Chapter 22
CLARA
The drive is silent as the blur of city lights streak past the tinted windows while Pavel navigates through Manhattan’s late-night traffic. The tension of unsaid words and feelings sits heavily.
I don’t look at Dmitri. I can’t. My body is still thrumming with adrenaline, my head echoing with the sound of gunshots, the smell of gunpowder still in my nose.
But the cold sharpness in my chest has nothing to do with being shot at, and everything to do with being in an inescapable car with a man who still isn’t sure I’m not working against him, who could believe I would betray him like that.
We finally pull into the hotel’s underground garage, and Pavel lets us out by the elevator.
We ride up to the penthouse in silence. Dmitri remains quiet as he puts my bag down.
He then takes off his coat and gloves, stows them in the closet, then reaches for mine and does the same.
I don't know what he's thinking; I can't read his expression or his body language, except that he seems wrapped up in whatever's going on inside his head.
The penthouse is a bunker cloaked in tarnished gold that is safe, sterile, and feels like a cage. I don’t want to be here. I just want to go home, my home. My apartment, with my bed, my blankets, my stuff. Not this gigantic museum that is cold and unwelcoming.
I’m beyond tired. Draining adrenaline has left me entirely bone-tired.
“Where should I sleep?”
Dmitri looks at me with brief confusion before asking, “What?”
He’s somewhere far away. I can’t blame him, even though I want to. I know he’ll never admit it, but I’m sure this was as traumatic for him as it was for me.
“I need somewhere to sleep. Were you expecting me to stand here all night?”
“Of course not.” His eyebrows knit together, his eyes narrowing as he says, “You will stay here where it is safe. Until then, you do not leave without my say-so.”
“Don’t you dare,” I reply, the words coming out shaky with a fury I’ve been holding back ever since I saw Dean’s smug face.
“Don’t you dare treat me like a possession you’re moving from one safe house to the next.
Not a word about security, not a word about safety, until we talk about what just happened. ”
Dmitri slowly turns his large frame toward me. The monster is still there—the cold, ruthless detachment making his eyes look like chips of polished stone.
“What just happened, Clara,” he begins, his voice flat, “is that you were almost killed. The police, led by your pathetic ex-boyfriend, who is still dangerously obsessed with you, are actively looking for an excuse to put both of us in jail. We are not safe. I’m afraid discussion is a luxury we do not have right now. ”
“No,” I shoot back, my voice rising. “That is the physical reality. I’m talking about the emotional one.
You had Pavel follow me, Dmitri. You didn’t trust me.
You thought I was the mole. Me! You believed—in fact, you still believe, I can see it in your eyes—that I had seduced you to worm myself into your life while I collaborated with the FBI, except that someone shot at me for the simple reason that I’m with you, and now,” I point to my own shoulder for emphasis, “my best friend is in the hospital because of me and my choices.”
Dmitri avoids my gaze for a fraction of a second—a micro-expression of guilt—before the mask snaps back into place, more severe than before.
“The possibility had to be assessed,” he replies, his Russian accent thick.
“I operate with facts, not sentiments. You ran. You tried to disappear. You are connected to a man obsessed with my downfall. You have access to private information. What did you expect me to conclude, that you were taking a sabbatical?”
The words fall like stones, sharp and heavy. They don’t just hurt; they wound me right to my core.
“I was running away from you,” I whisper, the raw honesty of it suffocating.
“I was running away from this.” I gesture between us.
“Away from the tension and mistrust, away from the man who could look at me in one moment with fire and passion, and the next, turn into a monster, and then, without warning, treat me like a traitor. I was running away from the danger, from the lies, from a world that demands I check my soul at the door just to survive in your orbit, which puts my life and my profession on the line. I was running from you, Dmitri, not to Dean or the FBI or anyone else! But even with all of that, I would never, ever betray you.”
Tears prick at the back of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. They would just give him an advantage.
“Betrayal is a luxury, too,” he snarls, leaning in so close his breath ghosts over my cheek.
“And you are capable of it, just like anyone else. Look at the facts: You wandered randomly into my penthouse that night. You were the only lawyer present when Dean raided our headquarters. And then you ran when things got difficult! In my world, those are the actions of a traitor to my company, to my Bratva, to us.”
“There is no us!” I shout, the control finally breaking.
The words echo in the high-ceilinged room.
“You try to control me, then you open up to me. You act like you need me, then become a monster when something goes wrong. And the second your opinion of me was challenged, you decided I had to be the bad guy. I didn’t betray you, Dmitri.
I chose my own survival, just like I told you I would. ”
I shove his shoulder hard, needing the physical release.
“You want to know why I left? Because you are cruel. You are ruthless. You are the monster Dean sees, and you wield that cruelty against people! You lead a Russian mafia syndicate. You expect me to bow to you, to put up with your anger, your terrifying rages, and your need for control, not to mention every swing of your opinion of me, even at the cost of my safety and my career. I won’t do it. I won’t be one of your casualties!”
I turn and start walking toward one of the rooms I know is empty. I need distance, I need space, I need to know that I am not just a piece on his chessboard.
But Dmitri follows, his footsteps heavy and fast behind me. He grabs my arm, spinning me around. I try to pull away, but his grip is like steel.
“Stop running!” he demands.
“I’m not running!” I yell back. “I’m standing still.
For the first time, I am standing still and telling you the truth about what a bastard you are.
You hurt me, Dmitri. Your words hurt me more than any bullet ever could.
