Chapter 4
LIZA
The first thing I notice is the ceiling. The water stain in the left corner is gone and instead of the dingy white-turned-gray I expect, it’s a rich cream color. And it’s high, so high, with moldings covered in that same glossy cream paint. This ceiling is not mine.
Neither are the soft sheets tangled around my legs, nor the heavy warm comforter. And even the faint sunlight sneaking around the curtains shouldn’t be there because on the other side of my apartment window is a tall brick building, too close to mine to allow light to reach.
I stretch, my body soaking in the luxury of the high-thread-count sheets and the way warmth lingers in the fabric. But then my brain finally reboots and with that comes the memories from the night before.
I’m in Danyl Kedrov’s bed.
My eyes widen. My pulse jumps. I bolt upright.
But the other half of the bed is empty. Neatly empty with sheets smooth like he never even tried to lie down.
He didn’t touch me.
Something tight and knotted inside me loosens by a fraction.
More memories assault my mind. The fear, the blade, the blood. And then the courthouse, where the vows we exchanged were more like a deal between two people than promises of devotion.
I press a palm to my forehead.
I’m married. To a man I barely know.
To a man whose family terrifies half the city.
He’s the only witness to me killing a man.
Bile rise in my mind when I think of the dead body, but I refuse to feel guilty for protecting myself. Instead, my mind spins with implications. Danyl could turn me into the police. Just because a spouse can’t be forced to witness against their partner, doesn’t mean they won’t do it.
He could do anything to me, and nobody would know.
I don’t have any family other than my dad.
Months can go by between our talks. Usually he contacts me when he needs something.
My friendships are more like acquaintanceships.
It’s hard to bond with someone when you’re always working and never can afford to go out.
And with that thought, a scent hits me, making my stomach growl.
Food. Real food.
Not coffee and toast, but something warm and savory, a scent I haven’t woken up to in years.
I slip out of bed. My legs wobble at first because I haven’t slept in a bed this soft in ages. I steady myself against the nightstand, then follow the smell down the stairs and through the living area we crossed last night to the other side of the entrance hall.
Danyl stands at the stove.
I stop in the doorway, because the sight is so startling I almost laugh.
The man is a sculpture in motion. Broad shoulders fill out a black t-shirt, strong forearms cord as he flips something in a pan. His hair is damp, freshly washed, pushed back. No suit jacket. No gun in sight. Just…him.
He turns his head slightly, eyes still on the pan, as if he was listening for my steps.
“You’re awake.” His voice slides over me, low and smooth and impossibly controlled.
I hover in place. “You’re…cooking?”
“Obviously.”
That makes me blink. “Can’t your staff do that?” I assume a large apartment like this comes with staff. But what do I know?
He shakes his head once. “Not today.”
“Why not?”
He finally looks at me. His expression is unreadable but not cold. More like he’s gauging my temperature. Like I’m something combustible he doesn’t know how to handle.
“Because I don’t want anyone overhearing.” He pauses for a beat. “And because you’re my wife. The first breakfast you have here should be from my hands, not someone else’s.”
My pulse stutters, then races. Who says things like that? And how does this fit in with the disciplined decisive man I married last night?
I cross my arms to hide the sudden tremor in my fingers. “You didn’t have to—”
“I did,” he interrupts and turns back to the stove. “It’s important.”
Important how? He doesn’t explain. I don’t ask because I’m not sure if we’re discussing getting married or cooking breakfast and I’m too exhausted and overwhelmed to process the former. But my stomach growls again, so obviously my body is okay the latter.
I ease into the kitchen, taking in the dark granite counters, the wall of windows, the gleaming steel appliances.
His world is quiet and precise and expensive.
In my apartment, outside noise assaults my ears all hours of the day and night and the space is cramped.
I keep it clean, but the old linoleum floor and cracked counters have generations of dirt imbedded that will never come out.
Danyl plates eggs, roasted potatoes, and buttered toast. He slides the plate onto the kitchen island. “Sit.” The command isn’t sharp but solid in a way that makes me instantly obey.
He sits beside me, not across from me, and the quiet between us feels safe, heavy, and …strange.
After a moment he asks softly, “How did you sleep?”
“Like a rock.” A nervous laugh escapes my lips. “A rock in someone else’s house.”
