Page 9

Dimitri Volkov

Her haunted eyes remain vivid in my mind as she escapes into the bathroom. When she locks the door, I silently praise her for standing her ground.

The pathetic lock wouldn’t keep me out if I wanted in, but I’m playing the long game.

I’m playing for keeps.

I wait until she turns on the shower to step away from the sink. Underneath the lingering fruity scent of her perfume lies the scent of her fear.

My fault. I pushed her too far too fast. My scared little sunbeam needs time and exposure before she’ll trust me enough to shine her brightest for me.

After almost three days of no sleep and more miles traveled than most people experience in their entire lifetime, I need several hours of restorative sleep to be alert enough to protect Camilla through another day, but after moya so?lnyshka’ s reaction to me, I feel refreshed enough for a shower.

As I wait my turn, I send a text to Yerik and the rest of my crew and sort the groceries and tuck the cold items into the refrigerator as I wait for their responses.

Everyone checks in and updates me on their findings using the code specific to my family.

Yerik tailed the second man to an apartment on the outskirts of New York City.

The shower turns off.

I conclude the check-ins and peek through the curtain to check the parking lot. It remains the same as when we entered.

Even though it’s early afternoon, I suspect both Camilla and I could benefit from sleeping for as long as possible. I turn on the television and scroll through the channels, stopping on the most mundane show I can find, and turn the volume down low.

She takes several more minutes before she opens the door. No steam wafts from the room. Wearing a clean set of sweats with a towel wrapped around her shoulders and her wet hair streaming down her back, she’s the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.

Her pallor is worse than when she closed the door between us. She avoids eye contact and shuffles to the sink to brush her teeth with the stuff we bought from the convenience store.

I grab my bag from underneath the table and stride into the bathroom. Expecting residual warmth from her shower, concern spears through me when icy air wafts from the tub.

I leave the door slightly ajar and strip, stacking my weapons and stuff from my pockets into my bag. The packet of bandages mocks me.

Anastasia gave it to me, and I’ve refilled it several times after using them on my sons, but Camilla is the first woman I put one on.

I shove my ruminations away and balance my secondary knife—because Camilla has my primary—on the ledge in the shower before stepping in for a quick wash.

When I emerge in a fresh pair of jeans and black t-shirt with my weapons stashed in my bag and my knife in my belt, Camilla sits with her back against the headboard furthest away from the door with the blankets wrapped tightly around her.

She jerks awake and scowls as she realizes she allowed herself to fall asleep.

“Lay down and sleep, Camilla. I will wake you for dinner,” I say.

After a moment, she sighs and nods before wiggling down to lie on her side facing the wall.

She remains stiff and alert for a few minutes, stealing glances at me through the mirror as I take my time brushing my teeth and trimming my facial hair, but her exhaustion gets the better of her and she slips into a doze.

I flick off the overhead lights but leave the bedside lamps and bathroom light on, and with the TV still playing, the room remains fairly bright.

Her sharp inhale as I settle on the other side of the bed hardens my cock.

Since she snagged all the blankets and pillows, I lie flat on my back and cross my arms over my chest, pinning my hands to my ribs with my biceps to prevent myself from reaching for her in my sleep.

I say nothing. She shifts further away from me.

“What will you tell your sister if you show up covered in bruises tomorrow because you fell off the bed?” I rumble, not wanting to startle her but concerned over her comfort. “I will only bite if you ask me to, so?lnyshka . We are both too tired for more than sleep.”

“Don’t joke about things like that. I’ll never ask you to bite or touch me,” she hisses.

“I am not joking, moya lyubov, and how does that saying go? Never say never?” I murmur as I let my mind slip toward a doze.

She will not relax if I lie alert next to her, so I lead her into slumber and smile when she reluctantly drops the conversation and follows a few minutes later.

The mattress shifts underneath me. I wake in a silent rush as Camilla whimpers in her sleep. She jerks and tucks herself tighter into the fetal position. Staying as still as possible, I say her name.

Her broken, whispered stop, please flays me alive.

“It’s just a dream, Camilla. You are safe. I am here.”

Her entire body trembles and her white knuckles gleam in the light from the bathroom as she fists the blankets tighter around her.

When she twitches in response to my voice, I gentle my tone as though speaking to my daughter.

“I am sorry my brother hurt you. I cannot take the pain away, but I can stay by your side and protect you for the rest of your life,” I promise.

She relaxes and takes a shivering breath.

“You are mine now, so?lnyshka . No one will ever hurt you again,” I vow.

She sighs and slips into peaceful sleep, and even though she isn’t conscious of my words, my soul lifts at her show of trust.

As I take a few calming breaths, my worry for my children worms through my defenses. They were always so bright and full of energy before Anastasia grew sick, but after her death, they became withdrawn and mere shadows of themselves.

Camilla could shine light back into their lives. Despite her trauma—or maybe because of it—she has a backbone of steel, enough caution to keep them safe, and wisdom beyond her years.

With visions of Zoya smiling and giggling with Camilla floating through my imagination, I fall into a much deeper sleep than I intend.

I wake to the bathroom door closing. After feigning sleep and extending my senses to the far corners of the room, I open my eyes and confirm no one lurks in the shadows before slipping to the window and peeking through the curtain.

A few cars pepper the parking lot, but since it’s almost midnight, I expect new additions. They’re all parked on the other side of the lot, the man behind the counter honoring the money I gave him to keep us isolated.

Greed is not an American-specific trait. Organizations around the globe work on greed. It is a useful tool.

Camilla emerges from the bathroom with her hair tied back. A different body spray precedes her into the room.

The subtle mix of lavender and vanilla is nothing like the fruity blend from before, but it still suits her.

“We need to talk,” she says.

