Konstantin
The safe house is two hours outside the city, buried deep in the forest where the Bratva doesn't usually look.
I bought it three years ago under a name that doesn't exist, paid for with money I earned from jobs Leonid never knew the full value of. Insurance, I told myself. A way out if I ever needed one.
I never thought I'd need it for this. For her.
Emilia's been quiet since we left the city, her hand tight in mine as I drive through the darkness. The bruises on her throat are already forming, dark fingerprints that make rage burn hot in my chest.
I should've killed Troskoy when I had the chance. Should've put a bullet in his brain the moment I saw his hands on her.
But that would've been too quick. Too clean.
No, I want him to suffer. Want him to watch everything he built crumble before someone finally puts him down like the rabid dog he is.
"How much farther?" Emilia asks, her voice still rough.
"Ten minutes." I bring her hand to my lips, press a kiss to her knuckles. "There's food. Supplies. Everything we need to disappear for a while."
"How long is a while?"
"However long it takes for the dust to settle." I glance at her. "Troskoy's empire is burning. The files you released are all over the news. Every law enforcement agency in the US is mobilizing and Russia isn’t far behind. By morning, he'll be the most hunted man in the country."
"Good." She stares out the window at the passing trees. "But what about Leonid? What about the Vasilievs?"
That's the question, isn't it?
"I gave Leonid enough dirt on Troskoy to keep him distracted," I say. "The man's been stealing from the Reznikovs for years. Leonid won't let that slide."
"But will he let you slide?"
I'm quiet for a moment, considering my answer.
The truth is, I don't know. Leonid's a pragmatist. He values loyalty, but he values profit more. If he thinks I'm more useful alive than dead, he might let me walk. Might even thank me for exposing Troskoy's theft.
Or he might decide I'm too dangerous to leave breathing. A man who betrays the Bratva once will do it again, that's the conventional wisdom.
"I don't know," I finally admit. "But I know this: if Leonid comes for me, he'll have to go through you first. And I'm not letting that happen."
"So what's the plan? We hide here forever?"
"No." I turn off the main road onto a dirt path barely visible in the headlights. "We hide here until I can negotiate our exit. I have leverage. Information Leonid wants. If I play it right, we walk away clean."
"And if you can't play it right?"
"Then we disappear properly. New names. New country. New life." I glance at her again. "I have enough money stashed to keep us comfortable for years. Decades, if we're careful."
She's quiet, processing.
"You'd really do that?" she asks softly. "Give up everything? Your reputation, your power, your entire life?"
"Emilia." I pull the car to a stop in front of a small cabin, hidden among the trees. "I gave all that up the moment I decided to help you. The moment I looked at you and saw something worth more than anything the Bratva could offer."
I kill the engine, turn to face her fully.
"You asked me once why I was helping you. Why I'd risk everything for revenge that wasn't mine." I cup her face, careful of the bruises. "The truth is, it stopped being just about revenge the second night. It stopped being about Troskoy or the Bratva or any of it."
"Then what's it about?"
"You." The word comes out fierce. "It's about you, and the way you make me feel alive again. It's about waking up next to you and thinking maybe I'm not just a weapon. Maybe I'm still human. Maybe I deserve something good."
Tears shine in her eyes. "Konstantin..."
"I love you." I've never said those words to anyone. Never thought I'd mean them. "I love you, and I'm not letting anyone take you from me. Not Troskoy, not Leonid or the Vasiliev’s, not God himself."
She launches herself across the console, kissing me hard enough to bruise. I kiss her back just as fiercely, pouring six years of emptiness and three days of purpose into it.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"I love you too," she says against my mouth. "Even though you're dramatic as hell."
I laugh, surprised by the sound. "Says the woman who spent six years planning an elaborate revenge and landed on poisoning."
"Fair point." She grins, then winces, hand going to her throat.
The reminder of Troskoy's hands on her kills my amusement instantly.
"Let's get you inside," I say. "I have medical supplies. I'll take care of those bruises."
The cottage is small but well-stocked. I've kept it maintained over the years, just in case. Now I'm grateful for the paranoia that made me prepare for the worst.
I settle Emilia on the couch, then retrieve the first aid kit from the bathroom. When I return, she's looking around the space with curiosity.
"How long have you had this place?" she asks.
"Three years. Maybe four." I kneel in front of her, opening the kit. "Tilt your head back."
She does, exposing her throat. The bruises are worse in the light, dark and vicious against her pale skin.
Rage threatens to choke me.
"Konstantin." Her hand covers mine. "I'm okay."
"He had his hands on your throat." My voice comes out rough. "Another minute and..."
"But he didn't. You got there in time." She guides my hand to her pulse point. "Feel that? I'm alive. We both are."
I press my fingers against her pulse, feeling the steady beat. Alive. Safe. Mine.
I lean forward, press the gentlest kiss to the bruises. Then another. And another. Marking each place Troskoy touched with something softer. Something that says mine, not in violence but in worship.
Emilia's breath hitches.
"Does it hurt?" I ask.
"No." Her voice has gone breathless. "Feels good."
I look up at her, and the heat in her eyes nearly undoes me.
