Chapter Thirteen
Octavio
" Dios , Faith," I whisper, pressing a kiss to her throat before I pull her into my arms and climb from the bed. She wraps around me like a koala bear, clinging as I carry her into the bathroom to clean her up. I hold her close while the shower warms, unable to put her down.
She doesn't seem to mind.
"Lift up, angel," I murmur and then wait until she obeys so I can pull her panties down her legs and toss them away. I thought keeping them on her would give me a little control. But who am I kidding? I've had none since she walked into my life. All she had to do was moan my name in her sleep, and I was rock-hard, desperate for her.
Once the water heats, I kick my boxers the rest of the way off and step into the shower, ignoring the way my cock bobs insistently, ready for more. She hums in contentment as the spray beats down on us, washing my cum from her body. Part of me wants to put it right back, keep it on her skin so everyone knows I'd kill for her. The other part is still reeling over what just happened between us. I didn't mean it to go that far, but I don’t regret that it did.
She wasn't afraid or timid or ashamed, but curious, eager…and so goddamn good I'm still shaking. I wanted to ease her into sexual play, give her pleasure without taking any for myself, but I couldn't deny her. When she flicked her tongue against the head of my cock and then sucked me into her hot little mouth, I lost it.
"You're going to ruin me," I whisper, pushing her hair back from her face so I can see her.
Her lashes flutter, her honey eyes opening. She gives me a shy smile, her cheeks flushed. Her expression is so soft and open, so happy . Dios , she's exquisite when she's happy.
"Can we do that again?" she asks.
A surprised bark of laughter leaves my lips. "Yeah, little bunny, we can definitely do that again."
"Okay."
I set her on the built-in shower seat and grab a loofah and my body wash. I wash her gently, my heart welling with pride when she cuddles into me, letting me soap her up. There's no hesitation, no fear as I run my hands all over her. I love everything about that.
"How are you feeling?" I ask, kneeling to soap her legs. The mass of circular burns on her thighs snags my attention. Seeing the pink and white scars on her gorgeous body sends murderous fury pumping through me. I've never hurt a woman, but if I ever see her mother, I might just wrap my fingers around her neck and strangle her for what she did to Faith. No child should ever be mistreated.
"Good," she mumbles, jerking when I lean forward and press my lips to one of the burns. She doesn't pull away or ask me to stop, though. Instead, she lifts a hand, placing it on the back of my head. "Hungry."
"I'll feed you once we're finished in here," I promise, kissing all along her thighs. Before I get carried away and wrap them around my head to get a taste of her, I pull back and finish washing her up. Her skin flushes as I clean between her legs, but she doesn't stop me or shy away. "I love that you aren't afraid of me anymore. Being able to touch you without you pulling away is addicting."
Her face scrunches up. "I was never afraid of you, Octavio."
"No?"
She shakes her head, adamant. "I've never felt anything less than safe with you. I pulled away because…" She huffs a breath. "I pulled away because I didn't want to get close to you."
"Why not?"
"I didn't want to get you hurt," she whispers. The tip of her tongue peeks out, sweeping across her bottom lip again. Her eyes fill with pain. "I tried to run away a few times after Nikolai first kidnapped me. He and Ivan always found me before I even made it out of their territory. They…they hurt other people to punish me. They would torture them and m-make me watch." Two tears spill over, sliding down her cheeks. "They hurt so many people because of me."
I climb to my feet, pulling her back into my arms as she cries. The soft sound tears at my heart, grief and rage swirling through me. She was just a kid, and they tormented her. Dios . How could anyone do that to her?
"There was this one elderly lady who lived next door to Nikolai," she whispers through her tears. "She would sneak me treats when he wasn't around. The last time I tried to run away, Ivan found me. H-h-he tied me t-to a c-chair and made me…m- made me watch as he b-broke her hands with a hammer. She d-didn't deserve it. None of them d-did. I stopped trying to run away." Her entire body shakes as she sobs. "They st-still h-h-hurt people."