One corner of his mouth lifts. Not a smile. But close. “This is your house too now.”
My heart does something strange and fluttery.
He acts like this is my home. I look around at the gleaming perfectness around me.
This is not an environment I’d ever fit in.
Not in my borrowed t-shirt and boxer briefs, both which are too large for me, and with hair that I’m sure is a nest of knots.
It always is when I wake up. I push food around the plate to hide my feelings of inadequacy. “Thank you. For breakfast.”
“You’re welcome.”
He watches me eat. Not in a creepy way. More like he’s checking to make sure I’m eating. Like he cares about my well-being.
I don’t know to feel about that, so I eat a few bites.
I want to ask what happened to the dead man, and his car. And what we’re supposed to do now. What I’m supposed to do know. But before any of that happens, a chime sounds.
Danyl stiffens immediately, muscles locking tight. His hand moves under the counter where I realize there’s a concealed holster. With his other hand, he pulls out his phone and checks the screen. “It’s Rik,” he says. Relief softens his posture, but only slightly.
“Who’s Rik?” I whisper.
He rises. “My cousin. And the Pakhan.” He looks down at me. “Rik’s head of the Kedrov Family.”
The man above all other men in the Bratva. My stomach turns over.
I hear the elevator door open and steps approaches the kitchen.
Rik Kedrov is not what I expected.
He’s big like Danyl, taller maybe, all muscle and tailored edges. But there’s something different about him. Something quieter, heavier, like the air bends around him out of respect or fear or both.
His eyes flick to me instantly.
Not cruel. Not assessing my body. Assessing me. Like he wants to know what kind of creature ended up in his cousin’s bed last night. “This her?” he asks, tilting his head toward Danyl.
My new husband steps slightly in front of me. “Yes.”
I’m not sure if he’s shielding me or claiming me.
Rik nods once, slow and deliberate, and then looks directly into my eyes. “If Danyl says you’re his wife, then you’re family.”
Family.
The word hits like a stone dropped into a lake. Ripples of warmth and fear spread through me.
Danyl’s shoulders loosen, almost imperceptibly. “Thank you,” he says.
Rik shrugs. “You married her. That’s all I need to know." He looks at me again. "You frightened?”
“Yes,” I admit. “Of both of you.”
Danyl goes completely still and frowns, but Rik gives a low hum of approval. “She’s blunt. I like her.” He glances at his cousin. “Your crew handled the cleanup. But the cops might sniff around. I’ll use your office to plan the redirect.”
Cleanup.
My breath stutters. My hands tense.
Danyl leans down, his hand hovers over mine but then he pulls it back without touching. “Finish eating.”
I nod but don’t move until Rik heads off toward Danyl’s office, shutting the door behind him and leaving a silence thick enough to choke on.
Danyl sits again, but now he’s across from me again. “We need to go over some things,” he says.
My stomach sinks. “About the Family?”
“Yes.” He leans forward, arms braced on the island surface, watching me carefully.
“First: you are under my protection. My name shields you. No one touches you, no one threatens you, no one questions you.”
I swallow.
“Second: the organization has rules. You don’t ask about business. You don’t repeat things you hear. You don’t go places alone without checking with me.”
“Is that because of what happened last night?”
“Partly.” He pauses. “Mostly because my world is dangerous. And you don’t know it yet.”
I bite my lip. “What exactly do you do?”
His jaw tightens. “You don’t need the details.”
I hesitate. “That’s not very reassuring.”
A faint breath of a laugh escapes him. “No. It isn’t.” He looks at me like he’s trying to decide how much I can handle.
Finally, he says, “I move money. Real and clean. Fake and dirty. I make sure it ends up where it needs to go.”
I nod slowly. “So you’re like the accountant of the mob?”
His eyes flash with amusement. “Not exactly.”
“But you don’t kill people?” It’s a stupid question because I saw the violence he dished out last night. But somehow it’s important that he wouldn’t have killed the man. I killed him by accident, but Danyl is more experienced. He would have been in control.
He holds his body very still. “Not unless I have to.”
The honesty knocks the air out of me. I nod again, trying to absorb all of this. “Okay. I guess that makes sense. Just tell me if there are rules I’m going to break accidentally. I’m good at that.”
His expression softens. “You’ll learn,” he says. “I’ll teach you.”
