Chapter 33
MELANI
The door to Mamma’s suite opens at my push, and I pause, blinking at it.
It’s unlocked.
Before I can decide what to make of that, Boris steps away from the wall across from the door and approaches me.
“Ready to go back in?” He nods towards the door to Vanya’s suite.
“Yes.” I slip the folded paper into one of my dress pockets and fall into step beside him.
There’s a spring in my stride as we walk, and despite the heaviness of the conversation I just had with my mom, my heart is light. That talk about what happened on the ship has been a long time coming, and finally having it felt… cathartic.
And now I’m this close to getting on equal footing with Vanya.
The information Mamma gave me could be a real lead towards finding Luciano, and the possibility alone makes life feel worth living again.
And if Luciano isn’t with those people, then at least we might get a lead on Vanya’s missing men. Either way, it’s something.
When we enter the suite, Boris drifts towards the few men loitering by the kitchen. I ignore them and make a beeline for Vanya’s room. But it’s empty. The bathroom and closet are too, so I step back out with a frown.
Boris catches my eye from across the living area. “Office.” He gestures vaguely with his thumb. I mouth a thank-you and head that way.
The office is also empty, but I hear it: the muffled rush of a shower running behind a closed door.
My lips curve before I can stop them, the thought arriving uninvited: I could join him.
I let it linger for half a second before I dismiss it.
If I go in there, we will only get distracted—and we need to talk.
While I wait, I glance around the office, the faint smile still lingering on my lips.
Then I go still. On the corner of his desk sits a small card.
Even from this distance, I know exactly what it is.
The keycard for the elevator. My pulse kicks up as I move closer to confirm it, and sure enough, it’s the card.
I stand very still for a moment, listening.
The shower is still running. I shouldn’t, but I do. I pick it up, slip it into my pocket alongside the paper, and step back from the desk just as the shower cuts off.
The door opens a moment later, a billow of steam spilling out into the office as Vanya steps out, dripping wet with just a towel wrapped around his waist and another held loosely in one hand.
My breath catches, and I lick my lips as I take him in, following the trail of water down his bronzed chest, over the hard lines of his abs, to the delicious V disappearing beneath the towel. God, he’s so fucking hot.
He doesn’t seem surprised to see me, but his eyes darken as they roam over the turtleneck dress. Then he casually lifts the towel in his hand and drags it roughly through his damp hair. “Had a good talk with your mother?”
I nod, my stomach fluttering with nervousness as I close the distance between us.
His eyes track me the whole way, and heat creeps up my cheeks.
I don’t even know why I’m blushing. After everything we’ve done together, it’s ridiculous.
I go up on my tiptoes, take the towel from his hand, and start drying his hair, keeping my eyes on what my hands are doing rather than his face.
Then he does something that makes me go all soft and melty inside.
He bends his knees, bringing him down to my level so I don’t have to strain myself to reach him. Such a small thing, but it feels strangely intimate. More intimate somehow than the sex we’ve had. Which reminds me...
“You didn’t use a condom on the rooftop.” I keep my eyes on what my hands are doing rather than his face.
His fingers catch my chin, tilting it up until I have no choice but to meet his eyes.
“If you don’t want to find yourself swollen with my child, you’ll need to get on birth control.
” The way he says that makes the room do a slow, dizzying spin around me.
“I don’t think I can go back to using condoms with you. ”
My knees become jelly at that dark confession delivered so matter-of-factly, and I sway into him. His palm settles at my waist, steadying me.
“I have the morning-after pill here,” he continues in that same low voice, “as well as a birth control packet you can use until we get you on something better.”
My stomach twists strangely, my insides turning to mush. I don’t understand how something so mundane as this can make me react this way.
His lips curl into an amused smile. “Hello? Are you still in there?”
I push away from him with a muttered curse, my hands fisting around the towel still clutched in my hand. He fucking knows what he does to me. “Where are the pills?”
He walks towards his desk, and I hold my breath. If he notices the missing elevator card—But he doesn’t. He pulls open one of his drawers and produces a small paper pharmacy bag. He presses it into my hand, and my fingers close around it, the thin paper crackling under my grip.
