Chapter 5
GAbrIEL
It’s been hours since I left her room, since I watched her come apart on my fingers, her body arching as she moaned with pleasure.
I can still taste her, can still feel the way she clenched around me, can still hear those soft, desperate sounds she made when she stopped fighting and just took what she needed.
I lean back in my chair, feet on my desk, starting at the ceiling of my office. I run my tongue over my teeth.
That woman has no idea what she does to me.
Last night, pressed against the front doors, I could’ve taken her right then and there. I could’ve stripped her bare, pinned her down on the marble, and made her scream.
She would’ve let me. Her body was already begging for it, all slick and soft, so fucking responsive that I nearly lost control.
But I didn’t.
Because Thea is not some nameless woman I fuck and forget. She’s hers. She’s Masha Fetisov’s daughter. Lev’s little girl. The five-year-old I pulled out of the wreckage twenty years ago and swore to protect.
And also the woman I’ve been watching for months.
The woman I’ve been learning.
The woman I’ve been craving.
The woman I’ve bought and made mine.
This is a problem.
She thinks I bought her on a whim, that I saw her on that stage and decided she was worth a million dollars because I’m a possessive bastard with too much money and a God complex.
She’s not entirely wrong.
What she doesn’t know is that I’ve been keeping her alive since she was five, that I’ve had men watching her, tracking her, making sure that Sokolov’s crew never got close enough to recognize her.
She doesn’t know that I left money for Liza—money the bitch pocketed instead of using on Thea’s education like I told her to.
And she doesn’t know that I’ve been inside of her apartment, that I know she takes her coffee black with two sugars and a splash of almond milk.
She doesn’t know that I’m well aware of her little romance audiobook addiction on her morning commute, or the precise and careful way she dog-ears the pages of historical fiction novels she buys secondhand.
I know that she hides that gorgeous goddamn body under shapeless sweaters.
I know that she hasn’t been on a date in a year.
She doesn’t know that, last night during the auction, when I saw her standing on stage—terrified, furious, beautiful—that I would’ve killed every man in that room before I let one of them touch her.
I think back to Sasha on the phone with Sokolov. How much, exactly, would he have paid for Thea? Enough to set off a hell of a bidding war, more than likely. Really, I should be glad that I got away with spending only a million.
She’s worth it.
Hell, she’s worth more.
I close my eyes and see her again. This time, I focus on the way her cheeks turned that gorgeous tint of pink when I told her how beautiful she is.
Perfect. My mind drifts to the way her thighs trembled when I pushed inside of her.
Then the way she looked at me afterwards, dazed, sated, and so fucking conflicted that it made my chest tighten in a way I wasn’t ready for.
She thinks I’m a monster.
I don’t blame her.
A knock at my door pulls me back into reality.
“Come in.”
The doors open and Amanda Reed steps in.
She’s dressed in a charcoal-gray skirt suit, her dark hair pulled back, heels clicking against the hardwood. Professional and polished, Amanda’s the kind of woman who belongs in boardrooms and courtrooms.
But not my bed, not anymore.
“We need to talk,” she says, closing the door behind her and locking it with a click.
Part of me wants to scold her for not at least sending a text to let me know she was coming, but I push the thought away, as it would only prompt a fight that I’m not in the mood for.
I gesture toward one of the chairs across from my desk.
“By all means.”
But she doesn’t sit. Instead, she leans on one of them with her arms crossed.
“You brought her here,” Amanda says sharply, “into your home, Gabriel. What the hell were you thinking?”
“I was thinking she’d be dead by morning if I didn’t.”
She sighs, shaking her head. “So you put a target on your back instead? On all of us? Kolya Sokolov wanted her, and you outbid his lieutenant in front of half the city’s Bratva. Do you have any idea what kind of message that sends?”
“That I don’t take orders from Kolya fucking Sokolov.”
“No. Wrong. Always thinking like some cocky general in the middle of a goddamn war. It sends the message that you’re protecting her, that she matters to you.”
“Or it sends the message that I saw a woman I liked and spent the money to buy her.”
Another shake of her head. “This isn’t like you, Gabriel. You’re more strategic than this. Sokolov is absolutely not going to think that you splashed a million just because you liked her smile. He’s going to find out that she’s more than that to you, and when he does…”
“He won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
I take my feet off the desk and stand, then walk over to the window. The office is on the fourth floor, high enough to see over the hedges and gate, to the sprawl of the city beyond. It’s gray and indifferent, as always.
Somewhere out there, Kolya is plotting, circling, waiting for me to slip.
Maybe I already did.
“Thirty days until the council,” I say, my eyes on the towers of Midtown in the distance.
Another sigh. “God, are you really doing this?”
“I’m removing him, yes.”
“Do you really think you’ve got enough evidence? That you can prove he orchestrated the Fetisov massacre?”
“I know I can.”
“How?” She steps closer, lowering her voice.
I turn my head slightly to watch her approach.
“Gabriel, it’s been twenty years. The evidence is gone.
The witnesses are useless or too scared to say anything, and that’s assuming they’re still alive.
What do you think you’re going to—” She stops.
Her eyes widen. “No, you’re not seriously planning to use her? ”
I don’t answer, which is answer enough.
