CHAPTER 13
ILAY
I watch her finish packing, two heavy suitcases now waiting by the door like obedient soldiers, and something possessive curls tight in my chest at the sight of her things ready to leave with me.
I step forward and offer to help, dragging the bags behind me while she's busy texting someone, her fingers flying across the screen with a familiarity.
From the look on her face, soft and open in a way she never is with me, she's setting up a meeting with that friend of hers, and I already know that whatever cafe she picks is about to get very crowded with my men and me tagging along.
She doesn't seem to mind. Or maybe she's just learned not to fight me on certain things.
At the car, I load her bags carefully into the trunk, taking my time, then move to open the door for her. She slides inside without a word, and I follow, settling into the seat beside her as the driver pulls away from the curb.
The silence stretches between us for a few minutes before she throws a question at me, her voice laced with that familiar irritation I'm starting to crave.
"Don't you have places to go? People to torture and interrogate?" She glances at me sideways, one eyebrow raised. "Why are you chauffeuring me around like this? I'm not a child."
I smile, letting my eyes drag over her face before I answer. "I'm not chauffeuring you, kotyonok. My plans just changed, that's all. Now I have time to follow my beautiful girlfriend around and make sure she doesn't get into trouble."
She rolls her eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't get stuck. "You keep switching between wife and girlfriend. Pick one."
I meet her gaze with a challenge. "You decide. Which do you prefer? Being my girlfriend, or being my wife?" She shrugs, turning to look out the window like this conversation bores her. "Neither, I don’t date gangsters."
I lean in closer, letting my voice drop, so only she can hear.
"Well, sweetheart, one way or another, you're going to take my last name.
Even if I have to drag you to the altar and force you to say I do with my hand around your throat.
" I pause, letting the words sink in, watching the way her pulse jumps at the base of her neck.
"But for now, I'll allow you your little sense of freedom.
I'm an exceedingly patient man when I want to be.
But don't make me wait too long, Iris. Even gentlemen can turn into barbarians under the right conditions. "
I hold her gaze, making sure she understands that I mean every single word. That this isn't a game to me. That she's already mine, whether she accepts it or not.
***
We arrive at the cafe, and I help her out of the car before following her inside, my eyes scanning every corner, every face, every possible threat. She picks a table near the window and sits down across from me, immediately diving into the menu with an enthusiasm that softens the mood.
She starts ordering different slices of cake, one after another, and when the waiter mentions they have a new flavor, her whole face lights up in a way that makes my fingers itch to touch her.
"Sure," she says, practically bouncing in her seat. "Bring them all out."
The plates start arriving, and she's already smiling, clearly in her element, and I find myself watching her instead of the room. She's texting someone again, probably that same friend she mentioned earlier, and I don't really care because she looks happy and I like seeing her happy.
Until I feel the shift in the atmosphere.
It's subtle at first, a slight tension in my shoulders, an instinct honed from years of violence telling me something is wrong.
I notice my guards shift in my peripheral vision, their hands moving toward their weapons with practiced ease.
Then I hear her voice, bright and welcoming.
"Hey Jackson, over here!" She waves her hand, and I turn to look.
Some guy is walking toward us. He looks surprised at first, then cautious, his eyes sweeping over the number of men in black scattered throughout the cafe like he's counting threats. His gaze lands on me, and I see the exact moment recognition flickers across his face.
I know immediately who he is. What he is.
He reaches for something at his hip.
I don't hesitate. My hand is already on my gun, pulling it free before he can even clear his holster, and by the time his weapon comes up, mine is already aimed right between his eyes.
"Iris," I hear him say, confusion bleeding through the word.
She stands up fast, her chair scraping against the floor.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa—stop! Both of you, stop!
What the fuck are you doing?" The entire cafe freezes.
Every head turns toward us, conversations dying mid-sentence as the reality of the situation sinks in.
The man with the gun pointed at me. Me, calmly pointing mine right back at him. Neither of us backing down.