I avoid his eyes as I set it down on the desk between us. Then I tip it over, letting the contents tumble out: the Plan B box and the round blister pack of birth control pills.
He goes to the wet bar and returns with a glass and a bottle of water, already twisting the cap off and pouring for me. While he does that, I take the plan B out of its packet and punch out two pills instead of the one instructed—he finished inside me twice; I’m not taking chances.
Our fingers brush when he hands me the glass, and a shudder runs through me.
How is he still burning this hot straight out of the shower?
I glance away as I toss the pills back with the water, almost emptying the glass in one gulp.
Without a word, he refills it while I pop out a birth control pill.
I swallow that too, scrunching my face at the uncomfortable slide of it down my throat.
I wash it down with another gulp of water, then wipe the back of my hand over my mouth.
When he carries the glass and bottle back to the wet bar, I use those few seconds to gather myself. “You should probably get dressed,” I say to his back, and he glances over his shoulder at me, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He seems to be doing that a lot now—smiling.
“Why is that?” he asks, and I clear my throat.
“Because we need to talk, and this—” I wave a hand at his body, “—is distracting.”
He chuckles. “Then we should go to my room.” I hesitate, and the hesitation must be transparent because he shrugs. “If you want me dressed, we’ll need to go there. That’s where my clothes are.”
I weigh it: stay here and try to negotiate with him while he’s standing three feet away in a towel, or relocate to his bedroom and try to hold my train of thought within arm’s reach of his bed. Neither option is ideal…
“My mom may have found a lead on my brother. And possibly on your missing men,” I blurt out.
That lands. He stiffens, then cocks a brow. “Really?”
“Yes.” I take a deep breath and walk him through it—Joan, the overheard phone call, Mamma’s search of the client’s phone, the text message with the address and time. All of it. And then: “I’m willing to share the meeting place and time with you on one condition. You take me with you.”
His reply is instantaneous. “No.”
I blink at him, stunned. “No? What do you mean, no?”
“It’s too dangerous. I’m not taking you.” He waves a dismissive hand, and I frown, hating that it sounds like an echo of what I told Mamma earlier.
“Dangerous or not, you have no way to get there without me telling you where it is,” I remind him. “Besides, if you’re going to be there, I should be safe.”
He scowls. “I’m not taking you, Melani, so let it go. And as for the information—it’s your choice if you want to keep it from me. But I don’t actually need you to tell me. All I have to do is listen to your conversation with your mother to find out.”
Everything stops. I stare at him, the words taking a second to fully arrange themselves into meaning. “You bugged my mom’s room?”
He shrugs, unrepentant. “I did what I had to do.”
It’s like my chest caves in all at once, heat clawing up my throat while the rest of me goes ice cold. I can’t breathe, can’t even blink, just stand there as the weight of his words slams into me, betrayal cutting so deep it hurts to stay upright.
But do I even have the right to feel betrayed? He never made me any promises. Never said I'm anything more than a prisoner to him. I’m the one who built him up in my head. Did he bring Mamma here because I didn’t want her worrying about me… or because he wanted to listen in on our conversations?
My stomach twists so violently I think I might be sick. I turn away from him without a word, but I barely make it two steps before his hand clamps around my arm.
“What’s this?” His eyes move over my face—searching, almost confused. “Why’s your face doing that?”
“I don’t know, Ivan! Maybe because I just realized what a sick bastard you are,” I snap, finally letting some of my emotions spill out.
His brows pinch together. “Because I won’t send you into a dangerous situation? Fuck that, Melani.”
I shake my head slowly. He doesn’t even realize what he did wrong.
“You bugged my mom’s room. You listened to our conversations. That was private.” My stomach hollows as I try to recall what we said about him. Thank God I didn't admit to being in love with him.
Would he have taken advantage of that admission? He probably would have.
“You’re mad because of that?” His tone shifts, something caustic underneath it now. “Why the hell do you think I didn’t lock you back up in your room after your botched attempt to escape? Because I heard your conversation with your mother and knew you had no real intention of running.”
