13. Kiera
KIERA
"Iknow exactly who you are," I say, my voice shaking with anger and fear. "You're Mafia. Russian Mafia. And I want nothing to do with you or your world."
Emil's expression doesn't change. He just stands there, looking at me with those dark, unreadable eyes that make my stomach flip despite everything I've just learned about him. Behind him, Kevin and Jack are practically vibrating with tension, ready to throw themselves between us if necessary.
"Kiera," Emil starts, his voice low and calm.
But I don't get to hear what he's going to say because the roar of engines cuts through the night air. My head whips toward the street, and my mouth falls open.
Three black SUVs screech to a halt in front of my apartment building. Car doors fly open and men pour out. Big men. Men in dark suits with hard faces and harder eyes. And guns. Oh, God, they have guns tucked into shoulder holsters and waistbands, not even trying to hide them.
I'm frozen, staring at the small army assembling on my quiet residential street like something out of a movie. This can't be real. This can't be happening.
Emil moves past me while I'm gaping like a fish, his shoulder brushing mine as he steps into my apartment. The brief contact sends electricity through my body, which pisses me off even more. How can I be attracted to him when he just brought armed thugs to my home?
"You need to leave," Emil says, and it takes me a second to realize he's talking to my brothers, not me.
That breaks through my shock. "What? No! You need to leave!"
But the men from the SUVs are already moving, climbing my stairs with purpose.
I stumble backward into my apartment as they push their way inside, filling my small living room with their bulk and the smell of cologne and gun oil.
They position themselves between me and my brothers, a wall of muscle and menace that makes my blood run cold.
Kevin steps forward, his jaw clenched. "You can't just—"
"I can," Emil interrupts, his voice still calm but with an edge of steel that makes even Kevin pause. "And I am. Your sister is under my protection now. That's considerably better than anything you can offer her."
I want to laugh at that. Protection. The word tastes bitter in my mouth.
My brothers have protected me my entire life, since I was eight years old and our parents died.
They raised me, fed me, and made sure I had everything I needed.
And now this man, this criminal, is standing in my living room telling them they're not good enough.
That he can do better. The arrogance of it makes my hands shake, though I'm not sure if it's from anger or fear or both.
Behind Emil, his men stand like statues, their faces blank but their eyes alert, tracking every movement my brothers make.
I count them quickly. Eight. Eight armed men in my tiny apartment, and God knows how many more outside.
The weight of their presence is suffocating, making the walls feel like they're closing in.
"Protection?" Jack's voice is tight with barely controlled rage. "You're the one she needs protection from!"
Emil turns his attention to Jack, and something in his gaze makes my cop brother take an involuntary step back.
"You're going to keep this between us," Emil says quietly.
"You're not going to talk to your buddies at the precinct.
You're not going to file any reports or ask any questions. Do you understand me?"
The threat is implicit but crystal clear. Jack's hands curl into fists at his sides, and I can see the war playing out on his face. He's a cop. He's supposed to uphold the law. But he's also my brother, and he knows that going against Emil could put me in danger.
"Jack," I say, my voice small. "It's okay."
It's not okay. Nothing about this is okay. But I don't want my brothers getting hurt because of me.
Devin and Kaleb have moved to flank Kevin and Jack, all four of my brothers forming their own protective wall.
But it's useless against Emil's men, and we all know it.
These aren't gym rats or elementary school teachers or even cops.
These are killers. I can see it in their eyes, in the way they stand and the casual way they rest their hands near their weapons.
"This isn't over," Kevin says, looking past the wall of men to where Emil stands near my kitchen.
"It is for tonight," Emil replies.
The tension in the room is suffocating. I can barely breathe as I watch my brothers struggle with the decision. Finally, Kevin jerks his head toward the door.
"Come on," he mutters.
They file out slowly, each of them shooting me looks that range from worried to furious. Jack is the last to leave, pausing in the doorway to look back at me.
"Call us if you need anything," he says. "Anything at all."
I nod, not trusting my voice. The door closes behind them with a soft click that sounds like a death knell.
For a moment, nobody moves. Then Emil makes a gesture, and most of his men file back outside.
I hear them taking up positions around my building, their footsteps heavy on the stairs and sidewalk.
