16. Emil
EMIL
Istand at the window of Kiera's apartment, watching her car pull away from the curb. My reflection stares back at me.
Last night was… fuck. I run a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the memory of her body beneath mine, the sounds she made, and the way she came apart when I was inside her.
I've had plenty of women. Beautiful women.
Experienced women. But nothing, absolutely nothing, has ever compared to what happened between us last night.
It was the best sex of my life, and that's saying something.
I watch the black SUV fall into position two cars behind hers. My men. They'll keep their distance and stay invisible, but they'll be there. Another vehicle joins from a side street, boxing her in from a different angle.
I should feel in control right now, satisfied that I've claimed her, that I've tasted every inch of that gorgeous body and made her scream my name.
Instead, there's this gnawing sensation in my chest, something uncomfortable and unfamiliar.
Want or need. The kind that doesn't fade after you've gotten what you came for.
She's under my skin, and I don't know how to cut her out. Not even sure that I want to.
"Boss." Luca's voice pulls me from my thoughts from where he's standing in the doorway. "Ready when you are."
I turn away from the window, forcing my expression into something neutral. Can't let him see how she's affecting me. Can't let anyone see that. "Let's get to work."
For the next three hours, Luca and I transform Kiera's apartment into a fortress.
Cameras go up in every corner, tiny and discreet, positioned to cover every angle.
The front door gets a new alarm system, one that'll alert me the second anyone tries to breach it.
Motion sensors. Window locks that can't be picked.
A panic button disguised as a light switch in her bedroom.
"She's going to lose her shit when she finds out," Luca says, drilling a mount into the wall near her ceiling.
"Probably." I'm on my knees by her door, installing the final component of the alarm system. My fingers work quickly and efficiently. "But she'll be alive to be pissed at me, so I'll take it."
Luca glances over his shoulder, and I can feel his assessment. He's known me too long not to be able to practically read my thoughts. "You could just bring her to the estate. Force her if you have to. You're the Pakhan. You don't ask permission."
"No." The word comes out harder than I intend. I stand, brushing off my knees. "I could force her. Drag her to my home, lock her in, and make her mine whether she wants it or not. But that's not how this is going to work."
"Why not?"
Because she already hates what I am. Because forcing her would only make it worse. And because some fucked up part of me wants her to choose this. Choose me.
"Because she's already dead set against me," I say instead. "Forcing her hand will only make her fight harder. It's easier to seduce her into wanting to marry me."
Luca raises an eyebrow but doesn't argue. Smart man.
By the time we finish, her apartment is more secure than most government buildings.
I test each camera on my phone, watching the feeds flicker to life one by one.
Living room. Kitchen. Hallway. Bedroom. I linger on that last one, remembering the way she looked spread out on those sheets, her breasts flushed and perfect, her thighs wrapped around my waist.
My cock stirs at the memory. Down, boy. There'll be time for that later.
"All set," Luca confirms, packing up the remaining equipment. "Want me to post someone inside?"
"No. She'd notice immediately. The tail outside is enough for now." I check my watch. Almost noon. "I'm going to her office. Make sure the café is ready."
Luca nods, already pulling out his phone to make the call.
The fashion magazine's office building is all glass and steel, the kind of place that screams money and taste.
I stride through the lobby like I own it, because in a way, I do.
I own half this city. The receptionist's eyes widen when she sees me, and she doesn't even try to stop me when I head for the elevators.
Kiera's on the third floor. I know because I've had her followed, studied her routine, and memorized every detail of her life. It should feel invasive. It doesn't. It feels necessary.
I find her at her desk, bent over a layout spread, her dark hair falling forward to hide her face.
She's wearing a fitted blouse that hugs her breasts just right, and the memory of how they felt in my hands makes my jaw clench.
When she looks up and sees me, those beautiful eyes narrow into a glare that could cut glass.
She doesn't say anything, just stands, grabs her purse, and walks toward me with her spine straight and her chin up. Proud. Defiant. Fucking magnificent.
Her coworkers watch with barely concealed curiosity, but she doesn't make a scene. She's too smart for that, too aware of exactly who I am and what I'm capable of. The power I hold in this city isn't just criminal. It's everywhere. In every business, every corner, and every shadow.