"Ah, Faith." I hold her tighter as she falls apart in my arms, sobbing so hard my heart bleeds for her. Rage swirls through me in a massive cloud. I plant my feet and lock my legs in place to resist the overwhelming urge to seek out every motherfucker who hurt her. I want to destroy them, not simply put them behind bars or on a plane out of the United States, but murder and maim. Leave them howling for the mercy they never showed her.
There won't be any for them either. They don't fucking deserve it.
"I don't want them to hurt you," she cries, pushing her body so close to mine it's as if she's trying to fuse us into one being. "Please."
"Angel." I disentangle her arms from around me, guiding her with a firm hand beneath her jaw until she's looking up at me. Even though her honey eyes are red-rimmed and filled with pain, her face ravaged by tears, she's beautiful. Something I know I'll protect at all costs, against any threat. "You're mine now," I promise her, brushing tears from her cheeks. "No one is going to hurt me. And no one will ever hurt you again, either. I'll kill anyone who tries. Understand?"
She takes a shuddering breath, her chest heaving and that full bottom lip quivering, and then she nods.
I press my lips to her forehead, both eyes, and her cheeks before touching my mouth to hers in a soft kiss. "You're safe now, little bunny. With me, you will always be safe."
She nods again and then rests her head against mine. I hold her, rubbing her back until the water begins to cool. I reluctantly release her and wash up quickly before turning it off and running a towel over my body. Once I'm more or less dry, I wrap her in a fluffy towel and carry her back into the bedroom.
"Can I have a hoodie instead?" she asks when I start to dress her in one of my T-shirts. "I'm cold."
"You can have whatever you want." I grab one of my UCLA hoodies from the drawer and help her pull it on over her head. It swallows her. Something settles inside my chest, warming me at the sight of her in my hoodie. "I like seeing you in my clothes," I mutter, pulling on a pair of boxers and a T-shirt to hide my quickly growing erection. "You can wear my hoodies anytime, angel."
"Did you go to UCLA?" she asks, watching me as I slide a pair of socks on her feet, stopping to kiss the knot on top of her right foot.
I hate that her mother and the Bratva left physical reminders of their torment all over her body. Not because the scars make her any less than perfect but because she shouldn't have to spend the rest of her life remembering how she got each and every mark. One way or another, I'm going to make sure Tarasova and his men pay for everything they did to her.
"I did," I murmur, climbing to my feet to pull her back into my arms. Once she locks her arms around my neck, I carry her to the kitchen. She doesn't complain or ask me to put her down, which I love. She feels good in my arms, like that's where she's supposed to be. I reluctantly hit the lights and set her on the counter.
Her face scrunches up again like she's thinking. "What did you study?"
"Criminal Justice. What do you want to eat, conejita ?" I pull the fridge open and peek inside.
"I don't care."
"Angel."
She huffs at me, which makes me smile again. She's cute when she's annoyed. I love that she doesn't hesitate to let me know when I'm pissing her off. The fact that she feels safe enough with me to be herself makes me feel like a king.
"Can I have toast with peanut butter and bananas?" she asks.
I grab the milk out of the fridge and set it beside her before grabbing the peanut butter, bread, and bananas out of the pantry. "Have you thought about what you want to do when all of this is over?" I ask, slicing bananas to put on her toast. "You want to go to college?"
"I'd have to get my GED first."
"We can make that happen."
She shifts around but doesn't say anything.
I glance up to find her frowning, her expression uneasy. "What's wrong?"
"Maybe I shouldn't make plans yet," she whispers.
I set the knife down and step in front of her, forcing her to look at me. "They're not getting you back, Faith. There's not a chance in hell I'll let them take you back there."
"I don't know where I'll be once they stop looking for me." Her lip quirks into a sad smile, her gaze sliding away from mine.
