Chapter 29
MELANI
He smiles at me, and my train of thought derails completely.
I’m not sure he’s ever actually fully smiled at me before. Not like this, open and almost warm, and it does something deeply inconvenient to my insides—they go all melty and mushy. Which is not helpful. At all.
I shake my head and drag my thoughts back on track.
“I wanted to go see my mom today, but she wasn’t in her room. She left.”
His smile fades, like he already knows where I’m going with this. “She’s not a prisoner here,” he says warily.
“Boris said as much.” I lean into him, my nerves pulling tight. Will this work? “Does it make sense, then, that I’m one?”
“What you saw—”
“We both know I’m not going to tell anyone.
” I rush the words out before he can finish.
“What am I going to do? Go to the police and risk exposing my status as an illegal immigrant? I’m sure you had your reasons for—for what you did.
” Even though I can’t say the words, I’ve seen enough of Vanya to know he doesn’t kill without reason.
He’s part of a world I barely understand, but somehow, I trust that he only acts when he must.
“Are you now?” His voice is unreadable, his face a blank mask.
I hesitate. Did I play my cards too soon? “I am.” I plow forward anyway. There’s no point backtracking now. “And you also know the other reason why I won’t go around talking about what I saw. I’m sure you know about the Sciarras by now.”
“Emilio Sciarra.” He nods. “He should be spending his resources to find the man who actually stole from him. Your father.”
My lips twist bitterly. “Be that as it may, I can’t risk drawing attention to myself. So your secret is safe with me. Really.”
He expels a long breath. “So what are you trying to say?”
“My mother is a guest here. I want to be one too. Your guest instead of your prisoner.”
His blue eyes slam into mine. If I’m no longer a prisoner, will I still stay? Or will this thing between us run its course and burn out? Neither of us says it out loud, but the questions are loud as hell anyway.
“I’m not letting you go,” he says tonelessly.
That lands like a needle under a rib, but I push past it.
“Don’t think of it as letting me go. Think of it as granting me a measure of freedom.
” He shakes his head, but I continue relentlessly.
“Listen, this is the safest place I can be right now—the safest place from Emilio Sciarra’s radar.
That’s why I asked you to bring my mother here. ”
His expression softens, just enough to bolster my courage. “I’m not leaving anyway. I have nowhere better to go. But I’d love the option of being able to step outside this suite. Maybe go downstairs for a couple of minutes. Do you know how crazy it is not being able to leave when I want to?”
He lowers his forehead to mine, and his fingers sink into my hair. “You make some fair points. I’ll think about it.” It’s not the yes I want, but it’s not a no either. So I’ll take it.
“Thank you,” I whisper against his lips, brushing them with a soft, chaste kiss.
His cock jumps between us with absolutely no subtlety whatsoever, and his grip tightens in my hair. I can’t help laughing. “You’re insatiable.”
“With you, I am.” The words come out raw and unguarded, and then he’s kissing me before either of us can think too hard about what he just admitted.
The next morning, I wake up alone in his bed again, but this time there’s a small note on his pillow.
If you’re seeing this before 12 PM, I’m in my office.
If it’s after 12, I’ve gone out.
I’ll be back tonight.
It’s not a sweet love note or anything. But the fact that I made my displeasure known and he actually listened melts my heart.
I slide out of bed with the biggest grin, practically bouncing to the bathroom. My body is even more sore today, but I love the ache. It’s a constant reminder of him and how he can’t get enough of me.
I roll my eyes at my reflection in the mirror and pick up the spare toothbrush I used yesterday.
It’s lying right next to his, and seeing them side by side like that sends a thrill down my spine.
I hum under my breath as I brush my teeth, then hop into the shower.
It isn’t until I’m rinsing off that it hits me—I didn’t bring up Luciano last night. Again.
The warmth drains out of me so fast it leaves me cold even under the hot spray.
What kind of sister wakes up smiling over a three-line note when her brother is missing? The guilt clings to me as I step out of the shower. And then another realization crowds in—the morning-after pill. A pregnancy is the last thing I need piled on top of everything else.
My stomach knots at the thought. I dry off quickly and yank on the dress I find folded neatly on the nightstand, too desperate with the hope that he’s still home to question why it’s there.
Shit, what time is it even?
I pull my hair up into a messy bun and hurry out of the bedroom just as Boris approaches with a tray laden with food. My stomach grumbles on cue.
“Is Vanya still home?” I ask, studiously ignoring the delicious smells wafting from the tray.
Boris nods and points at the office. “The boss is there. What about your meal?” he asks when I start walking away.
“Leave it inside. I’ll come back for it.”
My heart picks up pace the closer I get to Vanya’s office. He took the conversation about my freedom pretty well last night. Will he take this just as well? After a brief hesitation, I open the door, only to stop short when I see another man in the room with him.
The stranger does a double take when he spots me, his stare dropping to my neck, where I know Vanya left a huge hickey, then to my pendant at my throat, and finally to the clothes I’m wearing.
His brows shoot up into his hairline, and he glances sharply at Vanya with an expression I can’t read.
My cheeks flame as I wonder who this is and what he’s thinking.
“Myshka, what is it?” Vanya’s soft question drags me out of my head.
“I’d like to speak with you,” I say, keeping my eyes off the stranger. “Privately.”
“Luka was just leaving.” Vanya waves a dismissive hand.
“Huh, I guess I was,” Luka says dryly, getting to his feet. He gives me a polite nod while walking past, and I quickly shut the door behind him before turning back to Vanya.
“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything?”
“You’re fine.” Vanya rounds his desk and comes towards me. “Is something wrong?”
