Chapter 31
Liev
The storm rolls in fast and violent, swallowing the sky in layers of black and electric blue, the air turning heavy before the first crack of thunder splits it open. I watch from the bedroom as the room slowly darkens around me, even though it’s barely past noon.
By the time the rain hits, it’s a downpour that hammers the house, sheets of water slamming against the windows hard enough to blur the world beyond them into nothing.
I feel bad for the guys out in the guardhouse and the four that Viktor has patrolling the property.
He’s out there himself, probably looking like a drowned cat.
But we can’t be too careful not when I’m vulnerable.
Lightning flashes, sharp and blinding, followed immediately by thunder that rattles through the walls.
Miami doesn’t do subtle.
I should be resting. That’s what everyone keeps telling me, Vivienne and the visiting nurses that have been vetted and hired. Ryder, most of all.
As I shift in the chair, the movement pulls tight across my ribs, a deep, persistent ache that sharpens if I forget myself for even a second. The lung is holding, the worst of it behind me, but the recovery is slower than I like. Every breath reminds me of it.
And I hate being still!
“You’re supposed to be in bed.”
Her voice cuts through the storm, steady despite the chaos outside. I glance toward the doorway.
Ryder stands there, framed by a flash of lightning that outlines her for half a second before the room dims again. Her gaze is locked on me, focused in a way that’s become familiar over the past week.
She’s bossy and sexy, and frustrating. If we’re trapped in this house together any longer, I don’t know if we’ll kill each other or tear each other’s clothes off.
She’s wearing one of my shirts again. It’s big on her, almost to her knees over those tight little leggings she wears.
“You’re supposed to be downstairs,” I reply.
“I was,” she says, stepping into the room. “Until Vivienne told me you decided to ignore medical advice again.”
Thunder rolls again, closer this time, the sound low and heavy.
“She’s not even here, how would she--?” I look around the room quickly, suspicious of cameras or Vivienne Baranov herself. She’s been spending her time in the streets and alleys at my wife’s command, though I have no idea what she’s looking for.
Ryder moves toward me, her attention fixed entirely on me in a way that would feel suffocating if I didn’t understand it. If I didn’t see what was underneath it.
She’s been like this all week.
Sharp. Present. In control of everything that moves through this house, through the docks, through the parts of the empire that don’t require me physically there. She stepped into it without hesitation, without needing direction.
It’s impressive.
But something is off. There’s a restlessness that I feel like the storm’s electricity in the air, and it puts me on edge.
“You shouldn’t be walking around,” she says, stopping in front of me.
“I’m sitting.”
“You weren’t.”
Lightning flashes again, illuminating the room in stark white for a split second. Her eyes flick to my side, like she can see through the fabric, through the healing skin, and straight to the weakness beneath it.
“Back to bed,” she says.
It’s not a suggestion, and I should push back and remind her who she married. Instead, I can’t help murmuring, “Only if you come with me,” eyes trailing up her legs to the hem of the shirt. Ryder’s laugh makes me smile.
“Wouldn’t want to put you in a coma, old man. You couldn’t handle me in this condition.” She practically purrs the words, her eyes dark in the shadowed room. I’m tempted to test the boundaries of just how healed I am.
Reaching out, I let my fingers catch on the hem of the shirt. I act unbothered when Ryder’s hand snatches it quickly away from me and she takes a step back.
“That’s mine,” I say.
Her lips curve faintly, but she looks unnerved. “You have a lot of them.”
“We’re married, Mr. Demsky. What’s yours is mine.”
“Or maybe,” I say slowly, “you’re hiding something.”
Thunder cracks again, louder this time, shaking the glass. Ryder’s expression darkens.
“Not everything is suspicious,” she says.
“No,” I agree. “Just the things that don’t fit.”
Rain lashes harder against the windows, the sound relentless now, filling the silence that follows. I don’t look away, but neither does she.
There’s something wrong.
It’s not obvious, but it’s there…in the pauses and the way her attention drifts when she thinks no one is watching. In the way Viktor and Vivienne move around her now, subtle shifts in proximity and awareness that weren’t there before.
They’re watching her, and they haven’t told me why.
“You’ve been busy,” I say.
“I always am.”
“More than usual.”
She tilts her head slightly. “Someone has to keep things running while you pretend you’re invincible.”
Deflection. I push to my feet.
The movement is slower than I’d like; the pull in my side is immediate, but manageable. Ryder’s focus sharpens instantly, her body tensing like she’s ready to stop me if I take it too far. She even reaches her palm out, as if she’s about to press herself against me. I wish she would.
“Sit back down,” she says.
“No.”
“Liev—”
“I said no.”
The edge in my voice cuts clean through the storm. Ryder steps back, her expression guarded now. Good. I’m breaking her down.
“You’re overcompensating.”
“For what?”
“For something. You won’t tell me if I ask you. We both know that.”
She exhales, steadying herself, arms crossed. “You were shot. Forgive me for being concerned and trying to run your empire so you can recover.”
“This isn’t just concern, Ryder. You’re keeping everything under control, but you’re also keeping your distance.”
Her lips part slightly. “I’m right here,” she whispers.
“Not entirely.”
She shifts under my hand, just enough to betray it. But her fingers graze my forearm, wrapping around my elbow. I have vague memories of her in the hospital, at my bedside. Speaking quietly, tiredly. What had she said?
“Viktor watches you like you’re a problem,” I continue. “Vivienne doesn’t leave you alone. And you—”
Lightning cuts across the sky again, bringing with it an almost deafening deluge of rain.
“—you’re somewhere else half the time.”
Her jaw tightens. “That’s not true.”
“It is true. Literally and figuratively. If you’re not lost in thought, you’re out in Miami, and I don’t want you putting yourself out there until we have more answers.”
The storm surges, the wind howling now, rain slamming against the house in waves that sound almost violent. I don’t give her space to step away. Instead, I let my hand slide slightly higher along her side, slow and deliberate. A caress meant to trap her into feeling safe.
Leaning in closer, I let my lips brush against her earlobe, trying to ignore the shock of heat that contact sends through my body. “You think I don’t notice,” I whisper. “But I do.”
Her hands come up against my chest, light, steady, but not pushing me away.
“Maybe you’re bored,” she says. “Stuck here, overthinking.”
“Maybe, but I don’t think so.”
Her fingers tighten in my shirt.
“Then what do you think?” she asks.
I hold her there for a second, letting the moment stretch, letting everything build. The suspicion, tension, and whatever is going to come after this that feels like it could destroy everything.
“I think you’re hiding something from me, Ryder Demsky. Don’t forget, I’m not just your husband. I’m your Pakhan. So tell me what’s going on, or I’ll collapse this lung again getting it out of you.”