Chapter 24
Ayla
Ilie in the dark, the sheets tangled around my legs, staring at the ceiling I can’t even see. The bed’s huge and right now it feels like a battlefield with Maksim on the far side, a chasm of silence between us. He hasn’t looked me in the eye all day.
Not since the couch.
Not since he fucked me like he owned me and then snapped back into that cold shell like nothing happened. Like I was something he’d finally gotten out of his system. My body’s still humming from it, a low ache between my thighs that won’t quit.
Part of me wonders if I should roll over, slide a hand across that invisible line, and see if he’ll let me start something. Climb on top, take what I want this time—make him look at me.
But what if that was a one-time thing? What if that’s his thing? Fuck a girl raw and move on?
If that’s the case... shit. I’ll have to deal with Gabriel.
Swallow my pride, feed him whatever scraps I can scrape together without giving away too much.
The Bratva’s weak spots I’ve cataloged in my head… they’re mine now, not his.
But if Maksim’s done with me, I have to give Gabriel something soon.
The thought makes something tight coil under my ribs.
I need to be smarter.
I sigh, louder than I mean to.
Damn it. Gabriel. He won’t send anyone to find me—he doesn’t even know exactly where I am, but he’ll expect intel. Movement. Proof that I’m still useful.
The mattress shifts slightly. Maksim’s voice cuts through the dark, low and rough. “What was the money for?”
I freeze, “What?”
“The money.” He pauses. “In your backpack. What was that for?”
My pulse stumbles.
I turn onto my side, peering at his profile silhouette against the faint glow from the window.
I consider lying.
I consider deflecting. How honest do I get here?
“To leave the city.”
Silence hits like the air has been vacuumed out of the room. Heavy, like he’s not even breathing.
I wait, despite my pulse picking up. Just when I’m about to poke him—say something snarky to break it, he speaks again.
“Where would you go?”
“Anywhere.”
The word slips out easy, but it lands heavy. “Far away from here.”
He shifts then, rolling toward me.
Now we’re facing each other in the dark.
I can’t see his expression. I don’t know if that’s mercy or punishment.
But he’s close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his skin, smell that faint mix of his cologne that clings to him. His face is a shadow, unreadable. “Why?”
My mind floods with answers.
Because Gabriel owns half my life.
Because men like you burn everything they touch.
Because staying means choosing something I don’t understand.
And I don’t know how to survive if I start wanting.
None of that comes out.
So I go with the truth that sits deepest, the one that stings to say out loud.
“Because life here hurts. There has to be a place where I’m not in pain.”
The words hang between us. The quiet stretches so thin it might snap. For a second I wonder if I imagined the whole conversation.
I can’t stand the not knowing.
So I reach for him.
My hand finds his chest. Warm. Solid. Alive.
His heart is pounding. Racing.
“Maksim—”
His hand shoots up, fingers gripping my face, urgent.
And then his mouth is on mine.
Hard.
He kisses me like he’s trying to stop something from escaping.
My breath disappears. It’s not a kiss; it’s a claim, a storm of teeth and tongue that steals the air from my lungs.
His other arm snakes around my waist, pulling me flush against him.
His bare skin scorches against mine through my thin tank; and for a split second, everything lifts.
The weight on my chest, the secrets, the doubts, the ache. All gone.
Just heat, just him, just this raw need that surges up and makes my heart... float.
Float?
It’s never done that before. Tears prick at my eyes, hot and confusing, and I don’t get it.
Why now? Why him?
I push against his chest, just enough.
He pulls away immediately, breath ragged in the dark. I can’t see his face, but I feel the shift. The wall sliding back into place. The control snapping tight again.
Then he’s moving; sliding out of bed, the mattress dipping and rebounding as he stands. Footsteps retreating. The door clicks shut behind him.
I don’t move. Stay right where he left me, sprawled on my side, hand still hovering in the space where his chest was. The room feels colder, emptier. He doesn’t come back.
And that floating feeling? It sinks into something sharper, like a warning I should’ve heeded.
***
The Gilded Ace hits me like a fever dream the second we step inside.
Gold everywhere; veins of it threading through black marble floors, dripping from chandeliers that look like frozen fireworks, glinting off roulette wheels and the edges of crystal glasses.
The air smells like money, cigar smoke, and expensive perfume.
Laughter and low conversation roll over the hum of slot machines like distant thunder.
Maksim walks ahead of me, shoulders squared.
His button-down, the exact shade of blue that he dyed his hair again. He looks sharp, clean, expensive in a way that makes him seem even more untouchable. Sleeves rolled once at his forearms. No tie. Effortless.
I’m painfully aware of the dress clinging to me.
He brought it this morning without explanation, dropped it on the bed and told me to change.
Blue too. Dark enough to feel safe, soft fabric that molds to my waist and hips like it knows my shape better than I do. I’d stared at it for a full minute before putting it on, wondering if it was a gift or a uniform.
He hasn’t said more than six words since we left the townhouse.
No eye contact. No explanation for why he disappeared last night after that kiss.
Just a clipped, “We’re going out,” when he showed up in the doorway at dawn looking like he hadn’t slept either.
I follow him through the main floor, past high-roller tables where men in tailored suits glance up, recognize him, and look away fast. A security guy nods once; sharp, deferential, and opens a discreet door at the back.
We climb a short staircase into a private hallway lined with matte black doors.
He pushes into the last one.