Her bravery nearly brings me to my knees.

“Da, we will eat while we do so,” I respond.

She hesitates in the doorway before reluctantly nodding and heading toward the refrigerator. As she rifles through the choices, she speaks, using the mission I gave her as a shield.

“I’m sure my brother will ask you all the pertinent questions—how long you’ve been in America, how you know it’s your brother who attacked me, and why it took so long for you to get here—but I only want to know one thing,” she says.

Despite the emotions roaring through her, she peels the metal lid off a microwavable soup and sticks it in to warm with graceful movements.

“Are you going to kill him?”

I wait until she looks over her shoulder at me.

“His name is Feliks, and yes, I will kill him,” I say.

She nods and turns back to the microwave as it counts down. When it beeps and she reaches inside without thought, I dart across the room, grabbing a few napkins on the way, and stick them between her hand and the container before she burns herself.

My arm brushes against hers, but the moment she accepts the napkins, I retreat across the room.

For several extended moments, she stares at the napkins in her hand, but then she blinks and acts as though nothing happened.

I position the chair in front of the table and wedge myself into the corner beside the door to give her room to skirt around the bed. She carefully balances the soup in one hand and a water bottle in the other and places them on the table before turning the chair so the back faces the wall.

I gather a few items and sit on the bed far enough away to appease her, but still closer to the door.

“I will kill all the others, too,” I vow.

She pauses with her soup halfway to her mouth. The color drains from her face and her pupils shrink, but after searching my eyes, she places her soup on the table and leans back in the chair.

“Who else will you kill?” she asks.

I don’t understand the fear in her eyes.

“Everyone involved in Feliks’s schemes. The men who hurt you, the soldiers who attacked Nico Russo, and every idiot who accepted money from the weasel,” I say.

Relief relaxes her expression. She nods.

I pop a potato chip into my mouth and nearly spit it out for how salty it is.

“How did you know to follow the man to the garden?” she asks.

I chew and swallow before answering her.

“You could say my intuition led me to his favorite bar, but I didn’t go there specifically for him. I overheard him in an alley,” I say.

She picks up her soup but rolls it between her palms instead of drinking it.

“Did your brother send him?” she asks.

“No,” I say.

She sighs, nods, sets her soup down and takes a bite of cracker before saying, “I didn’t think so. There’s no reason for him to—”

“He will send men after you soon,” I interrupt.

She scoffs and says, “Why would your brother come after me again? He already destroyed me.”

“You are not destroyed, so?lnyshka . He will blame you for his failure.”

All expression drains from her face as she studies mine.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“Instead of breaking apart the Vivaldi family and ruining their ties with the Russos, you brought them together and made his enemies stronger. He will be angry.”

Her shoulders stiffen and she chews as though her mouth is full of ash.

I toss my uninteresting foods onto the television ledge, prop my elbows on my knees, and meet her eyes, ensuring I have her full attention.

“I will protect you. You will marry me,” I demand.

After choking down her bite and chasing it with a few gulps of water, she shakes her head and coughs.

“No. I will not marry you. I won’t marry anyone. Ever,” she declares.

“You will,” I assure her.

She huffs and slams her water bottle onto the table and stands.

“No, I won’t. I’m not marriage material anymore, so stop talking like an idiot,” she snarls.

I catch her wrist before she can stalk past me but let go as soon as she freezes. She swings her eyes to mine, glances at her wrist, then lifts her glare back to my face.

“You will be my wife, Camilla,” I say.

After gritting her teeth and balling her hands into fists at her sides, she takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders to mine.

“They raped me, Dimitri.” Her voice breaks, but she clears her voice and continues with all the rage festering in her soul.

I can’t help but marvel at her beauty as my soul shatters for her.

“Brutally. Over and over and over until there was nothing left of me but a broken shell. I will never want another man to touch me ever again, yet you want me to marry you?”

“Da, Camilla, I do.”

My unwavering response shocks her into silence. She studies my face for signs of deceit, but there are none.

“Why?” she demands.

“I do not need physical intimacy from you, so?lnyshka ,” I say.

She steps back, gives me a once-over, and shakes her head.

“You’re lying. Every man—”

“I am not every man. I am Dimitri Volkov.”

“And Dimitri Volkov is obviously a man!” she exclaims.

The exasperation in her voice almost pulls a smile from me, but I curse my wayward cock as it pulses in my jeans and cross my arms over my chest so I don’t reach out to cup her face.

“That bandage I put on your cheek was from my wife. It was a gift to announce our first pregnancy. She died a year ago from leukemia. I will not dishonor her memory,” I say.

Dozens of emotions flit over her delicate features. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before opening them and pinning me in place with her almost black irises.

“I’m sorry for your loss, but I still won’t marry you. I’m tired, so I’m going back to sleep,” she declares.

When she skirts around me as though I don’t exist and disappears into her cocoon of blankets, I don’t push her any further.

My little sunbeam needs time alone to process my offer.

When I realize I have yet to mention my children, I stifle a sigh and rise to clean up after our lackluster meal.

If the mere mention of marriage sends her into a panic, then she isn’t ready to learn about the responsibilities that come with marrying me.

I don’t want to hide anything from her, but after only a day together, I’m desperate to know everything about her.

She’s an enigma. Broken yet strong. In pain but aware of others. Fiery and cold.

I need more of her. After her outbursts today—both when I offered her the driver’s seat and now when I mentioned marriage—I know without a doubt she’ll be a worthy partner.

Camilla Vivaldi will agree to marry me. For the sake of my kids and the honor of my family, I can be patient.

I swore I wouldn’t touch her unless she asked me to, but I never said I wouldn’t make her want me so badly she begs for it.

I just hope she doesn’t take too long, because my balls already ache.