Chapter 22 – Adrian
Jennie doesn’t let go of me.
Even when the car rolls into the estate and my men are already scrambling to assess, repair, and report, she clings to me like I’m the last tether to sanity. And maybe I am. Because she’s holding me, but I’m the one who can’t breathe without her anymore.
She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask questions. Just wraps her arms tighter as I carry her through the doors and straight to our room.
I don’t hand her off to anyone. I don’t pause to give orders. Zalar and Kaz handle everything else because right now, this is all I care about.
Once we’re inside, I lock the door.
She’s trembling.
It’s slight, barely noticeable if you’re not paying attention. But I am. I’m fucking attuned to every blink, every uneven breath, every flinch when the wind shifts too suddenly.
I lead her into the bathroom and flick on the lights. My hands work on autopilot, adjusting the temperature, pouring bath salts into the running water, letting the steam fill the air. The scent of lavender curls up, warm and soft.
She stands there in silence, eyes following me. Her lips are pale. Her skin—marked. Cut. Bruised.
My heart clenches.
I turn to her slowly and reach out. “Let me take care of you,” I say, voice low, trying not to let the anger shake it apart.
She nods. Barely. But it’s enough.
I undress her like she’s breakable porcelain, my hands reverent and slow. I peel the ruined fabric away from her, each piece of clothing a reminder of what I almost lost. Her body is littered with bruises—some fresh, others faded—and I kiss every single one.
Her shoulder. Her hip. The side of her ribs where the skin is swollen. My lips press to each mark like I can erase them. Like I can absorb the damage and burn it into myself instead.
She lets me.
God, she lets me.
When I slide her into the bath, she sinks in with a soft sigh, like her bones are made of exhaustion.
I kneel beside the tub, rolling my sleeves up, and bathe her—rinsing her hair gently, trailing my hands down her arms and over her legs, careful not to touch anything too rough.
She never says a word, but her eyes stay locked on me the entire time.
Mine can’t stop moving. From her jaw to her lashes. Her collarbone. The bruises. The way her fingers twitch like she’s still scared it’s all a dream.
I can’t tell if I want to scream or cry or punch something again. I’m relieved. I’m raging. I’m goddamn happy.
It’s all crashing into me at once, and it’s giving me whiplash.
She reaches up and brushes her fingers against my cheek.
“You’re here,” she whispers.
I catch her hand, press it to my lips, and nod. “I’ll always be here.”
Even if I have to kill the whole fucking world to keep her safe.
Once I finish rinsing the last of the soap from her skin, I pull the stopper and let the water drain slowly around her. She’s quieter now, less rigid. Her eyes have softened, and her breathing is steadier, but I can still see the shadows in her gaze.
I reach for a fresh towel and wrap it around her gently. She doesn’t resist as I lift her out of the tub, holding her close to my chest, pressing a kiss into her damp hair.
“You’re safe now, printsessa,” I whisper against her temple. “Nothing will touch you again. I swear it.”
She rests her head against my shoulder. I dry her slowly, not rushing, not letting go. It’s not just about cleaning her—it’s about holding her together.
I dress her in one of my softest T-shirts, letting it fall over her thighs. It dwarfs her, but it smells like me, and I know that comforts her more than she’ll admit.
When I carry her to bed, she curls into me like it’s instinct. I pull the covers over us and tuck her in beside me. One arm around her waist. Her head on my chest. My other hand brushes through her hair, over and over again, until I feel the last of the tension in her spine melt away.
She looks up at me through damp lashes. “I still feel like I’m in a nightmare.”
“You’re not,” I murmur. I kiss the tip of her nose. “You’re here. With me. And no one will ever take you away again.”
She presses a soft kiss to my jaw. “Don’t let go, okay?”
“Never,” I vow. I pull her closer and press my lips to her forehead.
We lie there in the quiet dark. Her breathing evens out, and I keep talking to her. Whispering to her.
“Moya milaya…moya zhizn…moya sud’ba….” My sweet one…my life…my fate….
I speak in Russian because it’s the only language that feels soft enough to hold how much I love her. I whisper things I’ve never said out loud to anyone else.
