Chapter Twenty-Two - Simon
Every move I make, every order I give, revolves around Eden.
It’s a truth I’d never admit aloud, but I don’t even try to hide it from myself anymore. The world narrows to a single point: her safety. Her comfort. Her happiness. Everything else—my business, my rivals, my own needs—comes second.
Especially now, with Cortez circling. He’s always been bold, but lately, he’s grown reckless.
The rumors drift in, soft and poisonous: a car idling too long near our building, a stranger trailing one of my men on the street, a message left in a code only a handful of us would understand.
Rafael Cortez is pushing, testing for weaknesses, and it takes every ounce of restraint not to answer with violence loud enough to shake the city.
Instead, I move quietly, purposefully, pulling the strings I’ve been weaving for years. I trust no one completely, but I trust myself to see the threats before they strike.
My Bratva channels tighten around us: more guards, more cameras, shifts rotated so no one grows complacent. My best men stand silent sentry at the apartment, unobtrusive but absolute. No one steps near Eden unless I approve it.
Not even Viktor, who’s been with me since I was barely old enough to shave. If anyone so much as looks at her too long, I notice. I remember. I never forgive.
Eden senses it, even if she doesn’t say it outright. She moves through our home with a kind of cautious grace, her hand drifting absently to her belly, her eyes darting to the shadows as if she feels the world tilting around her.
I want to keep her in sight at all times, want to bar the doors and windows, lock her away where nothing can reach her.
She’s not a captive—she’s my center, the axis around which every decision now spins.
Tonight, she’s curled on the couch, half reading, half dozing, her hair spilling across the pillow. I stand by the window, watching the city’s lights pulse through the glass, phone pressed to my ear. Viktor’s voice crackles over the line, soft but urgent.
“Cortez is moving. Not directly, but he’s closer than before. New faces at the docks. Unfamiliar cars parked far too close for comfort. ”
I run a hand through my hair, jaw tight. “Don’t engage unless you have to. I want information, not bodies. Not yet.”
He grunts acknowledgment and disconnects.
I stand there a while longer, gaze flicking from the darkness outside to Eden’s sleeping form. I think about the things I would do—will do—if anyone tries to hurt her or our child. There is no limit, no line I won’t cross.
My reputation has always been built on ruthlessness, but this is different. This is primal. She’s not just my weakness; she’s the reason I’ll burn down everything that threatens us.
The hours slip by as I check the security feed, scrolling through footage—hallways, elevators, street corners, the underground garage.
I text instructions, shuffle resources, send trusted men to run routes I usually keep for myself. Everything is scrutinized: deliveries, visitors, even the maid is swapped for someone whose entire life I can map out back to the village where her father was born.
That night I find Eden pouring a glass of water. She moves slower now, both hands braced on the counter. When she looks up, there’s a softness in her eyes—a trust I don’t deserve.
“Couldn’t sleep?” she asks.
“Not tonight.”
She walks to me, barefoot and flushed from sleep, and rests her head against my chest. My arms go around her, pulling her in, her heartbeat steady beneath my palm. I close my eyes, pressing my lips to her hair.
She whispers, “You’re worried.”
“Always,” I say, because it’s the truth.
She doesn’t press for details. She never does. Instead, she lets me hold her, lets me be weak in ways I never show anyone else.
I feel her belly, the slight swell beneath my hand, and the urge to kill anything that threatens her roars up, hot and violent, barely leashed.
I guide her back to bed, tucking the blankets around her, watching as she settles in. I sit on the edge of the mattress, gaze locked on the shadows that curl along the ceiling.
“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” I murmur, more vow than comfort.
She touches my face, thumb brushing my jaw. “I know.”
Later, after she drifts off, I return to my silent patrol—checking the doors, the windows, the perimeter. Every detail is a puzzle piece, every anomaly a warning.
Cortez thinks he can scare me. He thinks he can reach what’s mine. He’s wrong.
By dawn, my plans have grown sharper. There are people I need to see, messages I need to send—quiet warnings, subtle moves that tell my enemies I’m watching, waiting, willing to do anything.
I schedule new deliveries of weapons, reroute cash flow, and double-check every trusted lieutenant’s loyalty. I even contact an old ally in Vienna, just in case we need to vanish on a moment’s notice. Eden and our child come before everything, even this empire I’ve built.
I watch the city lighten through the blinds, exhaustion a tight ache in my spine. I return to our room and stand over the bed, watching Eden sleep, one hand tucked protectively over her belly.
She’s everything I never thought I could have—light in a life built on darkness, softness in a world of sharp edges.
My thoughts circle her, constant, relentless, always hungry for more. It isn’t just possession anymore. It’s devotion, worship, a drive to protect that scares even me with its intensity.