Iris rushes to my side, her hand reaching for my arm. "Put the gun down," she says, her voice tight with panic. "Ilay, please, put it down."
My grip doesn't waver. "No. I'm not going to." I keep my eyes locked on the dead man standing across from me. "Why the fuck do you know somebody who carries a gun?"
She tugs at my arm, trying to pull it down. "I know you, and you carry a gun even when you go to bed."
"That's not the same thing," I snap, my patience wearing thin. "Why does he have a fucking gun, and why does he know who the fuck I am?"
Jackson meets my stare, his jaw set with a stubbornness that makes me want to put a bullet through his skull just to shut him up. "I'm not obligated to tell you anything."
I narrow my eyes, letting every ounce of violence I'm capable of bleed into my expression.
"If that's the case, why don't I just blow your head off right here in this fucking restaurant?
By the time the police even think about showing up, you'll already be rotting in an unmarked grave somewhere no one will ever find you. "
We exchange threats like currency, each word a promise of violence, and I'm so focused on calculating exactly how many seconds it would take to end his miserable existence that I almost miss what happens next.
Iris moves.
She grabs my gun hand with a confidence I wasn't expecting, lifting herself slightly on her toes, and before I can process what she's doing, her lips press against mine. The kiss is quick, decisive, designed to disarm rather than seduce, and it works. It fucking works.
She pulls back just enough to whisper against my mouth, her breath warm on my skin. "Please. Just put the gun down."
I don't even register the moment my grip relaxes.
The gun slips from my fingers like she's pulled it free with nothing but that single kiss, and my other arm wraps around her waist on pure instinct, drawing her closer, needing her against me.
I give my bodyguards a firm nod, signaling them to lower their weapons.
The cafe remains locked in stunned silence. The tension is thick enough to choke on, and everyone in the room knows this isn't over. Not even close.
After a long moment, Iris frowns and peels herself away from my body, putting distance between us, and I hate it.
I hate it so fucking much. She's the only thing keeping the monster inside me chained, the only thing preventing me from painting these walls red, and she just walks away like it means nothing.
Then Jackson, the dead man walking, has the absolute nerve to sit down right beside her.
My fingers find my gun again before I even realize I'm reaching for it. The itch to pull the trigger is overwhelming, a burning need that crawls up my spine and settles in my chest like a living thing. But then I catch Iris's eyes across the table.
Daring me.
Warning me.
Don't you fucking dare.
God, I still want to shoot him. Just to remind her that she doesn't control me. That no one controls me. That I am what I am, and pretty kisses won't change that.
But I put the gun down. She snaps at both of us, anger flaring in her voice.
"I don't know if I should slap the both of you or call the police for illegal firearms. You seem to forget I'm a fucking lawyer.
" Jackson turns to her, his voice dropping low and urgent.
"Why the fuck did you get close to this beast when I told you to stay the hell away from him?
" I lean forward, my eyes never leaving his face, letting him see exactly what I'm capable of.
"Keep running that mouth, and I'll show you just how beastly I can be. "
"I said stop it." Iris steps between us, her small body doing nothing to block my line of sight but everything to hold me back. Her voice cuts through the tension like a blade. "Now tell me," she says, turning to Jackson, "how the fuck do you know him? And why the hell do you have a gun?"
Jackson looks at her like she's lost her damn mind, like she's a child playing with fire who doesn't understand she's about to get burned.
"You don't even know who the fuck this is, do you?
" He jabs a finger in my direction. "You've been hanging around him, staying at his fucking house, and you don't know?
" She folds her arms across her chest, stubborn as always.
"Yeah. It's his house. What's the big deal?
I'm helping him with a case." That's when he snaps.
He slams his hand against the table so hard the plates jump, cake and silverware rattling with the force of his fury.
"The fuck? I told you to stay away! Why the hell would you take his case?
" He turns to me now, full of righteous rage that would be amusing if it wasn't so fucking annoying.
"What did you do to her, huh? Brainwashed her? Threatened her into staying?"