Chapter 28
HANNAH
Sleep is impossible.
I've been lying in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of an estate on high alert. Footsteps on patrol routes. Radio chatter filtering through walls that aren't quite thick enough.
I’m not sure why I thought I was going to sleep when we know an attack is imminent.
Somewhere in this fortress, Mila sleeps peacefully, unaware that tomorrow might bring violence to her doorstep. Earlier, I asked Dante if it would be smarter to have me and Mila locked down together.
His answer was grim, but I understood. You don’t put the President and the VP in the same room.
I should be terrified. Should be begging Dante to let me run with Mila and disappear somewhere his enemies can never find us.
Instead, I'm angry.
Angry that Bogdan thinks he can take what isn't his. Angry that Radimir believes power matters more than family. Angry that I have to choose between safety and love when I should be able to have both.
But most of all, I'm determined. If we're going to die tonight, I'm going to die knowing I chose this. Chose him. Chose to stand and fight rather than spend the rest of my life running.
I slip out of bed and pull on a robe. I pass security checkpoints where armed men nod at me with respect.
They know what's coming. And they know I'm staying anyway.
I find Dante in his office. He's dressed in black, looking every inch the dangerous man he is. But his shoulders are tight with tension. He looks up when I walk in. I see exhaustion etched into his face.
"You should be sleeping," he says quietly.
"So should you."
"Can't. Too much to think about."
I cross the room to him. He opens his arms without hesitation, pulling me against his chest. I can feel his heart beating too fast, feel the coiled tension in every muscle.
"Talk to me," I whisper against his throat.
"About what?"
"About what you're thinking. What you're afraid of."
"I'm afraid I won't be fast enough. That I'll make the wrong call, focus on the wrong threat. That I'll lose you and our child because I'm not good enough to protect what matters most."
The raw honesty in his voice breaks my heart. "You're good enough."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're still standing. Because you've survived everything they've thrown at you so far. Because you love us, and that makes you fierce."
His arms tighten around me. "If something happens to me tonight—"
"Don't."
"Hannah, listen. If something happens, my men have instructions to get you out. He has money, everything you'll need to disappear. I need you to go if I tell you to. Please, don’t argue. I need you to trust me on this."
"I will, but nothing is going to happen to you."
"You can't know that."
"Neither can you." I pull back to look at him. "So let's not waste whatever time we have left talking about worst-case scenarios."
Understanding dawns in his eyes. He knows what I'm asking for. What I need from him in this moment.
He takes my hand and we walk back to our bedroom. I wouldn’t say we run, but we’re definitely trying to get there as quickly as possible. I feel like we need to spend as much time together as possible.
I lock the bedroom door behind us, my hands already reaching for his shirt. He lets me undress him, watching me with those intense blue eyes as I push the fabric off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
"Hannah," he starts, but I press my fingers to his lips.
"Let me take care of you," I whisper. "Just for tonight, let me be the one to take care of you."
I see his throat work as he swallows, emotion flickering across his face. Then he nods, surrendering control in a way that's more intimate than anything we've done before.
I guide him to sit on the edge of the bed, then sink to my knees between his legs. His breath hitches as I work his belt buckle, the leather sliding through the loops with a soft whisper. I take my time with the button and zipper of his pants, drawing out the anticipation.
"You're killing me," he mutters, his accent thicker with desire.
"Good." I smile up at him as I help him lift his hips so I can pull his pants and boxers down his legs. "Consider it payback for all the times you've made me wait."
His cock springs free, already hard and straining toward me. I wrap my hand around the base, marveling at the heat and weight of him in my palm. He's beautiful like this—vulnerable, wanting, completely mine.
I lean forward and press a soft kiss to his tip, tasting the salt of his arousal. His sharp intake of breath sends a thrill through me. I love having this power over him, this ability to make a man who controls everything lose control.
"Watch me," I tell him, looking up through my lashes. "I want you to see how much I love doing this."
His eyes darken as I take him into my mouth, my tongue swirling around the head before I sink down slowly. I hollow my cheeks, creating suction that makes him groan deep in his throat. His hand comes up to tangle in my hair, not directing but just touching, like he needs the connection.
