Chapter 12 – Anya
The moment I saw him standing there—whole, breathing, alive—something snapped inside me. All the careful walls I’d built, all the lies I’d told myself, all the reasons why this could never work crumbled to dust.
I ran to him without thinking, without caring who was watching or what it revealed about the state of my traitorous heart. My arms wrapped around his chest, clutching him tight enough that I could feel his heartbeat against my cheek, steady and strong and real.
“You’re okay,” I whispered against his shirt, breathing in the scent of him—leather and danger and something uniquely Lev that made my entire world feel stable again.
He froze at first, his body going rigid with surprise. But then his arms came around me just as tightly, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. He buried his face in my hair, and I felt him tremble.
“What are you doing here?” His voice was rough, strained. “Alone? Anya….”
I lifted my head just enough to see his face, to drink in the sight of those steel-gray eyes that were very much alive and focused on me. Without thinking, without permission, I crashed my lips to his.
And Lev didn’t care who was watching. He kissed me back like he was breathing for the first time in days, like I was oxygen and he’d been drowning. The kiss was messy and trembling and so full of emotion that I felt tears sting my eyes.
When I finally pulled back, my chest was heaving. I reached beneath my blazer and withdrew the blade I’d tucked against my wrist, showing it to him with a steadiness that surprised us both.
“I know how to take care of myself,” I said, tucking it away again. “Eleanor called. She said you’d been attacked. I had to know if you were okay.”
His jaw clenched. “You came alone.”
“I came armed.”
Something shifted in his expression then, a heat that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with the way he was looking at me like I’d just revealed something fundamental about who I was beneath all the polish and propriety.
A throat cleared behind us, shattering the moment. I’d completely forgotten we had an audience.
Lev exhaled slowly, his hand still wrapped around my waist as he turned us both to face the room. “Anya, this is my brother Trev and my mother Hannah.”
The woman sitting beside the hospital bed had Lev’s strong jawline and the kind of weathered beauty that spoke of years spent loving dangerous men. Her eyes were warm but assessing as she studied my face, probably trying to figure out what kind of woman could make her son look so unguarded.
Trev was unmistakably Lev’s twin, though his blue eyes held a different kind of intensity—less shadow, more steel. He was grinning despite the bandages wrapped around his shoulder.
“So you’re the one who’s got my brother walking into walls,” he said, and I felt heat flood my cheeks.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure you don’t.” His grin widened. “Nice blade work, by the way. Clean draw, good concealment.”
Before I could ask how he’d even seen me move, a doctor entered to check on Trev’s bandages. Lev’s hand tightened on my waist.
“We should go,” he said. “Let them work.”
I nodded, still feeling shaky from the adrenaline crash. We said our goodbyes, promising to visit tomorrow, and then we were walking through the sterile hospital corridors toward the parking garage.
The car ride back to the penthouse was suffocating. Heavy silence filled the space between us while Chicago’s lights blurred past the windows. I sat with my hands folded in my lap, stealing glances at Lev’s profile when I thought he wasn’t looking.
But he was always looking. Always watching. Always seeing too much.
My chest tightened with the growing realization that he knew. He’d felt it in that kiss, seen it in the way I’d thrown myself at him, heard it in the way I’d whispered his name like a prayer. There was no hiding anymore, no pretending this was just physical attraction or temporary convenience.
I loved him.
The thought should have terrified me. Should have sent me running back to my safe little world of fabric swatches and business meetings and predictable men who didn’t carry guns or kiss like they were claiming my soul.
Instead, it felt like coming home.
We walked into the penthouse in continued silence, and I tried to slip past him toward the bedroom, needing space to think, to breathe, to figure out how to rebuild my defenses now that they’d been so thoroughly demolished.
But Lev caught my wrist, pulling me back against his chest. His free hand cupped my jaw, tilting my face up to meet his gaze.
“Why?” His voice was low, dangerous. “Why did you put yourself in danger when you heard about the attack?”
I tried to look away, but his grip was gentle but implacable. “I told you. Eleanor said you were hurt. I needed to know—”
“Bullshit.” He stepped closer, crowding me against the wall. “Try again.”
My heart was hammering against my ribs. “I was worried. As your wife, I have certain…obligations—”
“Anya.” His thumb traced my lower lip, and I shivered. “Don’t lie. Not this time.”