My first instinct is to tell her that she'll be here with me, but I stop myself. I keep telling myself that I can’t let her go, that I’ll cage her to keep her, but…if freedom is what she really wants, can I really force her to stay?
The answer to that question fucking kills me, but it’s the only answer. If giving her what she wants means letting her leave me…it'll kill me, but I'll do it. She comes first now. I think maybe she has since the day she flung herself into my arms and let me hold her while she broke down. I don't know how I'm supposed to let her go. I won’t survive it. But if it’s what she wants…I’ll let her go with a goddamn smile on my face. I have no choice.
More than anything, she deserves someone to love her enough to put her first. I intend to be that man, even if it fucking kills me. And Cristo, I'm pretty sure it just might.
"You don't have to decide anything right now," I murmur, ignoring the stab of pain the thought of her leaving sends directly into my heart. "But if you want to get your GED, we can start working on it now. If there's something you want, something you need, all you have to do is tell me what it is."
"Okay," she whispers, then jumps when the toaster goes off.
"Hey. It's just the toaster." I run a hand down her arm to soothe her before turning to slather our toast with peanut butter and then line it with banana slices. Once they're assembled, I hand her the plate and take a bite. It's…not as bad as I thought it would be. "This is good."
She smiles at me, her honey eyes soft. "It used to be my favorite snack. My dad would have the cook make it for us sometimes."
I pause, my toast halfway to my mouth. "Your dad had a cook?"
"Yeah, well, at least I think she was a cook." Her face scrunches up again, her brows crinkled. "I don't remember her very well. She was nice to me, though, and she always smelled like sugar."
Maybe we've been looking in the wrong places for her father. We assumed he was involved with the cartels, too. But maybe we were wrong about that, and we need to start looking outside of cartel territory. Far outside.
"Did you always live in Tarasova’s territory?" I ask as Faith is finishing up her toast.
She shakes her head. "No. We lived there until my mom married Alexei, and then we moved. He didn't like living with them. I don't know why, though. He’s no better than they are."
"What did he do for Tarasova?" I pour milk into a glass for her.
"He was an accountant. He kept up with their books." She finishes her toast and reaches for the glass, downing half the milk before she puts it down again. "That's how he was able to get away with stealing so much money from them. They didn't realize he was changing the numbers until after he and my mom skipped town."
I file that away with everything else she's told me about her parents.
"Have you thought about what the doctor said?" I ask her. We haven't talked about it, but if the surgeries will help ensure she isn't in pain, I want her to have them if it’s what she wants.
"I have, but I'm not sure what I want to do yet." She bites her lip. "I've never had surgery before. What if it makes things worse instead of better?"
"What if it makes them better?" I ask instead of making her a promise I might not be able to keep.
Her brows furrow as she nibbles on her toast.
"Think about it, angel. You don't have to decide anything now. If you don't want to have them now, then don't. But don't let fear keep you from doing something that might help you, all right?"
"Okay," she whispers.
"I have something to tell you," I murmur once she's finished eating, carrying our plates to the sink.
"What?" she asks.
"Do you remember what you told Finn about Mikhail Marozava the other day?" I turn to her, leaning back against the counter across from her. "About the two people you think he killed?"
She nods.
"We're pretty sure you were right about it." I hesitate, not sure how she's going to take the news about Marozava, especially after everything she told me tonight. "Sure enough that I arrested him in connection with the murders."
She processes that for a moment, her gaze clouding for a brief moment before it clears. "That's good, right?"
"He's not going to stand trial, Faith."
Her mouth opens and then closes like she's trying to find words. Fear clouds her eyes. She visibly shrinks in on herself. "Then he's free?"
"Not quite. At least not yet." I push away from the counter, moving toward her. "He's being deported back to Russia."
"Oh." She tips her head back to meet my gaze, a frown overtaking her face. "I don't understand. Why isn't he going to prison?"