Something warm twists in my chest. Something dangerous. The question slips out before I can stop it. “What happens now?” I move my hand back and forth. “Between us?”
His brows lower. “What do you mean?”
I can feel the heat rise in my neck. My face burns. My pulse hammers. I need to know if he’s expecting a traditional marriage. One that involves sex. And I don’t want to tell him.
I really, really don’t, but he needs to know.
The words tumble out fast and trembling. “I’ve never—” I swallow. “I’ve never done anything. With anyone. So I don’t know what you expect or what I’m supposed to do and last night felt like some kind of dream-wedding-nightmare and I just…I'm scared.”
Danyl goes completely motionless and just stares at me in silence.
A silence crackling with something sharp and electric that shifts the air between us.
“Liza,” he finally says, voice low. “Are you telling me you’re a virgin?”
“Yes.” My cheeks burn hotter. “I know it’s ridiculous at my age but—”
“It’s not ridiculous,” he interrupts, his tone cutting through me because it’s fierce, immediate, almost protective. Then he exhales, slow and heavy, as if forcing breath back into his lungs. “I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t. Why would you?”
His eyes drop to my mouth, then snap away like it hurts him.
His eyes flash and his pupils dilate. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough.
“You’re my wife now and I want all of you.
Our marriage will be real, not just on paper, not just in public.
Everywhere.” His eyes flash again. “You’re mine now. ”
The possessiveness in his voice and gaze makes my heart stutter. “But—”
“I’m not finished,” he interrupts. “I can give you some time to get used to the idea. To get comfortable with me.”
“Comfortable with you?” I whisper.
The column of his throat moves. “Yes.” He steps closer. Slowly. Like approaching a frightened animal.
My breath shivers out.
He steps closer and lifts a hand, brushing my cheek with his thumb. Warm. Gentle. Devastating. “You are my wife,” he says softly. “My duty is protect you and please you.”
My eyes sting from the gentleness of his touch. “What is my duty?” I whisper.
He smiles, his finger trailing lightly up my jaw. “To please me.”
“Is that why you married me? So I could please you?” I’m not sure how to feel right now. His touch distracts me. The skin-to-skin contact igniting heat trails that zip through my body.
“I married you to protect you. To keep you alive.” Then, quieter, “And because I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else touching you.”
My breath catches.
He shifts his hand, sliding down my shoulder and arm to my wrist, fingers circling the fragile bones there. Not tight. Not claiming. Just connecting. Nothing like the grip of the man from last night. “I will not hurt you,” Danyl murmurs. “Ever.”
I believe him. I shouldn’t. But I do.
After another moment of aching, electric quiet, he steps back. “I’m assigning you a guard,” he says.
I blink, confused by the abrupt change of topic and missing the warmth of his touch. “A guard?”
“Yes. He’ll keep you safe.”
“I don’t need a guard,” I say, panic rising. Is this the first step of him controlling me? “I’m not some prisoner.”
He leans down, mouth close to my ear. I’m not locking you in,” he says, hot breath caressing my skin. “I’m keeping you alive.”
I breathe out slowly, shakily. “It doesn’t feel like protection. It feels like control.”
He studies me for a moment. “Yes, I can see how that’s what it’s like. At first.”
“But it’ll feel different later?”
He picks up our plates, heading for the sink. “Yes,” he says. “It will.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Okay.”
His shoulders relax, marginally as he turns on the water. He washes dishes like he does everything else, controlled and efficiently.
I look around the expensive kitchen and think about the opulence I saw in the rest of the huge apartment.
I don’t belong here, but something inside me aches with a question I shouldn’t ask.
“Danyl?” I say softly. He pauses, but doesn’t turn my way.
Not facing him gives me the courage to continue.
“Have you ever…” Crap, this is stupid. I swallow hard and force myself to continue.
“Have you ever wanted something you know you shouldn’t?
” The way I want to fit into this world?
Even though I know it’s violent and illegal, I feel protected here.
I want to be in this world because he is here. And he makes me feel safer.
He turns his head slowly, his hot blue gaze burning into mine. “Yes,” he says. “I married her last night.” And then he shuts off the water and walks out of the kitchen.
When I hear him open and close a door somewhere further in the apartment, I still haven’t caught my breath.