Chapter 3
Kazimir
Words are often overrated, though Liev would counsel me to resolve this with a warning, to de-escalate and remind him – or tell him, if he somehow doesn’t know – whose city this is.
But a warning won’t do when someone touches what’s mine. And if I open my mouth, whatever I say will guarantee me a spot in hell.
No one puts their hands on Alyona Demsky. As soon as he touches her, something sharp and blinding snaps loose in my chest. Consequences don’t matter; not for me.
The boy’s jacket is expensive, thick and well-made under my hand when I grip the collar and jerk him back. He lets out an embarrassing yelp, like a puppy realizing that their game has angered an adult.
I should keep an eye on him and his friends, in case one of them was stupid enough to bring a weapon. But I can’t look away from Aly – from the fear on her face and the way she looks at me.
“What the fuck—”
I don’t let him finish. Instead, I steer him through the bar with one hand, violence locking my forearm around his throat as I drag him through the rear exit. Out into the hot Savannah night.
He claws at me, weak and uncoordinated, shoes scraping against the floor and then the asphalt.
Aly is following – my eyes are on her, always, and she trails us as if a thread connects her fate to mine.
Her voice is loud and sharp with alarm, but I can’t hear the words for the rush of rage in my head.
The alley door slams open, and I throw him through it.
The sound he makes when he hits the brick wall is satisfying in a way that stirs the darkest parts of me. I’m not a hands-off boss, but it’s been a long time since I’ve snapped bone so deliberately.
The boy wheezes, hand going to his neck, eyes wide and wet as realization finally settles in.
He made a mistake.
The Foundry’s music dulls behind us, bass thudding through the brick walls like a distant heartbeat. The alley is narrow, but the street is right there. If I make him bleed, it won’t take long for that blood to reach the grate on the road.
“You don’t—” he gasps, moving to get to his feet. “You don’t get to—”
I hit him.
My fist connects with a crunch, snapping his head to the side. He goes down hard, shoulder cracking against the ground, breath leaving him in a strangled rush. I crouch, grab a fistful of his perfectly coiffed hair, and drag him back upright so he’s forced to look at me.
“You touched her,” I say calmly. I’m only vaguely aware that there are people behind me somewhere—more than just Aly now, the warmth of bodies gathering, though I swear I can feel her. “That was your first mistake.”
He tries to focus, pupils wide and arrogance pouring off him. He hasn’t learned yet. Must not be from Savannah.
“She’s a whore,” he slurs, desperation curdling into cruelty. “That’s what this place is, isn’t it? She’s—”
I break his nose.
The crack echoes, sharp and final, and blood pours down his face. He gasps into it, then screams – high and raw. Hands flutter uselessly as I let him drop to the ground, then drive my boot into his ribs.
Once.
Twice. Until he curls inward with a groan. Stops moving.
This is reckless. Part of me knows it. Elsewhere in the city my men are moving, shifting like pieces on a chessboard. But none of them know I’m here; exposing myself over a woman who does not belong to me, cannot belong to me.
This is not how I’m supposed to operate. This is how kings fall.
But I can’t stay away from her. I can’t.
When I turn, Alyona Demsky is still watching. Her friend, the girl with the dyed red hair and the bad attitude, is talking fast and low to her. Someone has brought Aly a coat or a jacket, and she clutches it to her chest, barely hiding her full breasts and freckled skin.
The boy tries to crawl away. My ears prick up.
I turn and drag him back by an ankle, ignoring the way he cries out.
“You don’t get to put your hands on women,” I tell him, crouched down once more. “And you especially don’t get to put your hands on her.”
“She’s just a—” his eyes are unfocused, but he’s smart enough not to make the same mistake again. “A bartender. I didn’t know—” his words bubble into blood on his lips. He’ll need an ambulance, most likely, judging from the wheezing.
“Ignorance won’t save you.”
I hit him again, slower and controlled this time. The way my uncle taught me when I was young, angry, and fresh off the boat – when I needed to learn restraint. His head strikes the wall, a dull thud, and he goes slack.
“Jesus Christ,” someone whispers. Someone else is crying.