“Jesus Christ.” Amanda laughs, sharp and bitter. “You’re going to tell her who she is. You’re going to dredge up all of her childhood trauma and weaponize it against Kolya. That’s your plan?”
“That’s my plan.”
She narrows her eyes. “And what happens when she finds out that you’ve been lying to her this whole time? That you didn’t just meet her at that auction, that you’ve known her since she was five years old and never said a word?”
My jaw tightens. “She’ll understand.”
I don’t like being second-guessed, but as much as I don’t want to admit it, this situation is delicate enough that I need to proceed with both caution and certainty.
“When she knows the stakes,” I go on, “she’ll understand. She’ll have to.”
“Will she?” Amanda moves around my desk until she’s in my personal space. Her voice is cutting. “Or will she hate you? Because from where I’m standing, this looks less like protection and more like obsession.”
I turn to face her.
“Careful,” I say softly.
She doesn’t flinch.
“Listen, I’m your lawyer. Part of my job is telling you when you’re being an idiot.” She crosses her arms again, cocks her hip to the side. “Keeping her here is dangerous. Using her against Kolya is reckless, and if you think for one second that she’s going to forgive you when the truth comes out—”
“I don’t pay you to psychoanalyze me, Amanda.”
“No, you don’t. But what you do pay me for is to keep you out of prison and alive.” Her expression hardens.
I find myself wondering if there’s more going on than she’s letting on.
“Let me give you my professional opinion—the one you pay me such a handsome retainer for. Send her away. Put her somewhere safe, somewhere Kolya can’t reach her.
And leave her out of this. You believe you owe Lev Fetisov a debt?
Fine. You’ve paid it. She’s alive, and she’s safe.
Peel off a few million, put it in a trust for her, and rest easy knowing that you’ve done your duty. ”
“It’s not enough.”
She arches a brow. “Why? Why isn’t that enough, Gabriel?”
Because I’ve spent twenty years watching her from a distance, and it’s not fucking enough anymore.
Because when I saw her on stage, I didn’t see Lev’s daughter. I saw a woman who takes the long way home because she likes walking through Prospect Park. A woman who tips more than she can afford and apologizes to inanimate objects when she bumps into them.
A woman who has no idea how beautiful she is.
I’ve already decided that she’s mine, and I don’t let go of what is mine.
“Because it’s the right thing to do.”
She scoffs. “So this is about justice? Please.”
The massacre was horrific, and now Thea is without a family because of what Kolya did. If she hadn’t been away that night, she most surely would be dead.
“What Kolya did was against the code. We don’t murder women and children in cold blood.”
Amanda mumbles something under her breath.
“She stays,” I say, “and that’s final.”
She stares at me for a long moment, then she sighs and picks up her briefcase from the chair.
“Fine. I’ve done my due diligence. What more can I say other than this: When all this blows up in your face—and it will blow up in your face—don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She glances away, something else on her mind.
“What is it?”
She looks at me with the corner of her mouth curved in that particular way I’ve seen so many times before.
I know exactly what she’s going to say.
“You don’t need to do this. If it’s company you want, Gabriel, just say the word.”
“Amanda.”
“Why did we end what we had?” she muses out loud. “I seem to remember having quite a bit of fun, and so did you.”
I narrow my eyes. “Enough.”
“Just once,” she goes on. “For old time’s sake, I’ll be quiet, if you’re worried about her hearing.”
“I said, enough.”
The little curve vanishes from the corner of her mouth, and she huffs, squaring her shoulders.
“Whatever. You’re a fool when it comes to such matters, Gabriel. You always have been.”
“Is this part of the expertise I’m paying you for?”
“No, consider this one pro bono.” She throws her briefcase strap over her shoulder and starts toward the door once again. But when she reaches it, she stops and turns. “Gabriel.”
“What.”
“This thing with her,” she says, a trace of hesitation in her voice. “Whatever it is, be careful. You’re not…” She pauses, weighing her words carefully. “You’re not the kind of man who gets to have something soft and tender. You know that, right?”
I hold her gaze.
“Goodbye, Amanda.”
With that, she leaves, the door closing behind her.
I stand there, alone, silence pressing in.
Thirty days.
Thirty days to dismantle Kolya, to secure the council’s support, to reshape the Bratva’s leadership and ensure that Thea is safe.
Thirty days to figure out how to tell her the truth without losing her.
I move back to my desk and pull open the bottom drawer. Inside is a file that I haven’t touched in years—faded photographs, witness statements, and police reports from a massacre that was never fully investigated.
A single picture falls from the file.
It’s of five-year-old Teodora Fetisov, standing between her parents at a family event. Her mother’s hand rests on her shoulder, her father’s arm around his wife’s waist.
She looks happy.
I stare at the photo a long time, then I close the drawer and lock it.
Thea.
She’s probably getting dressed for work with hateful thoughts toward me while planning her next escape.
Good.
Let her hate me. Let her fight.
It won’t change what I have in store for her, and when the truth comes out, when she learns who she really is and what I’ve done, what I’m asking of her, I’ll deal with the fallout.
But I won’t let her go.
Not a goddamn chance.
I check my watch and head for the door.
Time to see how my little maid is settling in.