"Because we don't have the evidence to charge him with the murders," I admit. "He was seen in the area, but there's no direct evidence to link him to the scene or to the victims. All we have is the conversation you overheard and a gut feeling. We would have had to cut him loose after questioning, at least until sufficient evidence could be found, and that wasn't a risk we wanted to take."
"But you had enough evidence to deport him?"
"No." I exhale a breath, telling her the parts I'm not sure she's going to like. "He's being deported for his involvement with the Bratva. They're under investigation for human trafficking, conejita . Because of what they did to you."
She blinks rapidly, her mouth opening and then closing. Once, and then again.
"They held you against your will, forcing you to work for them without pay. You were tortured and abused. By definition, that makes you a slave. Our immigration law is written in such a way that allows for removal proceedings to be initiated against anyone who participates in drug or human trafficking."
She stares at me for a long time, not speaking. So many different emotions swirl through her eyes I can't pick them all out. What I do fnd feels like knives in my stomach, ripping into my guts. Even now, after weeks of being out from under their thumbs, she's still afraid. They're still hurting her.
"He'll come back," she mumbles, her face paling. She lifts a hand to her throat like she can't breathe. "As soon as he gets a chance, he'll come right back. He'll blame me for being deported. They all will."
"No, Faith," I whisper, grabbing her arms and shaking her gently. "He isn’t coming back. And no one is going to hurt you because of him.” I pull her into my chest, wrapping my arms around her.
"He got sent back to Russia because of me."
"No. He got sent back because of what he did to you. You were an innocent sixteen-year-old girl. They kidnapped you, held you against your will, and forced you to work for them for five years. They hurt you , little bunny. Even now, they still hurt you." I grind my teeth together, furious over that fact. "He's lucky he's being sent back instead of buried in a shallow grave like he deserves. Don't you dare feel sorry for him."
She tenses, pulling back. I reluctantly let her go, tipping my head down to see her gaping up at me.
"I don't feel sorry for him," she whispers, her voice seething with anger. "I hate him. I hate all of them." Her expression falls, misery sweeping in to take the place of anger. Her hand trembles as she reaches up to touch my face. "I don't want them to come for you. Don't you understand, Octavio? You're the only good thing in my life. I don't want them to take you from me like they've taken everything else. They can't hurt you because of me."
Somehow, my heart fills and breaks at the exact same second.
"They won't," I vow. How could they take me from her when I belong to her completely? Cristo, I have for weeks.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" I growl, taking a threatening step toward the man standing on my doorstep with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.
"I came to apologize to her," Sanders says, holding his hands up in the air as if to say he doesn't want to fight.
"And what makes you think she's here?" I ask, blocking the door with my body. There's not a chance in hell he's going to see her or say a word to her. Fuck that. He doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as her.
"Heard you pulled her detail," he says with a shrug. "Figured there were only so many reasons you would do that, and since you threatened me if I came near her again…well, I didn't graduate at the top of my class for nothing, Hernandez."
"And yet you came here hoping to find her anyway." I curl my hand around the doorframe, trying to prevent myself from grabbing him by the shirt and plowing my fist into his face. Faith's still in bed. She's been restless the past couple of nights, clinging to me and crying out in her sleep. Talking about Tarasova and what she went through, coupled with Remi Pledger breaking into Roman's a few days ago, has messed with her head. The last thing she needs right now is to see this pendejo on our doorstep. And I don't want him knowing she's here. I don't trust him.
"I just want to tell her that I'm sorry."
"I'll be sure to pass it on the next time I see her," I lie, cocking a brow at him. "You can go now."
He huffs, frustration flaring in his icy blue eyes. He scrubs a hand through his hair and then drops it back to his side. "Look, I fucked up, okay? I know that. I'm not asking for her forgiveness. I just want her to know that I regret what I did."
"Octavio?" she says from behind me.
" Mierda ," I mutter, my head falling forward. Now there's no hiding from him that she's here.
He cranes his neck, trying to see around me.
