Page 155 of The Devil's Thorn

The tattoo gun slowed, then stopped for a moment. He looked at the piece so far, then cleaned it gently. “You’re doing good,” he murmured.

I didn’t answer. My chest rose and fell steadily, heart pulsing beneath the outline he’d just carved into me. The red thread around the dagger. My mark. A beginning and an end all in one.

“We’re almost there,” he said.

I closed my eyes and let the weight of his words sink in as the buzz started again.

The buzz of the machine slowed to a hum before finally dying, and the sudden silence felt heavier than the sound ever did. My skin still tingled where the needle had kissed it, a subtle burn pulsing beneath the surface. I lay there, chest rising and falling, unsure if it was from the pain or the weight of everything Yuri had just said.

“Done,” he murmured, leaning back and wiping the ink with careful precision. “You did good, krasivaya. Barely flinched.”

I blinked, dragging my gaze up to meet his. “I don’t flinch.”

He smirked. “No, I guess you don’t.”

Yuri stood, reaching for a small mirror propped up on a nearby shelf. “Here,” he said, bringing it over. “Take a look at your war paint.”

I pushed myself up slowly, careful not to shift too much, and took the mirror from his hand. My breath caught.

There, etched between the swell of my breasts, was a dagger coiled in a single blood-red thread. Delicate, yet sharp. Elegant, but violent. The ink was still raw and slightly raised, the skin around it pink and irritated, but it was beautiful. Mine.

A promise. A warning.

“You like it?” he asked, watching me closely.

I set the mirror down and met his eyes. “I love it,” I said quietly.

He nodded once, serious now. “Keep it clean. No sun. No pool for at least a few days or it’ll get infected. And don’t pick at the scabs, no matter how bad it itches.”

I nodded, fingers ghosting over the gauze he carefully applied. “Got it.”

Yuri reached down, picked up my dress, and handed it to me. “You might want to put this on before your Bratva prince sees what I did. Not that it’ll save me from getting shot, but at least it buys me a few seconds to say goodbye.”

I let out a low laugh, shaking my head as I slid the dress back over my head, adjusting the neckline carefully over the new tattoo. “He won’t shoot you.”

“He might stab me. I’ve seen the look he gets when someone touches what he thinks is his.”

I paused, gaze flicking to his. “I’m not his.”

He grinned. “Doesn’t matter. He already thinks you are.”

I didn’t answer that. Because I didn’t know what I was either.

Yuri leaned against the doorway as I stepped past him. “Go on,” he said, flicking the now-empty bottle of rum into a nearby bin. “Before he tears my pretty face off.”

I rolled my eyes and walked out, the cool air of the hallway brushing over my skin as I headed back toward the pool. Every step I took felt different now. Like something had shifted beneath my skin. Not just the ink, but something deeper. Something alive.

The thread around the dagger burned gently beneath my dress as if reminding me it was there. As if it belonged there.

By the time I reached the wide glass doors leading to the pool, I spotted Rafael immediately.

He stood with his back to the water, dressed in black pants and a fitted white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The lights around the pool bathed him in gold and shadow. He wasn’t talking to anyone—just staring out at the water, drink in hand, his expression unreadable.

But the second his eyes found me, I felt it. His gaze dipped. Paused. Narrowed.

It was subtle, but I knew what he saw—what he hadn’t seen before. The way my dress dipped lower now. The fresh ink barely visible in the low light.

His jaw clenched, and I knew before I even reached him that he saw everything.