Chapter 40
Kirill
Morning slashes through the windshield, merciless and precise as I drive away from the congested streets of downtown and head for Roman’s compound. Jordan dozes in the passenger seat. Neither of us got a lot of sleep last night.
Who knew that having years of yoga practice would turn out to be so useful? Jordan’s flexible as hell, and I’d like to encourage that.
I’m already planning to set up an entire room devoted to her yoga. Straps, balls, blocks, bolsters, knee pads, hammocks and slings, even crazy benches with weird cutouts and several padded layers…
It’s a whole new world. And I plan to fuck her into oblivion every chance I get while exploring just how limber and strong she really is.
That will come later, though.
Today, she’s meeting the family.
Jordan’s fingers weave between mine as I steer one-handed. My knuckles are still bruised from the altercation at Hearst’s estate.
I never drive like this. Everything drilled into me says to always keep two hands on the wheel. Always stay in complete control.
But I don’t let go.
Her fingers squeeze mine, and I glance over to see her waking up. Even with the seat belt on, she stretches like a cat. A wave starts at the neck and slides down her body all the way to her feet until her toes tap against the console in front of her.
Still, she keeps our hands entwined.
Then she blinks and smiles at me. Warm and sleepy.
I force myself to pay attention to the road, let the world roll out ahead. Soon enough, the compound comes into view.
Stone and iron rise from the manicured grounds and imitate warmth, a fortress pretending to be a home. I look at her, hungry for some tell. Does she recognize the threat? The power? The emptiness yawning behind the walls?
“What are you thinking?” With anyone else, I wouldn’t ask. With Jordan, I have to.
She angles toward me. Green eyes, sharp and clear, slide over me like glass catching morning light. “That your world is beautiful and terrifying. Like you. I expected more water features, to be honest.”
When I laugh, her eyes widen. But there’s no time for her to comment as I roll up to the gate and punch in the code.
She peers through the windows, craning her neck in all directions. “It’s as big and fortress-y as Mom’s estate.”
I almost laugh again. “Fortress-y?”
“Technical term.” She shoots me a wink that sends heat to my groin.
I glance at the compound again, suddenly seeing the structure the way she does.
She’s right. The Hearst estate and Roman’s compound are twins in purpose, if not in style. Both were built to keep the world out and to hide what’s inside.
But Hearst’s? That’s tighter. Smarter. Their security systems, with cameras I didn’t spot until my third pass and guards that move like they’ve trained for war, are on a different level. Roman’s setup is a toy in comparison.
We could use an overhaul. If Emil hasn’t already, I should bring that up with Igor or Mikhail.
“Your mother’s place has better security.” I realize how that might come across. Like I’m comparing cages and still scouring for the way out.
Her grip tightens. “Good to know. That means this place will be easy to sneak out of in case I need to make a run for it.” A low chuckle threads through the words. The kind that feels like a dare, like she’s already figured out the joke and is just waiting for me to catch up.
The guards track us as the driveway curves in a slow, deliberate arc toward the entrance, my tires crunching on the gravel.
I kill the engine. For a second, nothing moves. The heavy silence stretches tight. I don’t release her hand. I don’t want to let go. Don’t want to step out and become what I have to be behind these walls. But I promised her all of me. Even the parts forged in places like this.
“You ready?” My voice is steadier than I feel. I don’t think she’ll reject me because of what she discovers inside. At the very least, everyone knows how to use their manners.
Usually. Probably.
I hope Max isn’t here.
Am I worried that my family will look down on me for finding love?
The fact that I’m not sure fills me with anxiety.
This would be much easier if this were an enemy compound and I could just shoot anyone who says or does the wrong thing.
Jordan peers up at the house. “I’ll play nice.
That way you don’t have to kill any of your friends.
Okay? Unless there’s an annoying uncle you need me to set up?
Busybody aunt? Creepy cousin you need an excuse to gank?
Just point them out to me, and I’ll take care of them. ” She smiles and bats her lashes.
A snort is torn from my lips, all my anxiety stripped away in an instant. She practically wriggles with joy at my reaction.
“None right now, but I’ll let you know if anything changes.”
She nods, her gaze fixed on the house. Her eyes hold no fear, just a kind of steady acceptance. Always surprising and more than I expect.