I study him for a moment, looking for any hint that he's here to cause problems. He stares back, his expression placid. I can't tell if he's bullshitting me or not. My gut says he is, but it's not really my choice to make. She should get to decide for herself if she wants to hear him out.
"If she agrees to see you, you say you're sorry, and that's it," I bark, pointing a finger at him. "If anything else leaves your lips, I'll break your jaw and then arrest you for trespassing. We clear?"
"Crystal."
"Wait here."
I push the door closed in his face, turning to Faith. She's standing in the living room, her hair still tangled around her where I had my hands in it last night. I still haven't made love to her, but every night, she lets me make her come before she passes out on top of me. She's in one of my LAPD hoodies, a pair of leggings underneath. She eyes me warily, her head cocked to the side.
"Come here." I hold a hand out to her.
She hesitates for a moment and then walks toward me, her steps almost silent. She slips her hand into mine a moment later, curling her fingers around mine.
"What is it?" she whispers, those honey eyes scanning across my face.
"Rick Sanders is here."
She jerks backward, her eyes going wide.
"He says he wants to apologize to you, angel." I tug her closer, sliding a hand around to cradle the back of her head and pull her toward me. "If you don't want to hear him out, I'll kick his ass off the property right now. But if you do want to hear what he has to say, I'll be right here with you the whole time."
"Is he coming in here?" She leans her head against my chest.
"Hell no. He'll stay on the front porch."
She thinks it over for a minute and then sighs. "Okay. I'll see him."
"You sure?"
"No," she mumbles into my chest. "But I have something to say to him."
"You're so brave." I tip her head forward to place a kiss on top of her head. "I'll be right here, okay?"
"Okay." She stays cuddled up against me for a moment and then pulls back. "Let's get this over with."
I reluctantly pull the front door open, keeping her partially obscured. He can see enough of her to say he's sorry. That'll have to be good enough because this is as close to her as he's going to get. "Say what you came to say," I growl at him when she cowers against my back. "Hurry up."
"Faith…Ms. Donovan, I apologize if my actions caused you any distress," Sanders says, not making a move to come any closer. Even then, I don't like the way he looks at her. His eyes darken as they sweep across her, his desire apparent. It sets my teeth on edge.
I move closer to her, putting more of my body between the two of them.
"I was drinking and acted like a jackass," he continues. "I'm truly sorry for what happened."
"Thank you," Faith whispers.
"Anything else?" I ask Sanders.
"No…I…no." He shakes his head.
"Faith?"
She doesn't say anything for a long moment, and then I feel her grip the back of my T-shirt, twisting the fabric in her hands like she's trying to draw strength from me. I reach behind my back with one hand, allowing her to slip her hand into mine. She squeezes my fingers, clinging to me like I'm a lifeline.
"What you did wasn't okay," she says a second later, her voice so soft it barely carries to him. "You tried to force yourself on me when all I wanted was to be left alone. It's not okay." She takes a breath. "And I think you're an asshole for doing it."
I bite back laughter when Sanders' expression turns sour, his jaw going slack like he can't believe she just called him an asshole. His face contorts, shock turning to anger before he's able to compose himself again, slamming a stoic mask into place. Even then, anger glints in the icy depths of his eyes, making it clear his apology isn't genuine. Whatever he's after, it's not her forgiveness.
"You're right," he mutters anyway. "I'm sorry."
"Anything else you want to say to him, angel?"
"No."
"Good. Get the fuck off my porch, Sanders, and don't come near her again." I step backward and slam the door, flipping the lock into place before I spin to face her. Her face is pale, her expression tight, but she doesn't cry. Pride courses through me in a strong current. "You okay, little bunny?"
She nods, her tongue sweeping along her bottom lip. She lifts her gaze to mine, frowning slightly. "No one has ever said sorry to me before for the things they did to me."
Dios , how is it possible for one woman to send my heart soaring in one breath and then break it in the next? I don't know, but she manages to do it without even trying.