And if you keep lashing out at me, if you keep treating me like a disposable asset to control, I will walk away, and I will never look back, and you will have driven me there yourself. ”
Dmitri’s eyes are furious, his jaw tight, the veins in his neck popping out.
I can tell his primal instinct is to crush this defiance, to shut down the source of his pain.
I see a glint of the monster, the terrifying rage that could break a man’s neck or a woman’s heart without a single flicker of remorse.
I hold his gaze in defiance, looking right into the storm, letting him see my own fury, but also the deep, genuine pain. I let him see the consequences of his actions laid bare—the absolute certainty that if he takes one more step into that cruel persona, he loses me forever.
We start at one another for a long, agonizing moment. He could call my bluff, dare me to try to leave, or he could destroy me altogether.
But then, I see it. The hardness in his eyes dissolves, replaced by a sudden, stark realization, a terror more potent than any fear of death.
He realizes I mean it. He realizes that the defense mechanism he uses to keep the world out, the way he sinks into his pakhan persona, is actively destroying the one thing he desperately needs to hold onto.
His grip loosens. His big hand slides from my arm, cupping my cheek instead. His thumb brushes away the one rogue tear that finally escaped my control.
“Clara.” His voice is rough with emotion. “I cannot lose you. Do you understand? I cannot. If you run, if you leave, if you are hurt, I lose my center. I lose my control.”
“You have to learn how to be gentle around me. You have to learn how to trust me when I tell you I care about you, even if the rest of the world has proven themselves capable of betrayal. If you treat me any differently than that, Dmitri, you will always get the same result. I will leave.”
He stares at me, truly seeing me for the first time since we stepped out of the car. The dark, terrifying intensity is still there, but now it is mixed with a desperate, naked vulnerability that makes my knees weak.
“The thought that you could be the one who hurts me the most, the one who takes everything, Clara, I cannot survive that again,” he confesses, the words tumbling out of him.
He steps back, his hands resting on my shoulders, anchoring me in place. “I did not have you followed to hurt you,” he whispers. “I had you followed because if something happened to you, if I were too late, I would burn down the world.”
It is a twisted form of love and control, but I recognize the sincerity in his admission. He doesn’t know how to protect without dominating.
I take a deep, shaky breath, inhaling the familiar scent of him.
“I’m here now,” I say simply. “I just told you that I will never betray you. I am not the mole. I will fight this by your side, but you have to stop fighting me.”
He pulls me to his chest, not in a tight embrace, but as a silent acknowledgment, a desperate anchor.
“I need you to tell me what you need, Clara, because I do not know how to do this. I only know how to conquer and protect. I’ve forgotten how to be soft. I lost that part of myself when Lauren died.”
“I need you to listen to me when I tell you that you are safe with me,” I say gently. “I need you to trust me.”
He lowers his head, resting his forehead against mine. The vulnerability is overwhelming, radiating off him like heat.
“I am sorry. I was wrong to doubt you. I was wrong to hurt you.” He pulls back slightly, looking straight into my eyes, the statement clear and raw. “I will try. I will remember how to be soft again. Just stay here. Stay with me. Please.”
He’s asking for me. He’s asking for my presence, my commitment, my future. He’s asking for the only thing he cannot buy or conquer.
I reach up to stroke the stubble on his jaw. “I’m not going anywhere,” I confirm. “But this is not a truce, Dmitri. This is an understanding. If you cross this line again, if you lash out at me again, I’m gone.”
He nods once, accepting the condition. Then he takes my hand and leads me to the master suite.
“Shower,” he says. “Wash off the street, the smoke, the anger. We will talk about Dean, about the mole, about everything else in the morning.”
He is giving me time and space.
I nod before walking into the massive bathroom, the marble cold beneath my bare feet. I don’t need to look back to know he’s standing in the doorway, watching me. Protecting me.
I peel off my clothes and step into the shower. As the hot water hits my skin, washing away the fear and the danger, I replay the conversation in my mind.
I need you to learn how to be soft with me.
It was a huge ask, a massive vulnerability, and he had met it. He had dropped the shield. But I know this is only the beginning. The monster never truly sleeps; it is only quieted by acceptance and understanding. Whatever happens from here on out between us, it will not be easy.
I think about telling him about the pregnancy, but tonight isn’t the right time. He’s trying to be better for me, but this is only one night. I need Dmitri to do as he says for the long term. I promise myself I’ll tell him soon.
Dmitri is gone from the doorway when I step out of the shower, wrapped in a thick, dark robe that smells like him.
I find him sitting on the edge of the large bed, a glass of bourbon in his hand.
His hair is damp from his own shower, and he’s wearing nothing but a pair of dark lounge pants, his torso a roadmap of muscle, tattoos, and old scars.
He raises his head, his eyes taking in all of me.
“Come here.” Dmitri holds out a hand.
I walk over to the bed and stop in front of him. He puts the glass down on the nightstand.
“I asked you to stay. You said you would. I need to hear you repeat it. Everything else—the case, the mole, the police—it can wait until the sun rises. But I need you to commit this night to me. I need you to tell me that after everything, you still want to be here.”
He is asking for confirmation of my unconditional trust—the trust I had just fought to earn.
I meet his gaze. “I want to be here, Dmitri. I will stay.”
For the first time in a long time, I feel wanted and needed. And even though I know the road ahead will be rocky, I’m starting to fall hard for this dangerous, broken man.