Chapter 32
LEO
By the time we left the furniture store, I was starving, tired, and far more pleased with myself than I had any right to be.
I had gone into the day expecting discomfort.
Maybe awkwardness. Maybe one of those outings where two people pretended things were normal because neither of them wanted to be the first to point out how much history sat between them like a loaded gun.
Instead, I had spent the past few hours arguing over furniture with Sergei as if we were nothing more complicated than two men building a home together.
It should have terrified me more than it did.
The sun started its slow descent by the time we stepped out into the parking lot, warm light spilling across rows of cars and catching on the black surface of Sergei’s SUV.
My stomach grumbled as I folded the receipt for the couch and tucked it into my wallet, already thinking about the nearest place we could get something decent to eat.
While shopping with Sergei had turned out to be pleasant, it had also drained the last of my energy.
“Food,” I announced as Sergei unlocked the SUV. “I have given you furniture, my time, and my excellent taste. I require payment in the form of something hot and delicious.”
He opened the passenger door for me, that small, almost-smile touching his mouth again. “You’ll get fed. We just need to make one stop first.”
I paused with one hand on the door and narrowed my eyes at him. “One stop where?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“Sergei.”
“Leo.”
He said my name with enough amusement that I knew arguing would get me nowhere. It wasn’t like in the furniture stores, where he was fine stepping back and letting me control everything. I stared at him for another second, then got into the SUV with a sigh.
“Fine,” I said, buckling my seat belt. “But if this surprise doesn’t involve food at some point, I reserve the right to be grumpy for the rest of the day.”
“You’re sexy when you’re grumpy, so good luck with that.”
“Dammit.”
His smile deepened as he shut the door.
The interior of the SUV was all dark leather and luxury.
As much as I earned, this type of vehicle was outside my tax bracket.
I couldn’t help being a bit envious as he pulled out of the parking lot.
I rested my head back against the seat and watched the city slide past the window, still feeling the strange warmth of the day clinging to me.
It was ridiculous how comfortable I had become beside him.
Not comfortable enough to forget who he was, or who I was, for that matter.
I wasn’t that naive. But comfortable enough that silence with him no longer felt uneasy.
Comfortable enough that I could sit in his passenger seat, tired and hungry, and not feel the need to fill the space with defensiveness.
Sergei glanced at me when we stopped at a red light. “You’re in a good mood today,” he said slowly, as if he wasn’t certain he should even say the words.
I turned my head toward him, not bothering to hide my smile. “Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Are you complaining? Because I can go back to being grumpy and sexy.”
“No.” His fingers shifted on the steering wheel. “I’m just trying to understand the change.”
There was no accusation in his voice, only caution. As if he had learned not to trust kindness from me. As if he expected me to snatch it back the moment he started enjoying it.
Guilt pressed against my ribs.
I had been cruel to him. Sometimes intentionally, sometimes because I hadn’t known what else to do with the anger and grief and helplessness crowding inside me.
Sergei had made an easy target because he stood close enough to everything I blamed.
Close enough to Maxim. Close enough to the life that had taken Brad from me.
Close enough that hating him had felt simple at first.
Except nothing about Sergei was simple anymore. I had feelings for him. Big feelings.
“I’m tired,” I said, looking back through the windshield. “Not physically. Well, yes, physically too, but that’s not what I mean. I’m tired of acting like I hate you.”
The SUV moved forward when the light changed. Sergei didn’t speak, but I felt him listening with the full weight of his attention.
“At first, I think I needed to hate you,” I continued. “It gave me somewhere to concentrate all my emotions. It made sense in my head, even when it didn’t make sense anywhere else. But it takes a lot of energy to keep pretending something that isn’t true anymore.”
I rubbed my thumb over the seam of my pants, suddenly fascinated by the stitching.
“How am I supposed to hate someone who keeps showing up for me? You feed me. You check whether I’m sleeping.
You notice things about me when I’m too tired to notice them myself.
You act like my comfort is something worth paying attention to, and I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do with that, but I can’t hate you for it. ”
Sergei was quiet long enough for me to wonder if I had said too much. When I finally looked over, his expression was difficult to read. “That’s…it?” he asked.