I establish a rhythm, taking him as deep as I can before pulling back with a soft pop, then diving down again. My hand works what I can't fit, twisting slightly on the upstroke the way I've learned he likes. His thighs tense beneath my free hand, muscles jumping with the effort of holding still.
"Fuck, Hannah," he breathes. "Your mouth—Christ, you're perfect."
The praise makes me bolder. I take him deeper, relaxing my throat, letting him slide further until tears prick at the corners of my eyes. When I pull back, I focus on the sensitive underside with my tongue, tracing patterns that make him curse in Russian.
His breathing becomes ragged, hips starting to lift involuntarily to meet my movements. I can feel him getting close, can taste the change in his arousal. But I'm not ready for this to end yet.
I pull off completely, ignoring his frustrated groan, and kiss along his length from base to tip. My tongue traces the thick vein on the underside, and when I reach the head again, I swirl around it teasingly.
"You're torturing me," he grits out.
"I know." I smile against him. "But you love it."
I take him back in my mouth, deeper this time, establishing a faster pace. My hand pumps in time with my movements, twisting and squeezing. His grip in my hair tightens, and I know he's fighting to let me set the rhythm instead of taking control like he usually does.
"Hannah, I'm close," he warns, his voice strained. "If you don't want—"
I look up at him, making sure he sees the answer in my eyes as I take him even deeper. I want everything he can give me. Want to taste his surrender.
His control shatters. With a groan that sounds like my name mixed with Russian curses, he comes hard, spilling into my mouth. I swallow everything, working him through the waves of his orgasm until he's shaking and spent.
When I finally pull off, he's staring at me with something like awe on his face. I wipe the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand and climb onto his lap, straddling him.
"I love you," I say, framing his face with my hands. "Whatever happens tonight, tomorrow, next week—I love you."
He pulls me close, his forehead resting against mine. "Ya tebya lyublyu," he whispers. "Forever, zayka. You're mine forever."
"And you're mine."
We stay like that for a long moment, just breathing together, drawing strength from each other. Then his hands slide down to grip my hips through the silk of my robe.
"My turn," he says, his voice rough but determined. "Let me show you how much I love you."
I let him lay me back on the bed, let him worship my body with his hands and mouth until I'm crying out his name. And when he finally slides inside me, it feels like coming home.
We make love slowly, savoring every touch, every kiss, every whispered word. There's no urgency now, just the two of us trying to memorize this moment in case it's our last.
But it won't be our last. I refuse to believe that.
We're going to survive this. We're going to build a life together, raise our child, watch Mila grow up. We're going to have the future we both deserve.
I have to believe that.
Because the alternative is unthinkable.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, his hand resting protectively on my stomach where our baby grows. I'm almost asleep when I hear him whisper against my hair.
"Thank you."
"For what?" I murmur.
"For staying. For fighting. For loving me despite everything."
I press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."
And I mean it. Even knowing what's coming. Even knowing the danger.
This is where I belong.
With him. With our family.
And I'll fight with everything I have to protect it.
"I'm going to marry you,” he says into the dark. “Make this official. Give our child my name."
"Dante—"
"Say yes," he demands. "Tell me you'll be mine. Forever."
"Yes," I whisper, and then louder, "Yes. I'll marry you."
We barely get two minutes to enjoy the moment when there is a hard knock on the door.
"Boss. They're here."
Dante goes still against me, every muscle suddenly tense. Then he's moving, pulling on the clothes I just stripped from him.
Before he leaves the room, he turns back to me one more time.
"Get Mila to the panic room until I come for you," he says. "Promise me you’ll stay in there unless me or my men come for you.”
"I promise."
He crosses the room in three strides and kisses me hard, desperate, like he's trying to pour every unspoken word into this one contact.
"I love you," he says against my lips.
"I love you too. Come back to me."
"Always."
Then he's gone, and I'm alone in our bedroom, listening to the sound of footsteps running and orders being shouted.
The battle for our future has begun.