Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
KIRILL
Sloane is quiet on the way home—staring out the window, fingers clasped—and I wonder if she’s thinking about the money. She kept saying it was too much today. About the clothes. The shoes. The car. Every single thing I put in front of her.
I say it isn’t enough. I hate that she’s been trained to think a good life is something she has to apologize for, but the longer she’s under my roof, the more she’ll get used to it. And if I have it my way, she won’t be leaving at all.
At the next red light, I reach across the console and take her hand from where it rests on her thigh. Her fingers go stiff in mine, then soften, letting me lace our hands together. I lift her knuckles to my mouth and press a slow kiss there, knowing I shouldn’t be doing any of it.
When I glance over, her eyes are bright, mouth parted like she’s caught between pulling away and climbing onto my lap. She doesn’t snatch her hand back; instead, her fingers curl around mine and she lets me hold it, our fingers threaded as I drive one-handed the rest of the way.
“You’re not used to people doing things for you,” I say, more statement than question.
She laughs under her breath. “That obvious?”
“Da.” I squeeze her hand. “Get used to it. I don’t plan to stop.”
She doesn’t answer, but the way her throat works around a swallowed sound tells me enough.
I’ll spend every fucking day proving her worth to her, even if it takes me a lifetime. Because she deserves all of it. The clothes. The car. A home. More than any of us do.
By the time we roll through the gates and up the driveway, I already know what I’m doing as soon as I head to my office to get some work done. I’m calling my people in New York. I need an update on Barrett and Eli so detailed that I know what they ate for breakfast.
If they’ve been asking questions about her, about anyone she knows—if they’ve even thought about her—I’ll make sure Konstantin’s Calabrian black pigs devour every single inch of their flesh until there’s nothing to identify.
When we pull up into the driveway, I circle to open her door, then get Lev out of his seat before we head inside.
After we slip off our shoes and coats, Lev takes off for the living room and we follow him. Once he spots his puzzle box on the rug, he drops cross-legged on the floor, already pulling it toward him.
“I have some work to catch up on,” I tell her. “I’ll be in my office. Let me know if you need me.”
Sloane looks back at me over her shoulder. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll keep ourselves entertained.”
A quick smile, and then she’s on the rug beside Lev. The pull to stay hits hard, but I’m already behind on the finances for Marinov Holdings, the corporation that keeps our legitimate and illegitimate businesses afloat.
In my study, the door clicks shut behind me as I wake the laptop, then head for the safe hidden behind the Cézanne painting I bought at a private sale for two hundred and fifty million. I only bought it because one of my uncles wanted it and I hate the svolich.
Reaching into the safe, I pull out the contract I need for work, and that’s when something else catches my eye: the file I keep on Sloane.
If she ever finds out the truth, I don’t think she’ll look at me the same. Not about any of it.
I take what I came for, lock the safe, slide the painting back into place, and sit down at my desk.
An hour drags by as I finish what needs to be done. Then I pick up my phone and open the encrypted app I use for my guy in New York.
Kirill
Need a deep pull on Barrett and Eli. Last sixty days. Travel, calls, anyone they’ve leaned on. Anything that might interest me.
Timur
Done.
I drop the phone onto the desk and pull up the living room security feed. Lev and Sloane are on the rug with puzzle pieces scattered like bright confetti.
She sits across from him with her knees pulled in, hair loose around her face as she studies the shapes. When he slides a piece toward her, she makes a dramatic gasp and praises him like he just solved something impossible. Lev’s shoulders lift, his mouth quirks, and he focuses harder.
He doesn’t do puzzles with just anyone, and the more time he spends with her, the more he welcomes her into his world. That’s going to be a problem when she leaves.
Unless I find a way to keep her with us for good.
You can marry her…
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I mutter a curse. There’s no way she’d ever agree to that now that she knows who I am.
Who says she has to agree?
Blyat. Net.
I can’t do that to her. Not after everything she’s been through. If it ever comes to that, it has to be her choice. She has to say yes on her own.
I continue to watch them, unable to look away. This is what Lev should’ve had with his mother. Someone who loves him, who wants to be there.
My blood turns hot when I think about that woman. He doesn’t need her. He has me. He has Sloane. And that has to be enough.
They place the last piece, and she throws her hands in the air, grinning when he copies her. Then he crawls right onto her lap. Her arms slide around him and pull him close as he tucks his face against her chest, hands hooked behind her back.
For a long time, I was the only one who could give him that. But not anymore, and I’m okay with it.
She drops her chin to the top of his head and shuts her eyes, like she’s found somewhere she can be safe too.
I drag a hand down my face. Staying away from her is already tearing at me, and seeing her like this with my son only makes it harder.
Every instinct in me wants to walk out there, sit on that rug, pull her back against me, and let Lev fall asleep between us like we belong to each other. Like it’s always been us.
Instead, I remain here, even though it kills me.