Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Kholod
I flipped through the investigation file in front of me, feeling like a dull knife was carving into my chest over and over.
It was Isabella who contacted Lorenzo, and Noelle had no clue. I'd let my emotions blind me, hadn't even checked her call logs.
"Fuck." I slammed the file shut.
"Boss?" Dmitri waited for orders.
"Send Lorenzo Conti back to the Bellucci family." My voice stayed eerily calm. "One last warning to Sofia. Next time, we won't even bother returning a body."
"Got it." He nodded and slipped out, closing the door softly.
I'd fucking wronged her. I lit a cigar and downed a big gulp of vodka, but it wasn't strong enough to burn away the guilt gnawing at me.
I'd let anger override reason again.
Late at night.
I stood outside the master bedroom door, hand hovering over the knob, frozen.
A faint light seeped through the crack—she always left the bedside lamp on before sleep.
I took a deep breath and turned the knob gently.
The door opened silently. I squeezed in sideways, moving like a thief.
On the bed, Noelle lay on her side, blanket only up to her waist. I stood there, watching her like some creep, borrowing the dim light. Her lashes were long, casting shadows on her cheeks. Her breathing was steady and soft. Her lips pursed slightly, like she was arguing with someone in her dreams.
Lost in the sight, I didn't notice her body twitch suddenly.
Her brow furrowed, and a tiny whimper escaped her lips.
She was having a nightmare.
"No... don't..." Her voice was faint, laced with fear.
My heart clenched hard. What was she dreaming? The shit I'd put her through? Or something worse?
She curled up, hands instinctively guarding her chest—right where my name was etched.
"I'm not... I didn't..." she murmured, voice thick with despair.
I almost reached out to wake her, but my hand froze mid-air. What right did I have to comfort her? I'd caused these nightmares myself.
After a while, her breathing evened out, and she sank back into sleep.
I exhaled slowly, pulled out the ointment, and gently lifted the blanket. Every bruise on her was proof of my brutality.
I twisted open the tube, squeezed some onto my fingers. The scent of mint and herbs filled the air. I leaned in, applying it feather-light to the worst mark on her arm. My fingertips circled her skin, tracing every ridge of the wound.
This was my doing.
I hiked up her nightgown hem. The bruise on her waist glared in the dimness. I gritted my teeth and kept going.
Spreading her legs, the finger marks on her inner thighs screamed my asshole moves; shifting her panties aside, the swelling at her core hadn't faded.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice hoarse and foreign. "I'm sorry..."
After tending every spot, I capped the ointment and tucked her back in. But I couldn't leave, just sat on the edge, staring at her peaceful face.
If only time could rewind...
I shook my head. No ifs. I'd use what time I had left to make up for the irreparable damage.
"Madam's temperature, pulse, and weight logs. Medical team assessment shows good recovery in bodily functions."
I scanned the report data, fingers lingering on "appetite improved" and "sleep stable." I waved Dmitri off, and he vanished quietly.
When the study door knocked softly, I wasn't surprised. Monitors showed she'd paced outside for five minutes. She pushed in, looking decent.
"What is it?"
"I want to go out for a bit."
I didn't want to allow it, but thinking of her stuck in bed for four full days because of me, guilt hit hard.
"Fine."
Her eyes lit up with disbelief, like a shooting star in the night.
"I'll allow one outing per week," I added, watching joy bloom on her face. "But Dmitri's men will tail you the whole time. I'll know your route, who you meet, and how long you stay." I locked eyes. "No contacting anyone on the list, including Isabella."
"I get it! I promise!" She bounced out like a little bird, light on her feet.
I called Dmitri right away. "Set up guards. She picks time and place. Allow bookstores, galleries, public spots. Give her the restricted list."
"Surveillance level?" Dmitri confirmed.
"Keep distance. No intervention unless she tries the list or bolts. Log places, times, purchases. Keep her safe."
"Understood."
"Target entered downtown Oak Street bookstore."
"Lingered in travel books section for forty-seven minutes."
"Bought a photography book and coffee. Read in the cafe area."
"No unusual contacts. Mood: calm, slightly happy."
...
The reports popped up on my phone, crisp and straightforward, detailing her perfectly normal path. The more innocent it seemed, the more guilt ate at me like ants.
A week later, I'd planned to tail her myself. But just as I geared up, the docks had an issue. A shipment got held by customs—I had to handle it personally.
I drove there, wondering where she'd go. By the time I sorted the mess, it was evening. In the car, I called Dmitri.
"What'd the madam do today?"
