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I’ve never even heard the word before: Bratva. It doesn't take a genius to connect the two, to figure out that he’s telling me he’s part of the Russian mafia as well. But my brain rejects the idea. I shake my head and back away from him until I hit the cool tiles behind me.

“What?” But I heard every word clearly, and something deep inside me tells me it’s true. There were small signs the entire time that I chose to ignore. The opulence. The cars. His protectiveness.

“The Milov family is part of the Russian mafia. I didn’t realize another family was eyeing up the area and stepped on some toes. This was all about me. I put you in danger.”

I will never be able to get the image of him beating a man to death out of my mind. The blood, the sounds of bones breaking, the coldness of his eyes in that moment. Despite the heat of the shower, I start to shiver again, but when he reaches for me, I knock his hand away. My entire world is spinning.

“Are you telling me I’ve been working for the mafia?” I thought this was the best opportunity of my professional life, and in reality, I’ve been working for an illegal business. My head starts to spin, and I can’t catch my breath.

“Ella,” he says in that calm, steady voice. The one that I trusted. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I should have told you everything upfront. At first, I thought that you knew that Luka had explained everything to you before he hired you.”

I shake my head because no, he definitely didn’t, and also because I want to deny everything that’s happening right now. I don’t want to believe I uprooted my life for this. Don’t want to believe that I'd started falling for a man who was lying to me the entire time. A killer.

“He didn’t tell me anything. And neither did you.” My heart is racing. I can’t breathe. Can’t think.

The shower is stifling and too hot, making my head swim. I fumble with the glass door and push it open. Anton reaches for me, but I slap his hand away, and he doesn’t try again. I grab a towel and rush out of the bathroom into one of the bedrooms, shutting the door behind me and flipping the lock.

Then I slide down the door and collapse into a ball on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest and resting my head between them. I’m basically a criminal. I’ve been working for the mafia. A bubble of laughter escapes and even to my own ears, it sounds borderline hysterical. I’ve done everything by the book my entire life, so how did I end up here?

When the heat of the shower starts to fade, I drag myself to my feet and adjust my towel, realizing I have nothing to wear. The clothes I was wearing are spattered with blood, mostly from touching Anton.

I crack the door and peek my head out. He’s there, facing away from me, having a discussion over the phone in a terse, low voice. I can’t make out the words, and I probably don’t want to. As quietly as I think I’m being, he hears me and turns, ending his phone call.

“There you are,” he says, eyes softening. Part of me still wants to go to him. In the midst of all this chaos, chaos that he’s caused, my body still longs for his.

“I’m just looking for some clothes,” I say, denying my body’s urges as I pass him by and find a fluffy robe in the bathroom. “But I guess this is all I have.”

“They’re bringing our stuff over now.” He leans against the bathroom doorframe, and with the blood washed away, he looks like himself again.

He’s only wearing his towel, so I use the chance to check him over for any wounds. There’s a big, purpling bruise above his hip that makes me wince, and his knuckles are all split and an angry shade of red, but that’s the extent of it. Yet four men are dead. Who is he? I barely know him at all, I realize. And I was ready to give my heart to him.

“I want to go home,” I blurt out, not sure if I mean my new home or the one I left to take this job. There’s nothing there really—a dead-end job, a crappy apartment, a few acquaintances, but at least it’s not… this.

There’s a flicker of something across his face that I can’t quite place, or maybe I don’t want to, because it makes my heart ache. Then it’s gone, and he’s unreadable like usual.

He nods and runs a hand over his jaw. “We’ll fly back early tomorrow.”

Fear pulses through me at the thought of another night here. We’re in a different hotel, but still, I can’t imagine sleeping after everything that just happened, and with the knowledge that I’m basically in the middle of a crime ring now flooding my mind. Is there even a safe place anymore?

Like he can read my thoughts, he holds out his arms to me. I go to him because I can’t say no, and I’m still drawn to him despite all the alarm bells, red flags, and freaking sirens going off. He still feels warm, solid, and safe. Tension melts away when he holds me. Despite the wall I built, he found his way in, and now I have to find a way to shut him out all over again. But not today. Not right now.

I let him cradle my head in his hands and kiss his way across my cheek to my lips. “You’re safe with me, El.”

And I believe it because I watched him in action barely an hour ago, murder four guys with just a knife and a frightening amount of expertise. It wasn’t his first time in a situation like that. It won’t be the last.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I say, wrapping my arms behind his neck, standing on my tiptoes.

He sighs like his answer pains him. “I thought it was safer to keep you in the dark, totally uninvolved. Not knowing anything should’ve been safer.”

I’m not sure if he’s trying to convince me or himself. From the tortured look on his face, the one that makes me want to reach up and smooth the creases from his brow, I think it’s the latter.

“I deserved to know what I was getting into.” Anger creeps into my voice, born out of the fear still coiling in my stomach. It doesn’t matter if I’m safe right now , all I can think about is the moment the men broke into the room, the way they’d grabbed me, smothered my mouth so I couldn’t call for Anton. “I deserved to have a choice.”

He doesn’t deny it, only hangs his head so we’re brow to brow. The Anton holding me right now seems a world apart from the violent, murderous man I now know exists. Those gentle fingers that comb through my wet hair are the same ones that broke a man’s face. I don’t know how to accept both sides of him. I don’t know if anyone could.

