Chapter 12 – Adrian
I go to the guest room bathroom and splash water on my face, gripping the edges of the sink like it might hold me together. My pulse is still erratic, my mouth still warm from the taste of her heat. I stare at myself in the mirror, water dripping down my jaw. I need to get it together.
I force myself to breathe. Deep. Controlled. Cold.
By the time I’m back in the bedroom, I’ve dressed in a black suit—tailored, precise, and sharp enough to kill. No tie. Just open collar and clean lines. I want to look like myself again. Not a man coming undone over a woman he already owns.
I take another deep breath and head into the hall, walking briskly toward the bedroom, ready to drag Jennie out if that’s what it takes. But before I reach the door, it creaks open.
Jennie steps out.
I go still. My hand drops to my side. I don’t move. I just look.
The crimson silk hugs every inch of her. The dress dips low across her chest, clings to her waist, and flows like liquid fire down her legs. Her hair is messy—still tousled from earlier, from me. She’s not even wearing much makeup, but she looks like a fucking goddess.
My throat tightens.
“You’re going to kill me.”
The words slip out before I can stop them, rough and low.
She tilts her chin, that stubborn fire in her eyes again. “Good.”
She walks right past me like I don’t have her name carved into my bones.
I clench my jaw and follow. Of course, I follow. She doesn’t know what she’s doing to me.
Or maybe she does, and that’s the problem.
We step out into the evening air, and I open the front door for her. She walks ahead of me, and I follow closely, my eyes taking her in all over again. That dress is going to be the death of me.
“You look devastating tonight,” I murmur, low enough that it’s just for her. “Red suits you. Makes you look like sin wrapped in silk.”
She doesn’t say anything, but I catch the way her shoulders shift, the faint curl of her fingers at her sides. I step up beside her, let my hand skim the small of her back as we descend the steps.
“I wasn’t sure the dress would fit perfectly,” I add, letting my gaze sweep her again, deliberately. “But damn, Jennie…it looks like it was made for your body. Every inch of it.”
She turns her head, flustered. “Stop.”
“Why?” I smirk, amused by the way her cheeks turn that deep, warm shade of pink. I just ate her out in the bathtub. I’m not sure why she’s blushing so deeply at my compliment, but it makes my heart flutter in a way it never has before. “You blush like that and expect me to stop? Not happening.”
She glares at me, half-embarrassed and half-ready to shove me into a wall again. I fucking love it.
“Adrian….”
“What?” I graze her neck, trying desperately to curb my arousal. “I want to rip the dress off you right now and fuck you right here.”
She swallows and meets my eyes, and I see the fleck of green in her brown orbs. “You are so beautiful.” I want to kiss her again, but I don’t want to mess with her lipstick, so I settle for a forehead kiss and take her arm, hoping my erection goes down before we reach the terrace.
I lead her up to the terrace, the warm glow of candlelight flickering against the evening sky.
The air is soft and scented with jasmine from the garden below.
The table is set for two—wine chilling in a silver bucket, plates of delicate starters already laid out, soft instrumental music playing from somewhere in the shadows.
She stops short when she sees it. Her eyes widen, mouth parting in a gasp.
“When did you have time to set this up?” she asks, turning to me as if she can’t believe what she’s seeing.
I shrug, casually. “I’m not one to tell my secrets. Come.”
I offer my hand, and she takes it without thinking.
I guide her toward the table, her eyes still scanning everything, taking in the soft lights, the white roses, the faint scent of citrus candles burning between us.
She thinks she’s hiding her reaction, but I can see it—the way her gaze lingers on the details, the way her body shifts closer to me as if unconsciously drawn in.
She starts to pull out the chair across from mine.
“No,” I say gently but firmly, guiding her toward the seat right next to me at the small round table. I pull out a chair for her, help her settle into it, then sit beside her, close enough that our knees touch.
“You’re not getting away from me that easy tonight, kroshka.”
I lift the silver lid off her plate with a bit of dramatic flair. “Tonight’s starter is grilled scallops with lemon butter. Try not to fall in love.”
She laughs lightly, the sound soft and unguarded. “Is that a promise or a warning?”
“Depends on how good the scallops are,” I say, taking a bite of mine.
She does the same, and I watch her expression carefully. Her brows lift, then she nods slowly, chewing.
“Okay,” she says. “You might be onto something.”