Way more than I deserve.
We climb the steps together, wide, cold stone, worn in the middle by generations of men like me. I place my hand at the small of her back, not to steer but to anchor. A line connecting us for all to see.
With my other hand, I swing open the reinforced steel and oak door that can stand up against bullets and battering rams. Inside, the foyer uncoils overhead.
Jordan takes in the high ceilings and marble floors with awe in her eyes.
Everything’s constructed to project power, demand respect, and instill fear.
Galaxy-like chandeliers burn above us. We walk over rugs that cost more than some cars. Security cameras hide where the unwary never notice, and light switches disguise panic buttons. Every inch is calculated, every piece about containment, control, and defense.
“Maybe I should get a place in town.” I hesitate. “Mine. Or it could be ours. If you want.”
She blinks, a flicker of surprise dancing across her face.
Strange, but good. The moment feels too big. Too exposed. “Your apartment’s a death trap. Street-facing windows. Locks a kid could open. Neighbors who’d sleep through grenades going off.”
Her laugh ricochets through the marble and wood, stripping the space of its usual weight and remaking it brighter. “You’re such a romantic.” She bumps my shoulder with hers, carefree and warm.
I can picture a place in the city, not an address yet, just a set of details accumulating in my mind like evidence.
Natural light for her yoga. Security I can vouch for.
Enough room that we don’t drive each other insane.
East-facing windows because she swears the morning sun matters.
It’s all there, blueprints quietly assembling in the background, a plan for a future I never expected to want.
The cold knot that’s lived in my gut for years, iron-heavy and permanent, starts to shrink, creating a hollow I’m suddenly aware of, because warmth is moving in to take its place. The shift, unsteady but real, terrifies me.
I’ll have to ask her what she wants. What kind of space will make her happy. What sort of home the two of us could actually build.
The idea is so alien, my stomach twists and nerves spark. And beneath the fear is…not hope, exactly, but the raw material.
She’s watching me, half-smiling, like she can see every variable flickering across my face. “You’re thinking very loudly.”
Ten steps from the foyer, the ambush hits.
Valeria appears at the top of the main staircase.
She freezes just long enough for recognition to spark, then she’s in motion.
In a flash of heels and perfume and expertly blown-out hair, she careens toward us with the kind of energy that could shatter glass.
“Jordan Thorne!” Valeria’s voice cracks through the marble acoustics, ringing clear as a bell and sharp as a diamond. She rushes right past me, almost through me, and gathers Jordan’s hands like they’re old friends reuniting at a wedding. “I’m Valeria. I’ve been dying to meet you!”
Thrown, I instinctively rear back. Valeria’s social performance is infamous, but this isn’t performative. There’s no calculation, just her bright, slightly reckless self.
Jordan answers instantly by squeezing Valeria’s hands, her own smile genuine and easy. Nothing like the brittle, professional version she wore at the gala. “How do you know my name?”
“Uncle Roman told everyone you were coming.” Valeria’s voice is bright as she slips her arm through Jordan’s and steers her down the hall. “But honestly, I’d know you anywhere. At least your voice. I listen to The Thorne Identity every single morning during my skincare routine.”
Jordan freezes—actually freezes—mid-step. Her whole body locks up like she’s been caught in the beam of a searchlight. “You…listen to my podcast?”
“You’re kidding, right? I’m obsessed!” The word snaps in Valeria’s mouth, her fingers flashing with freshly-done nails as she gestures. “That episode about energetic boundaries with toxic people? I made Max listen to it. He needed it after his last disaster of a relationship.”
Max? A relationship? He must have told her some story to cover up the real reason he was upset.
Max doesn’t do relationships. No one in the world could handle a man like Max. Not even Roman can fully contain him.
“It wasn’t even getting traction.” Jordan’s voice is tiny and a little high-pitched, the shock very real. “How did you even find it?”
“Manifest Daily did a roundup of new wellness voices. You were number three.” Valeria’s still gesturing and chattering nonstop, like this is the most natural thing in the world. “Also, your shark energy episode? Genius, Jordan. So visual and fierce. I kept thinking about it for days.”
Shark energy? That has to be a new one.
Jordan glances over Valeria’s shoulder at me, her eyes wide.