"She hit a downtown art supply store, bought charcoal pencils and a sketchbook," Dmitri said. "Then sat in a cafe for an hour, seemed like she was drawing."
"That's it?"
"She lingered outside a jewelry store for a while."
"Which one?"
"Lumiere Fine Jewelry on Walnut Street. Small place, handmade designs."
"What'd she buy?"
"Nothing," Dmitri continued. "Clerk said she eyed a necklace in pre-sale, available in a month. She stared a long time, then left."
"What kind?"
"I had a photo taken."
Seconds later, my phone pinged with an image.
It was a sleek, unique necklace—thin white gold chain with a small compass pendant. The compass looked antique with aged finish, but directions marked in colored gems.
"Clerk said it's the designer's limited edition, only ten made. Theme's 'Pathfinder.' She read the card forever, got down when told about the wait."
"Good. Keep on her."
"Will do."
I hung up and dialed another number.
"Get me Lumiere Fine Jewelry's owner. Tell him Morozov wants the 'Pathfinder' necklace reserved. I need the finished piece tonight."
"Boss, they said it takes—"
"Morozov doesn't wait." I cut in. "Price is no issue. But tonight, that necklace is mine."
"Yes, boss."
By ten p.m., a velvet jewelry box arrived. I opened it; "Pathfinder" gleamed softly under the light.
I stared at the compass directions—which one pointed to her heart's desire?
I snapped it shut, checked the time—nearly eleven. She should be asleep. Box in hand, I slipped out of the study. The hallway was silent, just my footsteps echoing. I treaded light, keeping my shoes quiet.
At the master door, I breathed deep and pushed it open gently. Bedside lamp glowed. Noelle lay on her side, shoulders rising and falling—she was out.
I crept in, shut the door without a sound. Tiptoed to the bed. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, dappling the carpet. I bent down, placed the box on the nightstand as quietly as possible.
Just as I straightened up—
She stirred. My heart stopped.
Was she awake?
I froze. Noelle rolled over, facing me, eyes still shut.
Just light sleep.
I exhaled, turning to go—
"Who's there?!"
Her eyes snapped open, voice full of terror, on the verge of screaming.
"It's me." I leaned in quick, hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened, then flashed with rage once she recognized me.
She thrashed wildly, hands shoving my chest, legs kicking under the covers.
"Mmph—! Mmph—!" She tried to speak, but I held firm.
"Don't scream, it's me," I hissed low. "I'll let go if you stay quiet."
She glared, no sign of backing down. When her knee jammed into me, I grunted and released.
"Kholod Morozov!" She sat up, voice shaking with fury. "What the hell are you doing sneaking in here in the middle of the night? Playing thief?"
"I didn't sneak in. I have a key."
She grabbed a pillow and hurled it at me. "Get out!"
It hit my face, soft and harmless.
"Let me explain—"
"Fine, explain! Better make it clear why you're creeping around like a burglar?" Her eyes blazed in the light. "And why you're standing by my bed watching me sleep!"
"I..."
Shit, how to explain? Say I was dropping off a gift? This late? Who'd buy that?
She was still catching her breath, pounding her chest, even grabbing her inhaler for a hard puff.
I yanked her into my arms instead.
She fought hard, nightgown slipping off her shoulder. Maybe it was the midnight hush or her feeble pushes, but it felt like an illicit thrill.
I turned her face and kissed deeply. She stiffened at first, resisting, but as it deepened, her shoving hands weakened. My palm pressed her lower back, pulling her close; through the thin fabric, I felt every curve.
Damn, I was hard. Aching hard.
I released her lips, our breaths mingling hot and ragged. Noelle pulled back slightly, her chest heaving, eyes dazed but determined. "That's enough," she whispered, voice shaky, like she was trying to convince herself.
Enough? Hell no. This forbidden game was just getting started.
I smirked against her skin, my hand sliding under the hem of her nightgown, palm pressing against the soft flesh of her inner thigh.
She tensed, instinctively trying to clamp her legs shut, but I wedged them apart with more force, my fingers stroking upward, teasing the heat building there.
"Look at us," I murmured, voice low and gravelly. "Doesn't this feel like we're sneaking around? Like a dirty little affair?"
Her body jolted, a shiver running through her.
She stammered, words failing her—"I... you.
.."—but the way she trembled, the slick warmth pooling between her thighs, betrayed her.
She liked it. Her hips shifted just a fraction, pressing into my touch, her excitement obvious in the way her breath hitched and her core clenched around nothing.