I meet him halfway. “I’m fine, I—” The sentence dissolves when he dips his head and presses a kiss to my temple, and my whole body goes soft. Without thinking, I wrap my arms around him, sinking into the solid heat of his body.
Vanya runs a hand gently through my hair. “Did you see my note?” The smile in his voice is unmistakable, and one curves across my lips in response.
“I did.”
Seeming reluctant, he steps back from me. “Did you want to tell me something, or did you just miss me?” He winks cheekily, and I laugh, but then I remember why I came in here, and the laugh fades.
“I actually wanted to talk with you. Remember our deal a few nights ago? You never told me what you know about my brother.”
His jaw shifts, like he’s biting down on something.
Then his face goes blank, and I clench my teeth as suspicion crawls up my spine.
Did he always plan to avoid this? Was any of it—last night, the bath, the note—just a very effective way of keeping me distracted?
No, it couldn’t be. But a hot pit opens in my belly, and my pulse spikes. What if…
“If I recall correctly,” he says coolly, “the deal was that I would tell you what I know if you successfully made me come with that smart mouth of yours. You didn’t.”
My lips part in shock. “What, no—I did. I remember you groaning deep into my ear.” My voice falters when he continues to stare at me with chilling calm. The last time he looked at me like this was in his office at Zvezda, right before he cuffed me.
What’s happening? My heartbeat thunders in my ears, my mouth becoming cottony.
“Exactly, myshka. I came in that hot, welcoming pussy of yours, not your mouth.” His thumb taps my lips as his arm circles my waist. My body tingles at his closeness, and I stiffen.
“Wait—wait, move back.” I try to push him away, but he’s stronger than me and resists. “I can’t think when you’re this close. Are you trying to go back on our deal?”
“I’m not going back on anything. You failed to make me come with those lips. That was our deal. And you didn’t fulfill it.”
My ears pop, and the room sways around me, but I force myself to stay still as I glare up at him. “Because you pulled me away!” I slap my hand against his chest and push him again. This time, he takes a step back.
“Those are just semantics, Melani. A deal’s a deal. You should have fought harder if you really wanted to know.”
The words land wrong. They’re too polished. Too ready on his lips. He knows something. He’s just twisting things because he doesn’t want to tell me.
A horrible thought wedges itself into my chest. Was I being na?ve? Was he involved in Luciano’s disappearance after all? Bile rushes up my throat, and before I can think, my hand is swinging. I don’t even realize what I’ve done until his face snaps to the side and my palm stings.
I slapped him.
I stagger back, afraid I might do it again if I stay close. That’s not me. I’m not the type to get physical.
“I trusted you. But I guess the joke’s on me.” The anger drains out of me, and I realize too late it was the only thing holding back the rest.
For the first time, I let myself face the possibility I’ve been avoiding—that Luciano might be gone. Truly gone.
No. No. No. No.
But the thought forces its way in anyway. What if he’s dead? I hear myself ask it, but I hardly recognize my voice. It’s flat. Stripped bare. Weeks of dread compressed into four words.
Vanya doesn’t answer. He only stares at me, his jaw tightening, his eyes shifting away, and that silence hits harder than any confession.
My chest caves in on itself. Air disappears.
My lungs lock up like the room has been vacuumed empty.
I try to breathe, but nothing comes. When I finally manage to suck in a gulp, it’s too fast, too shallow.
My heart slams against my ribs, beating so fast I can feel it in my throat, and the edges of my vision start to black out.
The floor tilts. My ears ring. Sound fades into a dull, distant buzzing that swallows everything else.
My hands claw at my chest, my throat, but it doesn’t help.
Each breath is thin and useless, like pulling air through a straw, and my panic spikes higher, tighter, faster.
I see Vanya moving towards me, his lips forming words, but his voice is distant, warped, like it’s coming from underwater. Then his arms come around me, strong and steady, and before I can process it, he’s lifting me, holding me against his chest.
I should push him away. He’s the reason I’m like this, the reason I can’t breathe.
But the second my face presses into the side of his neck, my body makes a completely different decision.
I cling to him instead, desperate for something solid as the room keeps spinning and the tremors shaking through me only intensify.
My nails dig into his shirt, his skin burning under my cheek, his heart hammering beneath it.
There’s movement. He’s walking, carrying me out of the office. Voices float around me—his men asking if I’m okay—but they blur into background noise. Vanya’s voice cuts through, rough and frustrated and, underneath it, almost helpless.
“I don’t know.”
That’s all he says before I hear the ding of the elevator and then a shift as he steps inside with me still clutched in his arms. A quiet hum surrounds us as I squeeze my eyes shut, still fighting for breath.
My throat aches from gasping, my chest heaving, and no matter how hard I try, my body refuses to calm down.
Then the doors slide open and cool air washes over me. Crisp. Fresh. I suck it in greedily, the first full breath I’ve managed in what feels like forever.
Are we really outside? That elevator ride was too short for us to have reached ground level… and it’s too quiet.
Slowly, trembling, I lift my head from his neck. We’re standing on a rooftop balcony. The view stretches endlessly, buildings fanning out in every direction, the sky impossibly wide overhead.
I blink, stunned, because I didn’t even know this place had a rooftop.
His hand glides along my spine, and only then do I register he’s been rubbing slow circles up and down my back the whole time. The steady pressure grounds me, and I focus on it—the heat of his palm, the simple rhythm of the motion.
Bit by bit, my heartbeat eases, the ringing in my ears dulls, and each breath comes easier than the last. Even though my mind is still raw, my body finds a fragile calm in his arms.
The man who triggered this panic attack is the very one who carried me through it and steadied me until I could breathe again.
What the fuck do I do with that?