I don’t need to listen to this bullshit. I start struggling, trying to yank my wrist out of his grip, but he doesn’t let up, so I glare at him. “Let me go, Ivan. I’m not going to stand here and listen to you justify what you did.”
“Believe what you want, but all the suites on this floor are wired. Every single one except my room and my office. I didn’t plant that one in there specifically to spy on you. I only listened once—after you tried to escape—so I could understand why.”
My anger starts to cool, and I hate it. I don’t want to hear his explanation. I don’t want to see his side of the story. It’s unreasonable, but I want to stay mad at him. Maybe that would make it easier to justify my own decision to use the keycard I stole to get out of here.
“Alright,” I say stiffly. “Let me go.”
His eyes narrow at my sudden change in tone. “This doesn’t change anything. You’re not coming with me to that meeting.”
The words feel like salt rubbed into a fresh wound. “Fuck you,” I snarl.
“You’re staying here, where I know you’re safe,” he replies firmly.
“I’m not some fragile thing you get to keep locked up, Ivan!” And what business is it of his whether I’m safe or not?
“Maybe not. But it’s been working pretty well, hasn't it? By your own admission, the reason you haven't tried to escape is that you know this is the safest place for you. The one place that Sciarra won’t think to look for you.”
Hearing my own words thrown back at me makes my stomach drop. I might have said it to him, but I said it to Mamma too. I’m not sure which conversation he’s referring to.
“The fact remains that you listened to something that was meant to be private,” I repeat, needing him to understand that’s not okay.
“Your mother made you want to run from me, so of course I listened,” he says, enunciating every word. “I understand you’re angry about it, and I’m sorry for that. But I’m not sorry I listened. I’d do it again if I had to.”
My heart pangs a little at that, and I have to inhale deeply to swallow my gasp, to swallow the lump rising in my throat as I stare up at his determined face. “I see.”
So not only is he not sorry about spying on us, but he’s not going to take me to that meeting either.
The elevator keycard in my pocket suddenly feels heavy, like it’s burning a hole through the fabric.
And for the first time since taking it, I’m glad I did.
I need to get out of here. Right now. I tug my wrist again, and this time he lets go.
“You win then,” I say flatly. “I’ll stay here if that’s what you want. But I’m not telling you anything. If you really want to know, go listen to the recording in Mamma’s room.”
Done with this conversation, I turn towards the door, and he grabs my wrist—again. I glare back at him, exasperated. “What now? I said I’d do what you want, didn’t I?”
His eyes search mine like he doesn’t believe a word I said. Rightfully so, because I have absolutely no intention of sitting in my room like a kept woman while he chases the lead my mother risked herself to find. And if Mamma doesn’t see me soon, she’ll go on her own. That’s not happening.
“So that’s it? You’re giving up that easily?”
I almost laugh. “What do you want me to do? Fight you when you’ve clearly already made up your mind? I’m not going to exhaust myself arguing with a wall.”
His fingers twitch around my wrist, and before I realize what he’s about to do, he’s pulling me into him.
Right into his bare chest. My body betrays me instantly—my breath hitching, my nipples hardening, my pussy clenching.
I hate how easily he can undo me. Just one touch, one wrong moment, and I start melting for him. I hate it, but I also love it.
Ignoring the frantic pounding of my heart, I raise my free hand to slap at his chest, to shove him away—but my palm lands and stills. This might be one of the last chances we’ll have to be together. The thought makes my throat tighten and my chest ache.
Once the weekend rolls in, he’s going to go to that warehouse.
And I’ll go too—whether he likes it or not.
And when it’s done, I won’t be coming back here.
I won’t come back to being his prisoner who also functions as a convenient body when he’s in the mood or bored.
I’m more than that—I deserve more than that.
I’ll find Luciano, take my mom, and we’ll leave this city.
Weeks from now, my time with Ivan will probably feel like nothing more than a strange blur in my memory.
Something that happened in the past. If these are the last days I have with him…
I might as well take advantage of them. Explore whatever this is while it lasts.
My eyes sting, and I blink rapidly to keep the tears from falling before dropping my head weakly into his neck.