It’s almost funny, how much wonder and disbelief can fit on a single face. She’s bright, her cheeks flushed and her movements loose and easy. Glowing, even. And she’s barely in the house.
I hang back. Let them go ahead.
I know every inch of this compound, every turn, every security camera, every hidden blind spot.
It’s a place to regroup, to heal, to prep for what comes next. But following them, seeing this estate through fresh eyes?
It’s suddenly unfamiliar. The lines harsher. The marble colder. All the glass and stone and perfect symmetry looks less like a home and more like a cage I never realized I was living in.
But even as I see the place with a new perspective, Jordan’s presence washes over it. She warms the floors and walls and tints the air with a rush of lavender.
Valeria sweeps us into the east salon, the one with the big windows and the view of the inner courtyard.
We often use this room for meetings and to show allies just how much power the Kozlovs have.
The privacy is absolute. The walls are too high for anyone to see over, the greenery trimmed so no threat could hide.
Jordan stops walking and just stares out at the courtyard. “Ooh.” She presses up to the glass, both hands on the cool surface. “That would be a perfect spot for yoga.”
Valeria spins around, hope gleaming in her eyes. “You teach yoga? With energy work?” Her voice almost squeaks. “I would love that. The trainer here only does high-intensity stuff that seriously wrecks me. But, say, flow yoga… I’d get out of bed for that.”
Jordan laughs without hesitation. “Absolutely. Sunrise out there would be unreal.”
I take them in.
It’s like watching two separate timelines collide and blend into something new. “I don’t understand what’s happening.” My words come out rough, too loud in the quiet.
The women turn.
Jordan’s smile is private, her gaze fond. “You don’t have to understand everything. Sometimes you just feel it.” Her eyes dart over Valeria’s shoulder.
The atmosphere shifts again.
A presence, palpable and immediate, fills the doorway. Even Valeria falls quiet and subtly adjusts her posture. She might be a princess, but she’s lived here her whole life and can read a room and recognize the change in air pressure.
Roman appears like a conjured shadow, his silver-edged hair glinting in the light, his bearing settling over the whole room. The type of authority you can feel in your pulse.
He steps forward.
“Jordan Thorne.” Roman’s voice vibrates with not-quite-pride. He doesn’t just shake her hand. He takes it in both of his, like he’s staking a claim. “Welcome to my home.” He offers her a careful, genuine smile. The kind a man gives while debating whether you’re worth the risk.
“Thanks for having me.” Jordan stands her ground. “Your aura is incredible. Strong. Familial and paternal.”
Oh. Fuck.
I’ve gone rigid, waiting to see how Roman reacts. After all, he’s the one who will set the precedent with everyone else.
Valeria claps, beaming at her uncle. “See? What did I tell you? She’s a natural. A genius. Sees right through to the heart of things.”
Roman’s eyes flicker with amusement, maybe even relief. “You did indeed.” He glances over at me, his eyes softer than I expected. “She’s everything you promised, Kirill. And more.”
I don’t recall ever promising anything, but I nod anyway. I’m too relieved to do anything else.
Roman’s hand lands on my shoulder in reassurance. “My home is yours, Jordan.” He turns to Valeria. “Show her around.”
Valeria squeals and grabs Jordan’s hand again. “I’m just certain Aurora would love to join us for yoga. She spends too much time locked up in her studio. She’s an artist. You’re going to love her.”
As Valeria goes on, chattering about all the other people Jordan needs to meet, Roman steps back so he can lean close enough to whisper. “Looks like we’ll need to expand the east wing. What a wonderful thing.”
It feels like a promise. Like change. Like I’m being given a gift I didn’t dare hope for.
A place of our own? But still within the safe walls of the compound? Close enough for Jordan and Valeria and maybe also Aurora to develop a friendship?
Then the promise of hope vanishes as Roman’s mask slips.
“Vanya just left. If he doesn’t find what we need, this thing will bury us all.”
The dread settles in my bones. A cage, invisible but unyielding, closes in around us.
I glance back at Jordan, who’s radiant in the afternoon light while laughing with Valeria. Then at Roman, who rules this universe of secrets and threats.
Both of my worlds coming together like this fills me with the kind of happiness I never believed I could have for myself. At least, not until a certain wellness influencer captured my heart and taught me how to truly thrive.