She wakes as I pull the covers up around her shoulders, her eyes blinking open, a sleepy smile curving her lips.
“You’re here,” she murmurs, reaching for me.
“Of course,” I promise, and this time it’s more than a threat. It’s the only truth I know.
Cortez can send all the shadows he wants. Let him try. I’ll cut them down, one by one, before I let them anywhere near her. The world can burn, so long as she and our child remain untouched.
That’s the vow I carry, silent and sacred, every hour of every day.
***
The ballroom glitters with gold light and tension so thick I can taste it. Suits, gowns, politicians, rivals—all gathered beneath a chandelier worth more than some people’s lives.
My arm is locked around Eden’s waist, her presence at my side both a statement and a shield.
She’s stunning tonight, the silk of her dress draping her curves, the faintest swell of her stomach hidden by clever tailoring. She’s calm, poised, her hand curled over my knuckles as we move through the crowd.
Beneath her calm, I can feel the awareness humming. She knows what’s at stake. She always does.
Cortez waits for us. He’s a parasite who thrives on spectacle, standing in the center of a knot of admirers. He catches sight of us and the smirk on his lips sharpens, cold and amused. His suit is too bright, his smile too white. He steps forward, cutting through the small talk with a flourish.
“Simon Sharov,” he purrs, raising his glass. “I didn’t think you’d brave the wolves tonight.”
He eyes Eden, gaze lingering a second too long, then returns to me with mock sympathy. “Oh, you brought your lovely companion. I hope you’re not finding our party too… stifling, Eden.”
I keep my face blank, my grip tightening almost imperceptibly on her waist. My men fan out, subtle and efficient, closing off any approach from behind. Cortez’s own goons shadow him, eyeing me with ill-concealed dislike.
“Rafael,” I say, voice calm. “I see you haven’t lost your gift for empty conversation.”
His eyes glitter. “I save my best words for special occasions.” He leans closer, his voice dropping. “You know, Simon, I’ve always admired how you hold your composure. Even when it looks like everything you care about might just… slip away.”
Every muscle in my body coils. I want to break his jaw, wipe the smirk from his face and leave him gasping for teeth on the marble floor.
I let the mask slip for half a heartbeat—just long enough for him to see the promise of violence lurking beneath. Then I smile.
“Enjoy your evening,” I say, stepping away, Eden still tucked safe under my arm.
My men form a loose barrier as we move on. I catch the edge of Rafael’s laugh, see the way he tips his head at Eden—a warning, a threat, a challenge I can’t afford to answer here.
The rest of the night is a blur. Faces blend together, laughter ringing too loud, music too bright. I keep Eden close, every sense tuned to her presence, every glance from the crowd a potential danger.
My hands ache from clenching and unclenching. I don’t relax, not even for a second, not until we’re finally back in the car, the city rushing by in dark, silent streaks.
At home, the tension lingers. It’s a second skin, itching, suffocating, raw. I strip off my jacket the moment the door closes behind us, tossing it over a chair, pacing the length of the living room as Eden watches. She doesn’t ask what’s wrong. She doesn’t have to.
She comes to me quietly, her hand brushing my arm, grounding me in a way no one else ever has.
The anger and frustration boil under my skin, but she pulls me back, steady as gravity.
I stop, drag her against my chest, burying my face in her hair.
I breathe her in—citrus and warmth, the scent of safety I never believed I’d find.
Her arms slide around my waist, anchoring me. I let myself sink into her touch, feel the storm inside me settle. I hold her tighter, desperate to memorize the feel of her heartbeat, the certainty of her body pressed against mine.
“You’re safe,” I murmur, mostly for myself. “The party was all for show; we’re fine.”
She lifts her head, fingers tracing my jaw, her eyes gentle and fierce all at once. “I know.”
We stand like that for a long time, the world falling away until it’s just us in the quiet. I walk her to the bedroom, hands never leaving her, unwilling to give even an inch of distance.
In the dark, I undress her slowly, reverently, my lips trailing over the lines of her body, worshipping every curve, every new softness. I settle behind her, spooning her close, my hand splaying protectively over her stomach.
She turns in my arms, meeting my gaze in the low light. “He’s nothing to us,” she whispers, but I hear the flicker of worry. It only steels my resolve.
“Anyone who tries to touch you,” I say, voice cold and sure, “will answer to me. I swear it.”
Her fingers curl around mine, squeezing tight. I hold her through the night, letting her warmth seep into my bones, vowing silently over and over again: Cortez, the Bratva, the whole fucking world—none of them will ever lay a hand on her. Not while I breathe.
She drifts to sleep with her head on my chest, our child safe beneath my hand. In the darkness, I make myself another promise: I will never let go.
I will never let the world take her from me.
That’s not just a threat. It’s the only truth I have left.