“Ya budu zdes’ vsegda.” I will always be here.
She giggles softly, her voice warm and sleepy against my chest. “What are you saying? What does it mean?”
I smile into her hair. “Words I’ll never be able to explain in English,” I murmur. “Not the way I mean them. Russian feels closer to the truth.”
She lifts her face, still smiling, eyes shining with something that looks like peace. “Tell me again?”
I run my knuckles gently along her jaw. “Moya zhizn’…moya sud’ba….”
She lets out a breath, soft and full of something tender. Then she curls deeper into me, like she wants to disappear inside my skin. My arms wrap tighter around her without thinking.
I press a kiss to her temple. “You need food before you sleep,” I whisper.
She groans. “No. Sleep. I just want to sleep.”
“You need water, at least.” I nod toward the nightstand. “It’s right there.”
She pouts. “You’re bossy.”
“You’re stubborn.”
Still grumbling, she reaches for the glass and takes a few sips before setting it down again. “Happy?” Then, realizing she’s thirty, she gulps down the rest. “Actually, you’re right. I needed that.”
I laugh and tug her back into my arms. “Now come here.”
She doesn’t hesitate. Her body molds into mine like we’ve done this a thousand times. Like we belong this way.
“Thank you, Adrian,” she murmurs, her voice heavy with sleep.
“I’ll do it a million times again,” I promise. I kiss her forehead, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. “I swear it.”
She doesn’t reply—not with words, anyway. Just a sigh as she pulls me closer, tighter, until sleep takes her under.
And I stay awake a little longer, holding the only thing in this world I’ll never let go.
I don’t even realize when sleep takes me. One second, I’m holding her—wrapped around her like a shield—and the next, everything goes quiet.
No nightmares.
No old ghosts clawing at my chest.
Just…silence. And warmth.
For the first time in years, I sleep. Deep. Undisturbed. Peaceful.
***
When I wake up, I feel her before I see her. Her fingers brush lightly over my jaw, the edge of my beard. She’s close, watching me with this strange, soft look on her face. Her eyes are tired but clear. Her body is still pressed into mine, tucked under my arm like she never left.
“You were sleeping so peacefully,” she whispers, almost like she doesn’t want to wake me. “I didn’t want to move.”
I blink a few times, trying to shake the heaviness from my limbs. “How long have you been watching me?”
She shrugs, smiling faintly. “A while. You looked…calm. I didn’t know you could look like that.”
I turn toward her, tightening my arm around her waist. “I didn’t know I could either.”
She furrows her brows a little, like she doesn’t quite understand.
I swallow hard. The words are uncomfortable in my throat—raw, real—but I don’t hold them back. Not with her. “I haven’t had a calm, dreamless sleep in years. Maybe not since I was a kid.”
Her expression shifts. Softens.
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “But last night…you were holding on to me. Like you needed me. Like I wasn’t a monster. And I slept like a man who wasn’t haunted.”
She exhales slowly, and I feel her chest rise against mine. “So, it was me?”
I nod. “It’s you. It’s always been you.” My voice drops as I press my forehead against hers. “You quiet the chaos in my head. You make everything else stop.”
She’s silent for a long moment, and then she whispers, “I don’t think you’re a monster.”
I let out a breath. Her saying that—it’s everything. It’s too much. It’s not enough.
“I’m not asking you to forgive everything,” I murmur. “But I want you to know…you’re the only thing in my life that feels right. That’s ever felt right.”
Her hand finds mine under the sheets, her fingers lacing through mine slowly, deliberately. “Then don’t let go,” she says.
“Never,” I promise.
She stretches like a cat, nuzzling into my chest, then suddenly grins.
“I’m hungry,” she says, and before I can respond, she’s tossing the blanket aside and bounding out of bed like she hasn’t just been through hell.
I blink. “Jennie—”
Too late.
She’s already halfway out of the room, barefoot and laughing, wearing nothing but my shirt—and not a damn thing under it. I groan and scrub a hand over my face. “She’s going to make me kill someone today.”
I grab the nearest jacket and sweatpants, throwing them over my shoulder as I hurry out after her.