The command in his voice, the way he said my name like he owned it, broke something inside me. All my careful excuses, all my rational explanations, crumbled under the weight of his stare.
“I couldn’t breathe,” I whispered, my voice cracking.
“When Eleanor said you’d been attacked, I couldn’t breathe.
My chest felt like it was caving in, and all I could think was that I might never see you again.
Never fight with you or kiss you or watch you try to pretend you don’t feel anything when you look at me. ”
His eyes darkened, but I wasn’t finished. The words were pouring out of me now like blood from a wound, messy and honest and impossible to stop.
“I know you think this is just some temporary arrangement. I know you think I’m this sheltered little princess who doesn’t understand your world.
But you’re wrong.” Tears were sliding down my cheeks now, and I didn’t care.
“I’ve been lying to myself for years, telling myself I hated everything about the Bratva, everything about men like you. But the truth is, I was terrified.”
“Terrified of what?”
“Of this.” I pressed my hand against his chest, feeling his heartbeat race beneath my palm. “Of wanting someone so much it makes me stupid. Of falling for a man who could disappear tomorrow and take half my soul with him.”
Lev’s hand tightened on my face. “Anya—”
“I’ve been in love with you since I was twenty years old,” I continued, the confession ripping out of me like shrapnel.
“That night at the club, when you kissed me and then walked away…it destroyed me. I spent five years trying to convince myself it was just a crush, just rebellion against my brother’s world.
But when I thought you might be dying, when I thought I might lose you before I ever got the chance to tell you… .”
The words died in my throat, but Lev was still watching me with those intense gray eyes that saw everything I was trying to hide.
I took a shaking breath and whispered the words that would change everything between us.
“I love you, Lev.”
The silence that followed felt eternal. I watched his face for any sign of what he was thinking, what he was feeling, whether I’d just made the biggest mistake of my life.
Then he moved.
He didn’t waste a second, didn’t hesitate, didn’t give me time to take it back or build new walls between us. His mouth crashed down on mine with a desperation that stole my breath and set my blood on fire.
This kiss was different from all the others. Deeper, more desperate, full of pain and passion and relief that made my knees weak. I could taste the fear he’d carried when he thought I might be hurt, the same terror that had driven me to his side tonight.
Without breaking the kiss, he lifted me, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carried me through the penthouse toward our bedroom. Our. When had I started thinking of it as ours?
We fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and desperate hands.
“Help me with this,” I gasped, fumbling with his shirt buttons.
“Fuck the buttons.” He yanked it over his head, then reached for my blazer. “I need to see you. Now.”
Clothes disappeared like obstacles between us and something we’d both been craving for too long. My blazer hit the floor, followed by his shirt, then my skirt.
“Your belt,” I demanded, working at the buckle with shaking hands. “Get it off.”
“Impatient?” His voice was rough, teasing, but his hands were already helping mine.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”
“Then let me catch up,” he murmured, hooking his fingers into my panties and dragging them down my legs. “Fuck, look at you.”
Until we were skin against skin and I was breathing his name like a confession. “God, I need you.”
“Say it again,” he demanded.
“I need you. I’ve needed you for so fucking long.”
Even his gloves came off—those black leather barriers he never removed for anyone. I watched him peel them away slowly, revealing scars across his palms and fingers, old burns that had healed into raised ridges of damaged skin.
“Don’t,” he started, trying to pull his hands back. “They’re not—”
“They’re beautiful,” I interrupted, catching his wrists. “You’re beautiful.” I traced the scars with gentle fingers, and he shuddered. “Does this hurt?”
“No,” he breathed. “No, it feels—nobody’s ever—”
“Nobody’s ever touched you like this?” I brought his scarred palm to my lips, kissing each ridge. “Then they were idiots.”
He pulled me closer, crushing his mouth to mine. “You’re going to ruin me.”
“Good. I want to ruin you.” I bit his lower lip. “I want you to forget anyone else who came before me.”
“Already done,” he groaned, his hands sliding down my body. “There’s only you. Always been you.”
We worshipped each other in the dim light filtering through the curtains. His hands mapped every curve of my body.
“So soft,” he murmured against my skin. “So fucking perfect.”