The office overlooks the casino through a wall of glass, the city of lights and movement sprawled below us. Up here, everything feels muted. Controlled.
He walks straight behind the desk.
No invitation to sit
No explanation.
I stay standing, fingers brushing the side of my dress, suddenly aware of how exposed I feel in it.
He opens a drawer. Pulls out a black card. Sets it on the desk between us.
“This is yours,” he says.
I stare at it.
Matte black. Heavy-looking. Dangerous in its simplicity.
“What is it?”
“Access.” His voice is flat, businesslike. “No limit, so you can leave.”
The words land like a punch I don’t see coming.
Leave.
“You can go wherever you want,” he says. “No one will find you.”
Freedom.
From Gabriel. From this city. From him.
My fingers curl against my palm. I don’t move. Because instead of relief, I feel something tight and uneasy unfurl in my chest.
My stomach drops, then twists. The card hovers between us like a loaded gun. I pick it up slowly, the edges cool against my skin.
He’s not looking at me. Not really. His gaze is fixed somewhere over my shoulder, jaw locked so tight I can see the muscle flicker.
“Why?” The word slips out before I can stop it.
He doesn’t answer.
My fingers close around the card before my brain catches up. It feels like it weighs a thousand pounds.
I should say thank you. I should walk out. I should take the lifeline and run before Gabriel figures out where I am, before I get in any deeper with a man who can shut me out this completely after letting me in for five fucking minutes.
But I don’t move.
I don’t want to leave.
The realization lands like a slap.
My voice comes out quieter than I mean it to. “If I keep it… can I still stay?”
For the first time since we walked in here, something flickers across his face—confusion, maybe. Or suspicion. Or awe. It’s gone so fast I can’t pin it down.
“Stay?” he repeats.
I nod.
“Yes.” I swallow. Force myself to say it clearly. “Can I still stay with you?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
For a moment he just looks at me, like I’ve said something he didn’t plan for. His jaw shifts. The faintest hesitation.
Then the cold settles back into place.
“Yes.”
The word hangs there, simple and final. But then he keeps going.
“But—” His voice drops lower, rougher around the edges. “You stay, you’re mine.”
My breath catches. “What?”
He doesn’t repeat it.
Instead he rounds the desk in one fluid motion, closing the distance so fast I barely have time to step back. My spine hits the wall behind me—cool against my shoulder blades.
He plants both hands on either side of my head, caging me in. So close that I can feel the heat rolling off him, smell the faint trace of his cologne mixed with the sharp edge of whatever storm’s brewing under his skin. The ink on his arms shift as his muscles flex.
“You said you want to go wherever I go,” he says, voice low, almost conversational except for the way it vibrates against my skin. “And I did that, didn’t I?”
I don’t answer. I can’t.
My brain is scrambling, trying to map what the hell just happened. One second he’s handing me an escape hatch like I’m disposable.
The next he’s pinning me to the wall.
He leans in closer. His nose brushes mine—just barely. The contact sends a jolt straight down my spine.
“Didn’t I?” he presses. “You go, I go. That’s what you said. That’s what I’ve done.”
My heart slams against my ribs.
I nod once. The way he’s looking at me is feral.
Hungry.
He exhales through his nose, a rough sound that’s almost a growl. His forehead drops to rest against mine for half a second, eyes closed
When he opens them again, they’re dark, pupils blown wide.
“So now,” he murmurs, lips so close to mine I feel every word, “if you stay… you stay as mine.”
His body is vibrating, holding back whatever force released the moment I said “stay.”
His right hand slides down from the wall, fingers curling around the side of my neck. Thumb pressing lightly over my pulse.
“Beda,” he teases, so lightly it’s almost playful. “Tell me, why is your pulse racing?”
His lips brush mine. “Tell me,” he whispers against them.
I swallow. His thumb tracks the movement.
“I—” My voice is barely there. “I didn’t think you wanted—”
“I want.” The words come out raw, almost angry. “I want so fucking bad it’s eating me alive. Do you know that, Beda?”
He presses closer, hips pinning mine to the wall now, the hard line of him unmistakable through the thin fabric of my dress. His breath fans hot across my mouth.
“So say it again,” he demands, voice dropping to a rasp. “Say you’ll stay. Say you’re mine. Because if you don’t—”
His fingers tighten just enough on my neck to make my pulse jump under his thumb. “If you don’t, I’ll find you. I will destroy everything and anyone that gets in my way. But I’d rather you choose it. Choose me.”
His nose drags along the side of mine again, slow, deliberate. A shiver races down my arms.
“Say it, Ayla.”
I’m trembling from the sheer force of him, the way he’s unraveling right in front of me. The juggernaut threatening me to stay.
“I’m staying,” I whisper. My hands come up, fingers curling into the open collar of his shirt, anchoring myself. “I’ll be yours.”
Something shifts in his eyes—relief, triumph, feral satisfaction all at once. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for days.
Then his mouth claims mine.
Heat and certainty and something reckless that steals the air from my lungs. My fingers knot in his shirt as he kisses me like the decision has already been made, like there was never another ending.
When he finally pulls back, his breathing is heavier, eyes dark and steady on mine.
Something new settles there; final, unwavering.
His thumb brushes once across my jaw, grounding me.
“Come,” he says quietly.
He turns first, opening the office door and I step out into the noise beyond.
Because whatever just shifted between is something I don’t think we can walk back from.