The question was soft and sounded disappointed.
“No,” I said.
His eyes flicked toward me before returning to the road. “No?”
I reached across the console and placed my hand over his, where it rested near the gear shift. He stilled beneath my touch, not pulling away, not moving closer, just going quiet.
“No,” I repeated, my voice lower now. “There’s the sex.”
His fingers slowly turned beneath mine until he was holding my hand. The movement was careful, almost shy.
“It’s good for you too, right?” Sergei asked.
“Being with you is so fucking amazing, Leo, but sometimes I—sometimes I worry that it might not be as good for you. You are far more experienced than I am, and if there’s something I’m not doing or that you want from me, you can tell me.
You want me to kneel at your feet, wear a collar for you, I—”
I squeezed his hand. “It’s amazing for me too, Sergei. I promise. Though now you mention it, I’d love to put a collar on you and tie you to the bed sometime—now that we have a proper bed. Would you like that?”
“Fuck yes.”
Relief softened his face so briefly that it would have been easy to miss. I didn’t. I saw the way his shoulders eased a fraction, the way his mouth almost curved before he fought it back. That small reaction undid me more than any grand declaration could have.
Somewhere between the first time he brought me dinner and last night when he told me, in that brutal way of his, that he would rather cease to exist than live in a world where I didn’t, I’d let my guard down, and he’d snuck right in.
And maybe I was using him to get to Maxim, but the feelings I had for him were real, too.
Real enough that the lies I had been telling him bothered me.
Real enough that the SD card I’d stolen left me feeling guilty each time I tried to crack it.
Real enough that, although I knew a tech-savvy guy from the sex club who could probably crack the code, I hesitated in contacting him because if what was on that file implicated Sergei, I didn’t want anyone else to know.
Morozov was the one behind the whole enterprise.
I still wanted the truth. I still wanted accountability. I still wanted the world to know that Brad hadn’t killed himself—that Morozov had forced him to jump. I still wanted to expose Morozov so that the world found out the businessman they knew was the mastermind behind a dangerous Bratva.
But I didn’t want to expose Sergei to the blast and have him become a casualty. I wanted him to be free from Morozov’s control, so he could be the sweet, caring man he truly was.
“Baby,” I said softly.
The slight ease in his expression faded, as if he knew from my tone where my thoughts had gone. “Yes?”
“I know you’re not responsible for what happened to Brad. It was all Morozov, so it’s foolish to hate you for it.”
His hand tightened around mine, and the air inside the SUV felt warmer, more stuffy.
“Leo,” he said in warning.
“I mean it,” I said. “I don’t blame you. You didn’t make the decision that cost him his life.”
His eyes stayed fixed on the road. “Can’t you just let it go? He’s already gone.”
I pulled in a slow breath through my nose. “You’re right. I don’t want to ruin today with a conversation about this. I just wanted you to know I don’t blame you.”
His grip on my hand eased, though his expression stayed serious for another few seconds. Then he lifted our joined hands and brushed his mouth lightly across my knuckles.
The gesture was so quiet and unexpected, I had to look away before he saw too much on my face.
We didn’t talk again for the rest of the drive, until a few minutes later, when he turned off the main road into a wide, private driveway lined with low hedges.
I sat up straighter as a sleek glass-and-steel building came into view.
At first glance, it looked more like an art gallery than a dealership.
The front was all towering windows and polished black stone, with luxury vehicles positioned beneath strategic lighting like sculptures on display.
My hunger vanished beneath immediate interest.
“What is this?” I asked.
Sergei looked entirely too pleased with himself. “Our stop.”
“Are you buying another vehicle?”
“Hopefully.”
The SUV rolled to a stop beneath a covered entrance where the dealership name was etched into a brushed-metal sign.
I recognized the logo immediately, but it still took my brain a second to connect what I was seeing.
This wasn’t a standard dealership. This was one of those private customization centers where wealthy clients ordered vehicles the way other people ordered tailored suits.
I turned slowly toward him, suspicion gnawing at the back of my mind. “Babe?”
He got out without answering.
Of course he did.
A man in a charcoal suit stepped outside before I even unbuckled my seat belt. I scrambled out of the SUV and hurried to Sergei’s side.