“Told you.”
We eat for a moment in silence, the atmosphere unusually calm—almost too normal, like I didn’t force her into a marriage under the threat of blood. Her bare shoulder brushes mine, and she doesn’t pull away.
“Do you even cook?” she asks, sipping from her wineglass.
I shake my head. “Not unless violence counts as a cooking method.”
She snorts. “That sounds about right.”
“Come on, Jennie,” I smile. “I have chefs. I use my time for things I actually know how to do.”
She nods slowly. “What do you even do when you’re not threatening people?”
I smirk. “I collect vintage watches.”
“Liar.”
“I do.”
She tilts her head, studying me. “You? Watches?”
“I like precision. The discipline. The history. You’d be surprised what that says about a man.”
Her smile curves softly now. “Okay. That’s kind of cool.”
I nod toward her fork. “Your turn. What do you do when you’re not trying to throw plates at my head?”
She sets her fork down and leans slightly toward me, swirling the wine in her glass. “You want to know what I actually do when I’m not dodging your death threats?”
I raise a brow, intrigued. “Enlighten me.”
“I watch crime documentaries. Like—obsessively.”
That surprises me. “Wait. What?”
She takes a sip of her wine, swirls it in the glass. “Crime documentaries. Real ones. Murders, cults, disappearances. The more twisted, the better.”
I blink. “Seriously?”
“Why is that so surprising?” she asks, eyes dancing now.
“You don’t strike me as someone who can stand blood.”
She shrugs. “It’s interesting. The psychology of it. What makes people snap. What lines they cross, and why.”
A small smile tugs at my mouth. “You’re darker than you look.”
“Good,” she says with a smirk. “Maybe now you’ll stop acting like I’m too soft for this world.”
I chuckle. “What’s the worst one you’ve ever watched?”
She grins like I’ve asked her her favorite song. “There was one about a woman who killed her husband and buried him in their backyard flowerbed. Kept hosting garden parties for years.”
My brows lift. “Are you trying to warn me?”
She coyly lowers her eyes, and I smile again, for the umpteenth time that night. “Remind me not to piss you off.”
She tilts her head. “You already did.”
“And I’m still alive. Impressive.”
She stabs a piece of grilled zucchini and pops it into her mouth. “Barely.”
I lean back in my chair, swirling the wine in my glass, watching her with amused disbelief. “You know this is our first date.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s no real heat behind it. She’s more relaxed than I’ve ever seen her, a softness in her face that wasn’t there before. “Not to me,” she says. “You forced me to come and threatened you’d put the dress on me if I didn’t. This doesn’t count as a date to me.”
I laugh.
She narrows her eyes instantly. “It’s the first time I’ve seen you laugh.”
“Really?” I arch a brow, and for some reason, that makes her smile.
She leans forward, resting her elbow on the table, chin tipped up slightly. “Let’s play a game.”
My instincts go on alert. “What game?”
“Truth or dare.”
My heart gives a small, traitorous jolt.
“That’s dangerous,” I say slowly. “You’re daring.”
She shrugs. “You ready? Or you scared?”
I stare at her, taking in the playful glint in her eyes, the curve of her lips, the way the crimson silk hugs her body like it was made to be worshipped. She has no idea what she’s toying with.
I set my glass down and fold my arms, voice low. “You have no idea what kind of answers you’re going to get from a man like me.”
She lifts her brows. “I guess we’re about to find out.”
Christ. She’s serious.
“Alright,” I say. “Ladies first.”
She smiles. “Truth or dare?”
I lean in. “Truth.”
She doesn’t even hesitate. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
My jaw tightens. She starts bold.
I think about lying. Easing her in with something light.
But if I want her to really understand me—what she married—then I should tell her the truth.
“The worst thing I’ve ever done?” I pause. “I once tortured a man for seventeen hours because he hurt someone I cared about. And when he begged me to kill him, I waited another hour before I did.”
It’s not the worst thing I’ve done, but it’s the worst thing I assume she can take. No crime documentaries she’s watched can ever prepare her for the evil things I’ve done in my life. I can’t tell her about it. Ever.
Her smile falters, just a little. But she doesn’t look away. “Did he deserve it?”
“Yes,” I say without flinching. “He did.”
She’s quiet for a beat. Then nods. “Your turn.”