More people have gathered now, drawn by noise and curiosity.
Patrons bleed out the back door, most of them in expensive suits or deceptively simple t-shirts and jeans.
Their gazes move over me, but the moment they register who I am, they look and move away.
Disappear back into The Foundry or out into the night. Not wanting to get involved.
Aly’s voice cuts through the murmurs and the sound of taxis and rideshares passing on the street.
“Are you done?”
She sounds strained, furious, and scared.
I straighten and turn, slowly. She stands just to the side of the door, Devin crowded next to her in a way that would be laughable if it weren’t so sincere.
I hate that Alyona has found her way here; but I’m grateful that she has friends like this little lisa, red like a fox too, with a pointed nose and sharp eyes.
Aly’s bare shoulders are tense. Her hands clutch the fabric to her chest, eyes blazing. The sight of her like this—defiant, furious, alive, scared—sends a fresh surge of heat through my veins.
Every part of me wants to step forward and touch her.
But I’ve never touched her, and I never can.
A short, dark man appears, puffing slightly, cell phone in hand. He takes in the scene and by the tilt of his head, I know he hears the wheezing too. A collapsed lung, maybe, or something worse. “Hey—that’s enough. You can’t—”
His words die when he looks at me properly.
I see the recognition settle in, the calculation that takes place in the next few moments. No police; but the boy will need attention. If he’s still a boy and not just a body.
“Take him,” he says, gesturing sharply to the bouncers who have stood by and watched. “Get him out of here.”
One of them hesitates. “Boss—”
“Now,” Jak snaps. His eyes lock on mine, that recognition again, a slight nod of his head.
They move quickly, hauling the tech mogul up from the ground. His feet drag uselessly but he moans. The crowd begins to disperse, murmurs rippling as interest wanes.
Aly wraps her arms around her chest. “Not you too.” There’s disbelief in the words as Jak avoids her eyes.
I’ve done my research, learned everything the moment I learned she took a position here.
Jak Kaminski, a second-generation immigrant, his father the owner of a series of laundromats that made a small fortune.
Jak opened The Foundry twelve years ago.
It has done well, and is generally respected – until people like this boy step foot inside.
“—you sure?” The little fox is talking to Aly, a hand still on her arm. Aly only nods. And then there’s just the two of us in the alley, brick walls closing in.
The air is thick with the metallic tang of blood and wet asphalt from this morning’s rain. But already the moisture steams, night bringing with it summer heat.
I become acutely aware of how close she is. Of how small the space feels with her in it, and the fact that this is the first time we’ve ever truly been alone.
She looks up at me, jaw set, and something twists low in my gut. I shrug out of my jacket and drape it over her shoulders. She stiffens, but doesn’t pull away or reject it.
“Are you hurt?” I ask, my voice low.
Her arms tighten around her chest. If there’s a bruise where he grabbed her, I’ll hunt him down.
“I’m fine,” she scoffs.
I don’t believe her. I crowd her back, until she hits the brick, my hand lifting to her chin before I can stop myself. Her breath hitches. That small sound is enough to make my body ache with want.
I tilt her face up, scanning, checking for bruises, fear, any sign that I was too late. Even in the same building with her isn’t close enough. “Did he touch you anywhere else?” I ask, rougher than I intended because I expect her to lie.
She hesitates for only a moment.
And then her arms drop away.
She’s bare before me, from the waist up.
So close that her full breasts brush against my chests and I bite back a groan.
The covers she wears do almost nothing to hide her dark nipples, but even the slight attempt makes her somehow more attractive.
I want to get on my knees and worship her.
I want to peel the lace off her body and lavish each nipple with attention until she’s crying out for me.
She’s Liev’s daughter.
I stare down at her body, frozen by the thought. “I’m fine,” she whispers again, but her shoulders tremble. Relief and guilt crash through me. I pull the jacket back up around her shoulders, look away until she covers herself again.
My thumb brushes her jaw then, just once, before I force my hand to drop.
I lean in. These words are only for her. The rest of the world narrows, and it’s just this woman and I standing here – this woman that I can never have.
“No one touches you,” I growl quietly. “Ever. And if they do, I will break them.”