“You did. I’m so fucking sorry, Ella. For lying to you. For putting you in a situation where you could get hurt. For not protecting you. I should’ve been there. Should’ve made sure you knew not to open the door for anyone. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”

His voice cracks with emotion, and it’s all I can do to stop myself from telling him it’s okay, even though it really isn’t. But I can’t bear to see him like this, either. Tomorrow, once we’re home, I’ll be strong again. I’ll rebuild the wall and create the space between us that needs to be there. For now, he needs me. And I need him.

It’s so obvious that he’s beating himself up that I can’t bring myself to pile on, no matter how much he deserves it. Instead, I take his hands and raise them, kissing each of his battered knuckles in turn.

“Let’s patch you up. You don’t want these to get infected.” I lead him into the kitchen and make him sit before searching the cabinets for a first aid kit.

I’m still on the edge of hysteria because the thought of what the first aid kit was likely intended for—skinned knees, paper cuts—and what I’m about to use it for—bandaging wounds incurred during a multiple homicide—triggers another bout of laughter.

He sits still while I clean and bandage him, not even flinching when I wipe the antibiotic over the raw skin. I’m just putting the last band-aid on when there’s a knock at the door. Panic hits me across the face. My heart skips three beats, and I grab the edge of the counter to keep from stumbling.

Anton gets to his feet at once, steadying me with ease. “It’s just the clothes.” He sets his hands on both of my shoulders and waits until I meet his eyes. “Okay? You’re safe. I’ll be right back.”

But I’m not letting him go. I can’t let him out of my sight for even a second because if I do, the fear that’s climbing my throat right now will suffocate me. His eyes search mine for a second and whatever he sees there makes him frown.

“Just hold on to me. We’ll go together.” Despite how absurd it is that I can’t let him walk the ten feet to the front door, he doesn’t mock me; he simply holds my hand and keeps me tucked behind him as he peers into the peephole. “It’s someone I know, so I’m going to open the door now.”

My fingers tighten around his until I know it must be painful, but I can’t let go because if I do, that pit of fear is going to swallow me. He opens the door just enough to take the bag, then locks it again and secures the chair back in its place beneath the door knob.

Only then can I breathe again. “Sorry,” I mumble, completely embarrassed now that the blood isn’t roaring in my ears. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“I do,” he says soothingly. “You just went through something really fucking traumatic, and you’re having a perfectly natural response. You couldn’t be handling it any better.”

Maybe he’s right, but it doesn’t make it any easier. I fish my clothes out of the bag and change in the bedroom before collapsing onto the bed. All I want is to sleep for a hundred years, long enough to wake up in an entirely different reality, one where Anton and I are just waking up from a perfect night together. How did it go from that toe-curling sex to this?

Anton lets himself in a few minutes later, probably after dealing with more mafia business. Mafia business. Like something out of a movie, but I’m stuck living it. He sets a bottle and two glasses down on the bedside table.

“A drink might help take the edge off,” he says, pouring two fingers' worth of whiskey into each glass before handing me one.

I scoot upright so my back is against the headboard and take it, downing half the glass in one swallow because he’s right, I can’t face this completely sober. He sits beside me, and I can’t stop staring at his bandaged fingers around the glass because they’re a stark reminder of who the man beside me really is.

We drink but don’t talk, and when I start to feel the buzz of alcohol numb the frisson of fear coursing through me, I lie down and let him curl around me. He’s so big he wraps me completely in a cocoon of muscle and that heady scent of his. It’s the last time I’ll feel this way. The last time I’ll let him hold me like this.

My palms are slick with sweat, and I’m careful to hold the paper only with my fingertips. The office is quiet. It’s still early, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Anton and I are the only ones here. I know he’s already here because he sent a car to pick me up from my apartment and bring me here, no longer trusting me to commute on my own.

I steel myself and knock on his office door.

“Come in,” he says, and my stomach twists because this will be the last time I hear him say that. The last time I see his face.

He’s handsome as ever, sitting at his desk, looking polished and clean-cut in his suit. Like a completely legitimate businessman and not at all a member of the mafia. No amount of alcohol could wash away the memory of that brutal fight in the hotel. I need to be far, far away from this life.

I set the paper down in front of him and take a step back, smoothing my hands over my skirt. He leans forward to read it, his eyes flicking quickly across the paper and his frown deepens with every line he reads.

“You want to resign?” He slides the paper back toward me in a refusal. “You don’t think I can keep you safe?”

“Please don’t argue,” I say, because I don’t know if my resolve is strong enough to take it. I don’t want to be apart from him. The thought alone tears me to pieces. “I can’t be involved in this world. It was… terrifying. I’ve never experienced anything like that. I’m not made for that life, Anton. For your life. Please, just let me go.”

He drops his head into his hands and the air between us is charged and heavy. After a long moment, he looks up. “If that’s really what you want.”

Is it? I don’t want to leave him. I want to crawl onto his lap and let him hold me forever. But the blood. The violence. A shudder runs down my spine.

“I have to.”

He nods, and something in me breaks just a little because I wasn’t ready for him to let me go. “If that’s what you want,” he repeats. “Just know, Ella, that you’ll always have a place here. With me.”

I squeeze my eyes shut before the tears can overrun them and spin on my heel, fleeing the room. Another moment there with him and I’d crumble, change my mind, and end up scared for my life and his all over again. I just know there’s no other choice.

“Ella,” he calls when I reach the door. “Take the car home, please.”

I don’t answer because my throat is choked with tears. But I do as he says.