I don’t smile. I’m not playing anymore—I’m studying her. Her jaw, her posture, her pulse fluttering in her throat.
“Truth or dare, Jennie?”
She hesitates. Then lifts her chin. “Dare.”
Bold. So fucking bold.
“I dare you….” I pause, letting the silence stretch as her eyes narrow. “To kiss me. Not because you have to. Because you want to.”
She doesn’t move.
But she also doesn’t say no.
She climbs into my lap without a word. Her hands find my shoulders, and for a moment, she just looks at me—like she’s still deciding whether this is the worst idea she’s ever had.
Then she leans in and kisses me.
Soft. Slow. Curious.
But it lights something inside me like a fuse.
I don’t deepen it. I don’t drag her closer or crush my mouth to hers, even though every nerve in my body begs me to. I let her control the kiss. I let her pull away.
She starts to climb off my lap, but I wrap an arm around her waist and hold her there.
“This is a dare,” she says, trying not to smile. “You can’t kiss me for more than a few seconds.”
“That’s okay,” I murmur. “I just want to hold you.”
Her breath catches.
I feel it in the way her body stills against mine, in the way her gaze searches my face like she’s seeing something new—something she hadn’t expected from a man like me.
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t protest.
She just lets me hold her. And for the first time in a long fucking time, I feel like maybe I don’t have to fight everything to keep something good. Maybe I can just sit here…and keep her close.
“Do you ever take a break?” she asks suddenly, her voice soft.
“What do you mean?” My hands tighten on her waist. I’d live inside her if I could.
“You’re always working,” she says. “You hardly ever sleep.”
“Are you worried about me?”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. “You should rest more.”
“Maybe if you let me share the bedroom with you, I’d get better sleep.”
She’s about to respond when I hear someone clear their throat.
“Boss.”
Zalar’s voice slices through the moment like a blade.
Jennie stiffens slightly on my lap, and I turn my head slowly, irritation flashing through me. I don’t like being interrupted—especially not now, when she’s finally in my arms without venom in her eyes.
“What?” I bark.
Zalar doesn’t flinch. He knows me too well by now. “You need to see this. Right now.”
I clench my jaw and nod once. Jennie shifts as I loosen my hold, letting her slide gently off my lap. She doesn’t say anything, just watches me with something unreadable in her eyes.
“I’ll be back,” I murmur, brushing a hand down her arm before I rise.
Then I follow Zalar out, already bracing myself for whatever the hell is waiting on the other side of this night.
Zalar leads me into the dressing room, shutting the door behind us. The second it clicks shut, he pulls out his tablet and hands it over. My gut twists when I see the encrypted message flashing on the screen.
“This just came in through our backdoor surveillance net,” Zalar says lowly. “We’ve confirmed it twice already.”
I swipe through the files, my jaw tightening with every word.
The bounty on Logan…it wasn’t from Markovic or any rival crew.
It was internal. Someone from our side. From within the Rusnak circle.
I take a slow breath, fighting the spike of rage pushing against my ribcage.
A mole.
One of ours is playing both sides.
“Who the fuck sent this?”
“We’re still tracing. But the way it was routed? Whoever did this knows our system inside out.”
That narrows it down. Not just a traitor—an insider. Someone close. Someone who knows how to leave just enough of a trail to send a message…but not enough to be caught easily.
“They want him dead,” I mutter, eyes fixed on the bounty order. “Not because he stole from us—but because they want to destroy everything connected to him.”
Including Jennie.
This isn’t about business anymore. It’s personal.
Zalar nods. “We don’t know why yet.”
I hand the tablet back to Zalar and straighten my suit. My jaw’s still tight, blood still hot—but I’m not letting whoever this snake is ruin tonight. Not this moment.
“I’ll deal with it tomorrow,” I say, my voice low and final. “For tonight, I’m finishing my date with my wife.”
Zalar’s eyes flicker. For a second, he looks like he might argue, but he catches himself.
“Yes, Boss,” he says, stepping back.
The shock on his face is almost amusing. He’s seen me kill a man with my bare hands, but God forbid I sit through one candlelit dinner like a normal fucking husband.
I don’t wait for him to say more. I turn and walk out, the weight of betrayal still sitting in my chest—but heavier than that is the thought of her sitting alone out there. Jennie.
I’m not giving whoever this traitor is the satisfaction of taking her from me—not even for a second. Not tonight.