Chapter Twelve - Markian
Her sounds echo in my mind, louder than the rain against the windows, louder than the measured voices around this table.
I can’t shake the image: Jessa’s mouth parted, eyes glazed, her body clutching my hand as she broke for me in the dining room.
The way she fought it—her thighs trembling, her shame and her need warring on her face—haunts me.
Even now, as I sit across from Alexei and Lui in the Bratva’s private suite, I find myself distracted, blood hot, the taste of her still on my tongue.
We’re supposed to be making decisions. The round table is buried under maps of the city, stacks of files, grainy photos, and lists of names—territory, assets, threats, and debts.
The real work of the Bratva, where a single wrong word means blood.
Alexei runs a hand through his hair, his expression tight, sharp blue eyes flicking between us.
“Chris is moving faster than we thought,” he says, voice low. “He’s been talking with the Sokolov crew, looking for leverage. He still acts loyal, but the minute he finds a better deal, he’ll burn us.”
Lui grunts, shuffling through the photos, then holds one up. “We should’ve handled him last month. You want me to send the boys to his club tonight?”
I lean back, considering. Chris Jenkins, the American with the too-bright smile and the mouth that never learned to shut up. We’ve given him time. Too much time, maybe. He’s greedy, clever, just unstable enough to be useful… right up until he becomes a threat. That’s always the way.
Alexei meets my gaze. “It’s time we put the plan into action. He’s too unpredictable. If we wait, he’ll make his move first.”
I nod, quiet but firm. “Do it.”
Lui’s mouth twists in a half smile. “You want an accident, or something they’ll remember?”
“Accident. Car, maybe. Make it look like he got careless.” I drum my fingers on the table, pulse racing. “Make sure his people know what happens to traitors, but don’t give them a martyr.”
The room goes still, both men watching me for a moment, waiting for more. My focus is already sliding, mind flickering back to Jessa. I can still see her in the lamplight, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, the way she looked when I broke her.
She’s too soft for this world, too pure. It should make her harmless, but it doesn’t; it makes her dangerous. She’s a crack in my armor, a threat to my control. Every time I remember the sound of her voice as she came, I want to drag her back and make her do it again. I want to ruin her completely.
Alexei sighs, tossing a map aside. “Recruitment is going to be a problem after this. Chris had a few loyal dogs. If we hit him too hard, we’ll lose the whole club and maybe the west side muscle. You care about that?”
I barely look at him. “We’ll replace them.
I’m not losing sleep over street soldiers.
” I say it flat, colder than I mean, but I don’t have the patience for the rest of it.
The only thing I can think about is the girl upstairs, the way she tastes of honey and fear, the way she melts when I touch her even though she swears she hates me.
Alexei raises an eyebrow. “You sure you’re all right, Markian? You’re quieter than usual.”
Lui grins, always too perceptive. “He’s thinking about his little American, aren’t you, Boss?” He glances at Alexei. “Heard she’s pretty. That why you haven’t left the house for two days?”
I fix him with a look sharp enough to draw blood. “You’d do well to remember your place, Lui. She’s not your concern.”
Alexei just laughs, but his eyes stay cold. “Don’t get soft, Markian. A girl like that, she’ll ruin you if you let her.”
I bristle, voice going steel-hard. “She’s not going to ruin anything. She’s… insurance.” I can hear the lie in my own voice, but I press on. “Chris is the problem. Jessa’s just a complication.”
As I say it, I know it isn’t true. Chris is easy. I need to remove him, move on, the way we always do.
But Jessa? I can’t remove her, can’t let her go. The thought of anyone else touching her makes me see red.
Lui starts to outline the plan: who’ll tail Chris tonight, who’ll plant the evidence, who’ll clean up afterward.
I nod where I’m expected to, add my own instructions, but my mind keeps drifting.
I remember Jessa’s breath against my cheek, the desperate heat of her thighs, the helpless way she moaned for me in that cavernous dining room.
Alexei is saying something about recruitment again, but it barely registers. “We’ll need new muscle in Brighton Beach, someone who knows the clubs—”
“Handle it,” I interrupt, barely looking up. “I trust you.”
Alexei frowns, sensing my distraction. “You’re slipping, Markian. Don’t let a girl turn you into your father.”
My jaw tightens. “You worry about the job. I’ll worry about her.”
He sighs, but lets it go. I push away from the table, restless. The meeting should have settled me, given me that icy clarity I rely on. Instead, I’m burning up inside. I can’t focus.
All I want is to be with her. To hear her beg again, to see her fall apart, to remind myself that whatever else is happening, Jessa is mine.
“Let me know when it’s done,” I say.
