fist around it so the ridges dig into my skin.

My joints complain as I rise from my seat and limp along the side of the car. Fear sweat gathers on my nape. The bandage pulls on my cheek. With stiff movements, I step onto the sidewalk and into the room.

The AC unit hums. A table and two chairs sit in front of the window while a queen bed takes up most of the space.

The toilet and tub shower combo have a door to separate them from the rest of the room while the sink, counter, and mirror are beside the mini fridge and microwave.

A television sits on a narrow ledge across from the bed.

Our groceries overflow the table. My larger bag sits on the corner of the bed.

A shadow falls over me.

I step deeper into the room with growing dread. When Dimitri joins me and shuts the door behind him, the space feels matchbox tiny.

He pulls a chair away from the table. It wobbles and nearly falls apart. He scowls down at it and wedges it under the door handle before trying the other chair.

Even after he lowers his weight onto it, the room feels too small.

His icy blue eyes meet mine. My stomach freefalls when the lines bracketing his eyes soften.

“I do not lie, so?lnyshka ,” he says.

My chest tightens even as the tension in my muscles lessens as I recall his words about gaining my trust.

“How long will we be here?” I ask.

“Tonight. We will meet your brother tomorrow. Call your sister,” he says.

I eye the closed curtains and locked and barred door but don’t dare ask to leave. No matter how much I long to avoid him, I can’t step outside the protection he offers.

Fearing I’ll break down and lose control, I step into the bathroom and close the door before dialing my sister.

She answers before it even rings. I become the protector as I assure her I’m okay. I give her a cliff notes version of what happened to appease her. Thankfully, she’s nursing Perla and can’t video call, so I escape explaining the bandage on my cheek.

Only my parents, Dimitri, and my doctors have seen the scars on my face.

I spent the first several weeks after the accident in perpetual darkness, only allowing the lights on when the doctors came into the room to check me, so by the time Serenity stepped in, they were healed enough to cover with makeup.

I don’t mind that she found me after I cut myself, but the shame attached to the ones on my face is another matter.

With her satisfied about my safety, I end the call and lean against the back of the door, needing a moment to compose myself before I return to Dimitri’s presence.

I swing the door wide open and freeze. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of Dimitri leaning back against the wall with his eyes closed and his features relaxed. Even in a light doze, he seems scary and violent, but without his stoic expression, my fingers itch to touch and explore.

The air charges as his awareness returns. He opens his eyes and meets my stare.

I thank the heavens my natural tan hides my blush until his attention flits down to my cheeks. His lips lift in the tiniest of smirks.

He caught me ogling him and knows I blushed.

Mortification and self-disgust flow through me. I yank my purse off my shoulder, drop it onto the counter beside the sink, and grab the edges of the bandage on my cheek, intending to cake my face in makeup.

I can’t force myself to take off the bandage.

“Come here, so?lnyshka ,” Dimitri murmurs from right behind me.

Fear locks me in place. He’s too close. Too big. Too masculine.

He waits with the patience of a saint as I work through my panic and slowly turn to face him.

I struggle to breathe from the intensity in his sky-blue orbs. Shock flows through me when he reaches for me and I don’t flinch. With a profound gentleness, he pulls the bandage off my face and skims his thumb over the scars. I fight the urge to lean into him.

If he knew what they meant, would he still touch me?

My veins ice over.

“I will never touch you without your permission,” he murmurs.

“Then why are you touching me now? I didn’t give consent,” I say through gritted teeth.

I may scream myself into tiny, shattered pieces if I open my mouth.

He drops his hands to his sides.

“Take a shower. Lock the door if you want, but I am not a threat to you, so?lnyshka ,” he vows.

I wrap my anger tighter around myself and give him an extended glare before snatching my purse off the counter and grabbing my bag from the bed and shutting the bathroom door behind me.

He doesn’t get to choose whether he’s a threat to me or not. I do.

And he most certainly is.

I sit on the edge of the tub and drop my head into my hands. This is too confusing. He continues to thwart my every attempt at keeping him at arm’s length.

How can I even look at a man after barely surviving such a brutal attack?

I vow to ignore him until tomorrow’s meeting with my siblings.

I’ll sleep on the floor if he insists on taking the bed and eat standing over the sink if he sits at the table.

It can’t be that hard to pretend like my massive, tempting bratva protector doesn’t exist, right?