"I don't want to forgive him," she admits, still frowning. "Is that wrong?"
"No. God, no, Faith. You're allowed to feel however you feel toward him. His apology doesn't wipe his actions away. It doesn't lessen the harm he caused you. Don't forgive him if you don't want to forgive him." I pull her toward me, cupping her cheek in my hand. "But don't let what he did change you. Don't let it harden your heart or make you fear trusting people. You're too good to give him that power over you."
"Okay," she agrees. She stares at me for a moment, her brows furrowing like she's deep in thought, and then her expression clears, her shoulders going back as resolve fills her honey eyes. "Stay right here. I have something for you." She pulls out of my arms and then hurries through the living room and down the hall.
I rearm the security system and lean against the wall, waiting for her to return.
She reappears a few seconds later, her notebook in her hands. She walks right up to me, stopping when we're no more than a few inches apart. "I thought writing all of this would be easier than telling you out loud what they did to me." She takes a deep breath and then holds the notebook out to me. "I want to tell you everything, but I think you should have this anyway."
"Why, conejita ?" I ask, looking between her and the notebook.
"Because I don't want to be afraid anymore," she whispers, holding my gaze. "I don't want to give them that power." She shrugs a shoulder. "I want to be the person you see when you look at me, the brave one who fights back and stands up when it matters. I think it matters now."
"Faith–"
"You said I'm safe, and I believe you, but other people aren't safe because of them and the things they do. If I can help you put a stop to that, I want to do it, Octavio. If Agent Sanders can do the right thing by coming here to face me, I think I need to be brave enough to do the right thing, too. If you have to use me and what they did to me to bring them down, I want you to have what you need to ensure you bring them all down."
"You're sure?"
She nods, not looking away.
"Then that's what we'll do," I promise, taking the notebook from her hands and then tugging her forward until she's in my arms too. "But you don't have to tell me a damn thing about what they did to you until you're ready. We have time."
She tilts her head back to frown up at me. "I want to do this, Octavio."
"I know you do, but I also see the shame in your eyes, Faith." I brush her hair away from her face with one hand, smiling gently to let her know I understand. "You try so hard to hide it from me, but I see it there. When you no longer feel that shame, that's when you tell me."
She studies me for a moment, her frown deepening. "I don't understand you," she mumbles. "I offer to tell you everything, and you tell me no."
"I'm not saying no. I'm saying not yet," I explain gently. "Some part of you still doesn't trust me entirely. Some part of you still fears speaking those words out loud to me. Some part of you believes I'll turn away from you. When you no longer think that, that's when you tell me."
Her expression clears, steely resolve firming her chin. "You don't understand. You're the first person I've ever trusted, Octavio. You make me feel like I matter, and I've never mattered before. You're a good, honorable man. That's what I—" she hesitates for a split second "—admire about you."
"Then what is it? What are you so afraid of?"
She pulls away, pacing in a restless circle for a moment before she spins to face me again. "I still love my mom. Even though I know I shouldn't, I do. Even though she hurt me and then left me behind, even though I know she doesn't love me and probably doesn't even think about me, part of me still loves her."
"Angel–"
"I know where she is," she blurts, her eyes wide. "I've always known."
I blink, not sure I heard her correctly, and then tears and guilt well in her eyes, and I know I didn't mishear anything. All this time, she's known where her mom is. "Faith, conejita …"
"I already know what you're going to say," she whispers, wringing her hands together. "I don't blame you. I've said the same things to myself for five years. The things they did to me, the people they hurt to punish me…I could have told them where she was and made it stop, but I didn't. I wanted…I wanted…" She stumbles, trying to find words. But she doesn't have to say what she wanted. I already know.
"You wanted your mom to love you."