Alexei stands, slipping files under his arm. Lui goes to follow, but I catch his sleeve, stopping him with a quiet word. The others pause, glancing back, but I give them a look that means get out. They obey, closing the door behind them. Now it’s just Lui and me in the hush of the private suite.
I look at him, expression hard. “Stay back. Watch the girl.”
He nods, no argument. “You want me outside her room?”
I shake my head, voice low and final. “No, but I want you close. Make sure she doesn’t try anything while I’m gone. If she opens a window, you know first. If she picks up a phone, you break her fingers. Understand?”
His mouth quirks, just a hint of amusement. “You think she’s dangerous?”
I fix him with a look that erases any humor. “She’s mine. That makes her dangerous to someone. Anyone tries to touch her, anyone tries to speak to her without my say-so, they answer to me. If you let her slip, you answer to me.”
Lui’s posture straightens. “Got it, Boss. I’ll keep an eye on her. Close.”
I hold his gaze a second longer, making sure he feels the weight of it. Jessa isn’t just some frightened girl now, not to anyone in this house. She’s mine. Anyone who forgets that won’t survive the reminder.
As the others leave, Alexei gives me a sidelong glance, that same warning in his eyes: Don’t let her ruin you. I don’t answer. I don’t have to. I already know she could.
The room empties, and I’m left with the silence.
For a moment, I linger, letting the adrenaline fade and the need return.
My hand flexes on the back of the chair, restless, aching for her.
I think about going back upstairs, about pressing her into those velvet sheets and seeing just how much more I can ruin her.
Just to touch her. Just to see her melt for me again.
There’s too much at stake tonight. Chris Jenkins is a bigger problem than even Alexei understands. If we don’t move first, we risk everything—the territory, the loyalty, the illusion of control that keeps the city in check. I can’t afford to let her distract me now. Not until this war is finished.
Still, as I step out into the corridor, the manor’s old stones echoing beneath my shoes, I find myself hesitating.
The air smells faintly of rain and something sweeter, something like her.
For a second, I almost turn around. I almost give in to the pull that’s been gnawing at me since the moment I first saw her, small and lost in the garden, pretending not to be afraid.
Instead, I take the stairs down to the garage, forcing my mind back to the business at hand. Lui will watch her. She’ll be safe. She’d better be.
When this is over—when Chris is gone and the Bratva is mine without question—Jessa will be next. There’s no more running. No more pretending she’s just another complication. She’s mine.
As I climb into the back of the waiting car, I let myself imagine her for a moment longer: hair spread over my pillow, skin flushed and marked by my hands, eyes wild and wanting.
I wonder if she’s thinking of me, if she’s touching herself again with my name on her lips.
The thought almost makes me turn the car around and abandon everything.
My phone buzzes as the engine roars to life. Alexei’s text: Everything’s in place. Jenkins leaves his club at 10.
I type back: Clean. No witnesses.
I tuck the phone away, flexing my hand, feeling the itch of unfinished business beneath my skin. It’s almost over. One more night, one more broken body on the streets, and then I can have what I want. Then I can have her fully, without anything or anyone between us.
I watch the city slide past the windows as we drive, every streetlight a blur. The rain has started again, drumming on the roof of the car. It’s a good night for endings. For erasing threats.
I know the truth, even if I won’t say it aloud. Jessa isn’t the threat. She’s the reason I want this war to end, the reason I want to live through it, the reason I want to walk back into that manor and make her scream my name until there’s nothing left of her but the memory of my touch.
The city rushes by in streaks of wet neon, tires hissing over rain-soaked asphalt. My mind is already locked on the night’s work: Chris, his route, the timing, the cold satisfaction of tying off another loose end. I’m silent in the back seat, every muscle braced for action.
We turn down Forty-Fifth, the street usually quiet at this hour. Tonight, blue and red lights flicker against the brick. Police cars clog the intersection… at least four.
I lean forward, frowning. Lui glances at me in the rearview, waiting for instructions.
Up ahead, a line of patrol cars blocks our route to Chris’s club. I spot uniformed officers moving between the cars, their radios crackling, one waving traffic away. More than a checkpoint. Something’s happened. Something big.
I curse under my breath. “What the fuck is this?”
Lui kills the headlights and eases the car into a side street, out of sight. “Want me to go around?” he asks, voice tense.
I watch the chaos, adrenaline rising. No way through tonight. Not without drawing attention. Not with this many eyes.
“Abort,” I snap. “Circle back. We wait.”
As we turn away, frustration coils tight inside me. Chris lives one more night—not by my choice, but by fate’s. I clench my fists, gaze drifting to the rain-streaked window. Everything’s on hold.
Hopefully not for long.