Only two remain inside, positioning themselves near the door.
Far enough away that they won't hear if we talk quietly, but close enough to intervene if needed.
The reality of the situation crashes over me, and fury burns away my fear.
"How dare you," I hiss, rounding on Emil. "How dare you come into my home and threaten my brothers and take over my life like you have any right to!"
He doesn't flinch, doesn't even blink, just watches me with that infuriating calm.
"I already called in sick to work today," I continue, my voice rising. "How much more time am I going to have to take off because of this mess? How much more of my life are you going to disrupt?"
"As much as necessary to keep you safe," Emil says simply.
"Safe? You're a mobster! You're the opposite of safe!"
"I'm the only thing standing between you, your ex Arnie, and the shooter right now," he counters. "Or did you forget?"
I haven't forgotten. God, I wish I could forget. But that doesn't mean I'm okay with trading one dangerous man for another.
"This is insane," I mutter, running my hands through my short hair. "All of this is completely insane."
I pace across my small living room, very aware of the two silent guards by my door and the man watching me with dark, hungry eyes. Emil hasn't moved from his spot near my kitchen, but I can feel the weight of his attention on me like a physical touch.
"I can't believe you actually want to marry me," I say, stopping to face him. "Why? Why me?"
Emil's gaze travels slowly down my body, and the way he looks at me makes me feel naked. His eyes linger on my breasts, then the curve of my waist, and finally on my hips. When his gaze finally returns to my face, there's heat in his expression that makes my core clench.
"I'm attracted to you," he says, his voice dropping lower. "Very attracted to you."
My breath catches. I should not be turned on right now. I should not be imagining what those large, capable hands would feel like on my skin.
"That's not a reason to get married," I manage.
"I also need a wife," he continues. "My council has been pressuring me to settle down, to provide stability and heirs. You solve that problem."
"Oh, well, I'm so glad I can be useful," I snap, even as part of me is fixating on the word 'heirs' and what that would entail.
Emil's lips quirk in what might be amusement. "And you asked me to marry you."
"That was to get away from Arnie! It wasn't a real proposal!"
He doesn't respond, just keeps watching me with those dark eyes that see too much. I want to scream. I want to throw something. I want to demand he leave and take his armed thugs with him. But I also want to close the distance between us and find out if his lips are as firm as they look.
What is wrong with me? This man is a criminal.
A mobster. He kills people, probably. He definitely hurts them.
He's dangerous and violent and everything I should be running from.
But instead, I'm standing here in my living room, my pulse racing, my skin flushed, wondering what it would feel like to have him touch me.
I pace again, needing to move and do something with the nervous energy coursing through me.
My boss is going to be furious if I have to call in sick again tomorrow.
I've already used up most of my goodwill at work this year.
What am I supposed to tell them? Sorry, can't come in, my fake fiancé, who's actually a Russian Mob boss, has stationed armed guards around my apartment?
"I'm making it real," Emil says, jerking me back to the present conversation, referring to how I said it wasn't a real proposal.
The certainty in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. This man is used to getting what he wants, and apparently, he wants me. The thought should terrify me. It does terrify me. But it also makes heat pool low in my belly and my skin feel too tight.
I look at him, really look at him. The top button of his shirt is undone, giving me a glimpse of his throat and the strong column of his neck.
He's broad-shouldered and solid, the kind of build that comes from real work, not just gym time.
And the way he's looking at me, like he wants to devour me whole…
A wild idea forms in my mind. It's reckless and stupid and probably the worst decision I could make, but I venture forth anyway.
"I don't even know if you're good in bed," I hear myself say.
Emil goes very still. The two guards by the door might as well be statues for all the attention they're paying us, but I can feel the shift in the air, the sudden charge of electricity between me and the dangerous man in my kitchen.
"That's important to you?" Emil asks, his voice rough.
"Of course it is," I say, taking a step toward him. My heart is pounding so hard, I'm sure he can hear it. "If I'm going to marry someone, even in a fake engagement that you're trying to make real, I need to know we're compatible. In all ways."
Another step. I'm close enough now to smell his cologne, something expensive and masculine that makes my head spin.
"So I think I need to give you a test run," I say, looking up at him through my lashes.