24. Kate
Kate
My hands were still trembling as I stepped out of the café with a tall Americano, the heat from the cup barely registering against my skin. I didn’t even taste it—I just needed something to hold onto, something grounding. The adrenaline from Romanov’s ambush hadn’t worn off, not even close.
Was Michael really going to kill him?
That question kept ringing in my head like a fire alarm. I hadn’t meant to cause a scene. I hadn’t wanted anyone dead. Romanov had scared me, sure. He crossed a line. But murder? Was that where this was heading?
Do I really want to love a man capable of that?
The sidewalk buzzed with leftover weekend tourists, and I kept my head down as I reached into my purse, searching for my keys. I was almost to my Jeep when I was bumped—hard.
Hot coffee exploded across my cream-colored blazer.
"Oops," a voice dripped with venom.
I looked up, blinking through the steam rising off my chest—Krystal.
She looks glamorous and deadly in oversized Chanel shades, a red bodycon dress, and that too-perfect blowout. Her lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
Before I could react, she shoved me—hard.
My heels caught the edge of the curb, and I stumbled off the sidewalk into the street. Brakes squealed. A car swerved. A horn blared as I barely missed getting hit.
"Watch out, bitch," Krystal sneered from the curb.
I froze for a second, stunned by the venom and violence in Michael’s world. This wasn’t just drama. This was dangerous. I was shaking. Not just from fear—but from fury.
I stepped back onto the sidewalk, spine straightening, heart pounding. I was a survivor. A fighter. But I wasn’t a fool.
Krystal tilted her head. “What are you gonna do? Have Michael zip-tie me too? Newsflash—I’ve already been there done that. He prefers silk to plastic.”
I stared at her, coffee soaking into my clothes, adrenaline surging.
"No," I hissed. "I’ll take care of you myself."
Then I swung my purse up—hard—and cracked it across her face.
Krystal stumbled back, stunned, one hand going to her cheek. Her mouth dropped open in a mix of shock and rage.
And for the first time, I saw fear in her eyes.
I didn’t wait for a comeback. I turned on my heel, coffee-stained and shaking. I was done being anyone’s target.
"Keep your claws out of my life, Krystal," I spit. "You lost. Deal with it."
I turn without waiting for more drama and stalk to my car, rage and adrenaline making my pulse roar.
As soon as I’m inside, I yank out my phone and shoot off a text to Michael:
Going home. Krystal just assaulted me. Again. Need a change of clothes.
I toss the phone onto the passenger seat and grip the wheel, knuckles white. I don’t know what kind of war I’ve walked into—but I’m not playing damsel.
Not today.
I don’t wait for a response. The adrenaline from Krystal’s shove hasn’t worn off. I feel it pounding under my skin, in my temples, in the bruised knot starting to swell on my elbow from where I hit the sidewalk.
But nothing—nothing—prepares me for what I see when I pull into my parking space.
Michael is already there.
He’s pacing, wild-eyed and tense, like a panther in a cage, dressed in black and backlit by the overcast sky. The second he spots me, it’s like a match strikes air.
“Baby—” he breathes.
Before I can even put the Jeep in park, he’s yanking the door open. My seatbelt’s barely un-clicked before I’m in his arms.
He doesn’t care about the coffee stains or the fact that I look like I lost a bar fight. His arms lock around me like he’s anchoring us both. Like if he lets go, we’ll both fly apart.
He kisses my hair, my cheek, my temple. Rough hands smoothing over my back. Lips pressing into my skin like he’s memorizing me by touch.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into my ear. “You’re safe. You’re safe.”
And suddenly, I’m not shaking anymore.
I melt into him.
This man. This dangerous, possessive, powerful man makes me feel like the center of his entire world. And I’m terrified because it’s already too much. Because I want to be held like this forever.
Because I’m already addicted—to him.
And I have no idea how to walk away now.
Everything about him overwhelms me. The possessiveness. The heat. The way he makes me feel like the only woman on earth. I should want to run again, slam the brakes on whatever this is, but the truth is—I can’t.
Inside, the condo is quiet, the hum of the fridge the only sound.
I shrug off my coat, toss the ruined coffee-stained shirt toward the laundry room.
He doesn’t follow me into the bedroom. Instead, he stays by the door, fitting his hands into his trouser pockets like he’s holding himself together by sheer will.
When I step out of my closet in yoga pants and a loose-fitted tank, I find him standing at the open balcony doors, staring out at the harbor like it might offer him some peace. The wind tousles his dark hair. His back is so broad, his frame so still, it guts me.
"It’s time, Kate."
His voice is quiet but edged in steel.
He turns to face me, eyes locking with mine. There’s no smirk, no grin. Just raw, unflinching honesty.
"If you want to be with me—really be with me—this is your chance. Right now. Tell me everything. Why you left. Why you ran. What the hell you’re still hiding. What’s behind that locked office door.”
My chest tightens. I take a step forward. Then another. And instead of answering, I wrap my arms around him and press my face to his chest.
He holds still. One second. Two. Then his arms come around me. Slow. Steady. Strong.
But he doesn't say anything. Neither do I. The words won’t come. They’re lodged somewhere too deep. Still too tangled in fear and consequences.
He pulls back enough to look down at me. "I have to deal with Romanov."
I nod, throat dry.
He kisses me again—one last time—then turns and walks out the door.
And I stand there, scared I’ve just watched him walk away for good. So I did something stupid.
I slipped out and followed him. The way his men followed me.
I shouldn’t have come. I knew it the moment I pulled up behind the warehouse and saw the light flickering through the slats of the garage door. I should’ve turned around, gone back home, waited like a good girl. But something clawed at me—curiosity, fear, maybe love. Maybe something darker.
The fishes smells like salt and metal. My boots crunch over gravel. I edge around to the side where the rolling garage door is cracked half open.
That’s when I see him.
Michael.
His sleeves are rolled up, the white of his shirt stained with blood. His knuckle rings are slick, dripping red, and Romanov is slumped over, wheezing, face nearly unrecognizable. His teeth are scattered across the floor like lost dice.
Michael is breathing hard, standing tall. Calm. Dead calm.
He looks like an avenger. Like a god of war. Nothing like the man who had kissed my shoulder hours earlier in my bedroom, whispering that he was scared, too.
His men are silent. No one stops him. No one dares.
I take a step back, and the gravel crunches.
His head turns. Our eyes lock.
And in that moment, everything between us shifts.
He sees me.
My heart cracks open and folds in on itself. I should be running. I should be screaming. But I stand there, my fingers trembling, my soul fighting itself. This man—this beautiful, dangerous man—had loved me with a tenderness that burned. Now I watch him destroy with that same fire.
I can't breathe.
He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t flinch. He just looks at me with those storm-dark eyes like he’s daring me to run. Daring me to stay.
I turn before I fall apart. My legs feel heavy as I walk past the building and down toward the water, the docks stretching out into the black sea.
My hands brace against the wooden railing.
The waves slap the pilings, cold and rhythmical, like they’re counting the beats of a heart that doesn’t know what to feel anymore.
I wait.
For him.
For the truth.
For what comes next.