Just as I’m rounding the hallway, Zalar steps into view like he’s been waiting. He takes one look at me and nods. “Kaz and Lukin are in your study. They want to see you.”
Of course, they are.
Of course, they do.
“Tell them I’m on my way,” I mutter, already brushing past him.
I need to find Jennie before someone else gets an eyeful and I end up murdering one of my own men.
I find her in the kitchen, barefoot and radiant, chatting with the cook like she has no care in the world.
The cook sees me first—her eyes go wide and she bows slightly.
I ignore her completely, my focus locked on the chaos that is Jennie.
She turns, grinning like sunshine, and before I can say a word, she bounces up and kisses me on the lips. Quick. Sweet. Dangerous.
I grab her waist, pull her flush against me, and land a light smack on her ass. She yelps, laughing, and swats my chest.
“Adrian!”
“You’re going to kill me,” I murmur against her mouth, handing her the sweatpants. “Put these on before I murder one of my staff.”
She pouts but steps into them anyway, cinching the drawstring while I help her into my jacket.
“This is too big,” she complains, tugging at the sleeves.
“It’s mine,” I say, adjusting the collar. “You’ll live.”
She crosses her arms but doesn’t argue. I kiss her forehead.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes. Stay here, eat something, and behave.”
“Define behave,” she teases.
I shake my head, biting back a smile. “Jennie….”
“Fine, fine,” she sings, stealing one more kiss before I finally pull myself away.
I turn on my heel and head for the study—where Kaz and Lukin are waiting to probably ruin whatever peace I’ve managed to steal today. Hopefully not.
I walk into the study to find them already deep in conversation, voices low, faces serious—until they see me.
Kaz rolls his eyes dramatically. “Oh, look who finally decided to show up. Thank you so much for leaving all the work to us yesterday. We really appreciated the extra fifteen-hour shift.”
I shut the door behind me. “Shut up, Kaz. You’ll understand when you finally get a woman.”
Kaz scoffs, leaning back in his chair. “I’m never getting one of those. Too much trouble. Too many feelings. You’ve gone soft, man.”
“I’ve gone sane,” I correct, heading to the liquor cabinet to pour myself a glass of water. “You’d lose your damn mind if you ever fell in love.”
Kaz narrows his eyes. “You’ve already lost your mind. You should step down and let someone else lead.”
I shoot him a look. “Say that again, and you’ll be taking your meetings from a hospital bed.”
Kaz smirks. “Fucker, I’m not one of your henchmen, I’ll fuck you up so bad, Jennie will scream when she sets eyes on you.”
Lukin raises his hands like a referee breaking up a fight. “Boys. Boys. Please. I don’t have all the time in the world. I have a son to go home to. He’s expecting a trip to the park today, not a father buried in Bratva drama.”
Kaz and I stay silent, glaring daggers at each other.
Lukin lowers his hands with an exasperated sigh. “Good. Now that you’ve both stopped acting like twelve-year-olds….”
Kaz smirks but leans forward, finally focused.
Lukin turns to me, voice shifting into something heavier. “Logan’s been released. Officially cleared of all charges. We’ve made sure his name is clean—at least in the systems that matter.”
I nod, jaw tight. That’s one less weight on my chest. “Good.”
“But,” Lukin adds, giving me a look, “Jennie’s name is out there now. She’s no longer just the girl you stalked and married. She’s Adrian Rusnak’s wife. People in Bratva circles are talking. That makes her a high-value target.”
My grip tightens around the armrest, my voice low and sharp. “Anyone who even thinks of touching her will die.”
“I’m not warning you because I think you’ll fail,” Lukin says, leaning back in his chair. “I’m warning you because the more noise she makes—by being yours, by surviving this—the louder her name becomes. You need to be ahead of the threat, not just ready to answer it.”
I nod slowly. “I don’t react. I anticipate. Jennie’s mine. And I know how to protect what’s mine.”
Kaz whistles. “Damn. That poor girl doesn’t even stand a chance of breathing without your permission.”
“She breathes because of me,” I growl.
“Touché,” Kaz chuckles.
Lukin studies me for a moment, then nods in approval. “Good. Because from here on out, things only get more complicated.”
“Let them bring it on.”