She deflates, her shoulders slumping. Tears spill down her cheeks as she nods miserably. "I know it was wrong, but part of me thought if I never told them where she was, maybe one day she'd forgive me for whatever I did to make her hate me so much. That's what I'm ashamed of, Octavio. That's my big secret. I wanted my mom to love me, so I spent five years in hell. I let them hurt other people. I could have stopped it. All I had to do was tell Nikolai where she was at. But I didn't. I didn't want her to die," she whispers. "I still don't want her to die."
"Ah, angel." I toss her notebook on the credenza and rush toward her, scooping her up in my arms. My throat burns. My heart bleeds, sending ripples into my stomach. She's lived with this burden for years, protecting a woman who has never deserved her affection. She's endured five years of torment to keep her mother safe. And all this time, she's held herself at fault for wanting what every child wants…to be loved by the people who gave them life.
"I'm sorry," she cries, collapsing into me. "I'm so sorry."
"You have nothing to be sorry for," I whisper, my voice rough with emotion. I pick her up and carry her back to our bedroom, murmuring to her as she weeps softly.
Once we're in bed, she buries her face in my shoulder, clinging like a koala bear again. I wrap my arms around her and hold her as she rids herself of the guilt and shame she's carried for far longer than she should have had to do so.
It takes her a long time to purge herself of it. My phone vibrates in my pocket several times, but I ignore it. Nothing is more important than the woman in my arms. One way or another, regardless of how long it takes or what I have to do to make her understand, she's going to learn that she's loved and wanted.
"Listen to me," I murmur when she finally cries herself out and simply lies in my arms, letting me hold her. "There is no shame in wanting to save your mother's life. There's no shame in wanting her love. You aren't responsible for what Tarasova or his men did."
"I am, though."
"No, Faith." I roll over, tipping her onto her back and propping myself on an elbow above her. Her face is splotchy, her eyes dull and so damn sad it breaks my heart all over again as she stares up at me, teeth imprints in her bottom lip. I tuck her hair behind her ear, tracing a finger down the trail of tears on her cheek. "You are not responsible for what they did to you or to anyone else. You were a kid, afraid for your mother's life. And even had you told them about your mom, I'm not so sure they would have let you go."
Her face scrunches up, her brows crinkling.
"I think they've been after something else this entire time."
"Like what?" she whispers, voice hoarse from crying.
I hesitate, not ready to tell her the suspicion that sprouted when she told me about her dad's cook. I need time to look into it, time to see if I'm right. "I'm not sure yet, but I intend to find out," I say instead. "Nikolai Tarasova is a wily little bastardo . He's always got a trick up his sleeve. It kills me that you've spent all this time living with guilt that doesn't belong to you. It belongs to him and the Bratva. It belongs to your mom and Alexei Palatov."
Doubt fills her gaze, but she nods slowly. It's not the certainty I want her to feel about this, but it's enough for now. One day soon, she's going to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she isn't at fault for what Tarasov did.
"Do you want to know where she's at?" she asks.
I stare down at her, my heart pulsing with emotion. I desperately want to know where her mother is so I can hunt her down and kill her slowly, but as I'm quickly coming to learn, nothing is more important to me than the woman in my arms. What she wants, what she needs comes first.
I'm not sure how it happened or when, but somewhere over the last few weeks, she stole my entire fucking soul. I've never been in love before. Hell, I'm not even sure how to be in love. But taking care of her is instinctive, automatic. It's not something I have to think about doing, it just is . Like she was always supposed to be mine.
Maybe there is a God, after all. I don't know what I did to deserve his trust with one of his angels, but I won't fail when it comes to protecting her. Seeing to her safety and happiness is my new mission in life…and I wasn't born to fail.
"I want what you want," I tell her. "If telling me will make you feel better, then you tell me. But if you don't want me to know, you don't owe me that answer."
She gives me her big secret without hesitation. "She's in Toronto, Canada."
And that's all the proof I need to know that she loves me, too. Even if she hasn't realized it yet or doesn't understand it…some part of her knows as instinctively as I do that she belongs with me.