"We should rest," I say, even though rest is the last thing I want. "It's been a long day."
"I don't want to rest." She slides her fingers into my hair. "I want you."
"Emilia..."
"Konstantin." She tugs me closer. "We're alive. We're safe. We destroyed the man who took everything from me. And I want to celebrate that with you."
How can I say no to that?
I stand, pulling her with me, and lead her to the bedroom. It's sparse, functional, but the bed is large and the sheets are clean.
Good enough.
I turn to her, taking my time undressing her. Each button, each zipper, revealing more of her slowly. Savoring every inch of skin, every curve, every mark that makes her who she is.
The scar over her heart, courtesy of Troskoy's bullet. I trace it with my fingertips, then my lips.
"Beautiful," I murmur against her skin.
"It's a scar."
"It's proof you survived." I kiss it again. "Proof you're stronger than anything they tried to do to you."
She shudders beneath my touch.
I take my time with her, worshiping every inch. This isn't the desperate heat of our first night, when we were both running from something. This is different. Slower. More intense.
This is making love to the woman I'd burn the world for.
I lower Emilia onto the bed, her body yielding beneath mine as I follow her down, our skin brushing in ways that send sparks through every nerve.
She's naked now, all soft curves and fierce strength, her eyes locked on mine with a heat that matches the fire building inside me.
I kiss her slowly, deeply, tasting the salt of her skin and the sweetness of her lips.
My hands roam over her hips, her waist, pulling her closer until there's no space left between us.
Her fingers trace my tattoos, my scare, urging me on.
I oblige, trailing my mouth down her neck, careful over the bruises but hungry for the rest of her.
She arches into me, a soft gasp escaping as I reach her breasts, my tongue circling one nipple before I draw it into my mouth, sucking gently at first, then harder, feeling her body respond with a tremble that vibrates through us both.
Her hands find my belt, fumbling with the buckle in her eagerness, and I help her, shedding my clothes until I'm as bare as she is, my cock hard and leaking precum on her thigh.
She wraps her fingers around me, stroking with a rhythm that makes my breath hitch.
Her touch firm and knowing, like she's claiming me just as much as I'm claiming her.
I groan against her skin, shifting to settle between her legs, the heat of her core pressing against me, wet and inviting. I slide a hand down, fingers parting her folds to find her clit, circling it slowly, watching her face as pleasure flushes her cheeks and parts her lips in a silent moan.
She's so responsive, clenching around nothing yet, and I can't wait any longer. I guide myself to her entrance, pushing in inch by inch, savoring the tight warmth that envelops me, her inner walls gripping me like she never wants to let go.
We move together, slow at first, building a rhythm that's all about connection, every thrust deep and deliberate, hitting that spot inside her that makes her cry out my name.
She meets every movement, her hips rising to match mine, nails raking down my back in a way that sends pleasure-pain racing through me.
I pick up the pace, driven by the way she tightens around me.
Her moans grow louder, more urgent, until she's trembling on the edge.
My hand slips between us again, thumb pressing against her clit, rubbing in firm circles that push her over, her body convulsing around mine as she comes, waves of pleasure ripping through her.
It takes every ounce of my control not to follow her over.
“Roll over for me Emilia,” I ask. “Let me get deeper.”
I pull out of her, missing the grip her pussy had on me and she rolls over beneath me, lying flat on her stomach.
I slide in again, groaning with the restraint or the pleasure, I’m not sure. She leans up on her elbows, her back arching and I kiss and suckle her neck as I begin to slowly thrust into her again.
With every withdrawal of my cock, her pussy holds on tighter.
I clench my teeth, but my body takes over, gaining momentum and driving me to the edge.
She moans as I nip at her shoulder, and my balls tighten and electricity shoots up my spine.
I blow my load into her in jagged, stuttering thrusts, filling her until my cum leaks out between us.
We lie there afterward, tangled and breathless, her head on my chest as my fingers trace lazy patterns on her back.
This isn't just sex; it's us, raw and real, a promise that whatever comes next, we'll face it side by side.
She's my everything now, and I'd burn it all again just to keep her here, safe in my arms.
"What happens now?" she asks quietly.
"Now we wait." I press a kiss to her forehead. "I'll reach out to Leonid tomorrow. Feel out where he stands. If he's willing to let us walk, we negotiate terms. If not..."
"We run."
"We run." I tighten my arms around her. "But either way, we do it together."
She's quiet for a moment. Then: "I never thought I'd have this."
"Have what?"
"This. You. A future that's more than just revenge." She props herself up on one elbow, looking down at me. "Six years, Konstantin. Six years I spent planning how to destroy Troskoy. That was my entire existence. And now it's done, and I don't know who I am without that purpose."
I understand that better than she knows.
"You're Emilia Markova," I say. "Daughter of Alexander Markov. The woman who brought down Artur Troskoy. The woman who survived when she shouldn't have." I brush her hair back from her face. "And you're the woman I love. That's enough."
"Is it enough for you? Being just Konstantin, instead of the Reznikov's enforcer?"
"I don't know yet." I'm honest with her. Always honest. "But I'm willing to find out."
She smiles, and it's like sunrise after a long night. "Then let's find out together."