She knows better than to challenge me in public.
We don't speak until we're in my car, and even then, she stays silent, staring out the window with her arms crossed. The gesture pushes her breasts up, and I force myself to focus on the road.
"Where are we going?" she finally asks, her voice cold.
"Lunch."
"I'm not hungry."
"You'll eat anyway."
She turns that glare on me, and I almost smile. Almost. "You can't just show up at my work and kidnap me, Emil."
"I just did."
"This is exactly what I'm talking about. This… this controlling, criminal bullshit. I want nothing to do with it. Nothing to do with you."
The words should sting. They don't because I felt the way she responded to me last night, the way her body sang under my touch. She can lie with her mouth all she wants. Her body tells the truth.
"We'll see," is all I say.
The café sits right on the waterfront, a small, elegant place with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bay.
I bought it two years ago as an investment, but today it serves a different purpose.
The Closed for Private Event sign hangs on the door, and when we enter, the space is empty except for one table set for two with candles, wine already breathing, and fresh flowers.
Kiera stops in the doorway, and I see the moment she realizes what this is. "You closed an entire restaurant for lunch?"
"I own it. I can do what I want." I pull out her chair, waiting. She hesitates, then sits, and I catch the scent of her perfume as I push her chair in. Something floral and sweet that reminds me of the freshness after a rain.
The meal is perfect because I made sure it would be. Seared scallops, risotto, and wine. We eat in tense silence for a while, the only sound the soft clink of silverware against China.
"I'm not going to marry you," she finally says, setting down her fork. "I need you to understand that. I don't want your world, Emil. I don't want the violence, crime, and constant danger. I want a normal life."
"Normal is overrated."
"Normal is safe."
"Safe is boring." I lean back in my chair, studying her. The way her pulse flutters at her throat. How her fingers tremble slightly when she reaches for her wine. "You weren't bored last night."
Her cheeks flush, and fuck, she's beautiful when she's flustered. "Last night was a mistake."
"Last night was inevitable." I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out the small wrapped box I've been carrying all morning. I slide it across the table toward her. "Open it."
She eyes the box like it might explode. "No."
"Kiera."
"I don't want your gifts. I don't want anything from you except to be left alone."
"Open it anyway."
We stare at each other across the table, wills clashing. Finally, with a huff of frustration, she snatches the box and tears off the wrapping. The velvet case inside opens with a soft click, and I watch her eyes widen.
The necklace is exquisite, even I'll admit that. Diamonds arranged in a cascading tier, each stone flawless and brilliant, hang in a long, elegant line that'll rest perfectly in the valley between her breasts. It cost a fortune. It's worth it.
"I can't accept this," she whispers, but her fingers hover over the diamonds, drawn to their sparkle.
"You can. You will." I stand, moving around the table before she can protest. She stiffens when I take the necklace from the box, but she doesn't pull away, doesn't run.
I move behind her chair, and the position puts me close enough to feel the heat of her body, close enough to smell that perfume again. My fingers brush the nape of her neck as I drape the necklace around her throat, and I feel her shiver.
"Emil…" Her voice is breathy now, uncertain.
"It looks perfect on you." I fasten the clasp, letting my fingers linger on her soft skin. The diamonds settle against her chest, glittering in the candlelight, and I lean down to whisper in her ear. "A gift. To show you that I appreciate you."
What I don't tell her is the other purpose it serves.
Hidden in one of the center diamonds is a tracking device, small enough to be undetectable but powerful enough to tell me exactly where she is at any moment.
She might refuse to come to my estate. She might fight me every step of the way.
But I'll always know where to find her, always be able to protect her.
Even from herself.
She touches the necklace with trembling fingers, and I see the conflict in her eyes. She wants to refuse and throw it back in my face. But it's beautiful, and some part of her, the part that responded to me last night, wants to keep it.
Wants to keep me.
I'm about to say something else, something to push her closer to surrender, when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I consider ignoring it. Nothing should be more important than this moment. But it's Luca's ringtone, and he knows better than to interrupt unless it's critical.
I step away from Kiera, answering as I move toward the window. "What?"
"Boss." Luca's voice is tight with urgency. "We have a lead on who took a shot at Kiera."