Chapter 25 – Sasha
I stir awake to the insistent shaking and groggy sunlight spilling through the curtains. Blinking, I see Lev looming above me, a tray balanced expertly in his hands.
“Breakfast in bed,” he announces, voice rough but teasing.
A grin tugs at my lips, and I sit up, tugging the covers around me.
“I cooked it myself,” he adds, and my eyes widen as I take in the spread. “And I won’t leave until you clear everything on that plate.”
I laugh softly, a sound that feels lighter than it has in days.
We’ve been back in Chicago for almost a week now, and I’m starting to wake up without the tight coil of fear in my chest. I’m fully back, fully me again—no more flinching when someone moves too close, no more jumping at shadows.
Lev’s presence feels like a shield now, steady and unshakable.
I take the tray from him, the warm weight of it grounding me. Lev slides into the chair across from me, eyes softening the moment they meet mine. He leans forward just slightly and tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear, careful, deliberate, like I’m fragile porcelain.
“Eat,” he murmurs, his voice low but firm, a gentle command I can’t refuse.
I do, but I can’t stop watching him. The way he looks at me—like I’m the only thing worth seeing in the world—it makes my chest ache in a good way.
Every action, every small movement, is worship, proof that since he rescued me from Christos, my life has been his obsession, his mission.
He’s doted on me, indulged me, and done everything I’ve asked without question.
I feel happier now than I have in weeks, maybe months. But a shadow lingers in the back of my mind, one I haven’t shared with him or anyone. The fact that no one’s heard from Viktor gnaws at me. Christos is gone, thank God, but what if Viktor isn’t finished? What if he comes after me?
I keep my lips pressed together, letting the worry stay locked inside, unwilling to spoil this fragile peace Lev has fought to build around us.
As I eat, Lev finally speaks, his tone casual, almost too calm for the weight of his words.
“The Petropoulos threat is neutralized,” he says. “Christos is in Bratva custody. And Viktor Markovic was found dead last night—under…suspicious circumstances.”
My fork freezes halfway to my mouth. “Dead?” I breathe, eyes wide.
He nods once. “Dead.”
The relief that floods me is so sharp it almost hurts. My chest feels lighter, my breath easier. It’s over. It’s really over. “Who killed him?” I ask, voice small.
Lev only shrugs, the corner of his mouth twitching in that way that tells me everything and nothing all at once. I know him well enough to recognize silence when it’s deliberate. I stare at him for a long second, then smile faintly. He doesn’t have to say it. I know. He handled it for me.
Setting the tray aside, I climb onto his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck. He exhales, one hand coming to rest on my back, the other threading through my hair.
“I’m perfectly happy now,” I whisper against his shoulder.
He laughs softly, a deep, warm sound that rumbles through his chest and into me. “Good,” he says. “That’s exactly how I want you.”
He studies me for a long moment after my laughter fades, his expression turning thoughtful. Then, with that calm, measured tone of his, he says, “Sasha, I want you to know something.”
I lift my head from his shoulder, curious.
“You’re free,” he says simply. “Completely. I’m giving you back your passport today. You can return to your job if you want, go anywhere you like. You don’t owe me anything.”
For a moment, I just blink at him. His words don’t register right away—maybe because part of me had already accepted that my life was tied to his now.
I search his face, waiting for the smirk, the condition, the half-truth.
But there’s none. Lev looks deadly serious, like he’s trying to give me the world back in one breath.
A slow smile creeps across my face. “You’re giving me my freedom?”
He nods once. “It’s yours. It always was.”
I tilt my head, studying him, the way his eyes soften when he looks at me. Then, quietly but firmly, I say, “I’m not leaving.”
That catches him off guard. His brows lift slightly. “You’re not?”
I shake my head, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I’ll go back to work when I feel like it. But not yet. My place is with you now.”
He exhales—half disbelief, half relief—and the faintest smile tugs at his mouth. For a man who never runs out of words when giving orders, he suddenly looks like he has none.
“Sasha…” he murmurs, voice low, like my name just became something sacred.
I press my forehead against his and whisper, “I’m exactly where I want to be.”
We stay like that for a long while—just breathing each other in, the morning light slanting through the curtains, soft and gold. Eventually, I slide off his lap and sit beside him, our shoulders touching.
For the first time in days, it feels like peace.
He picks up my hand, his thumb tracing the scar along my wrist—the faint mark that never fully healed. “Your mother would’ve been proud of you,” he says quietly. “For surviving. For fighting back.”
I swallow hard. “She made her mistakes, Lev. But she did what she thought was right.”
He nods slowly. “We all did. And we all paid for it.” His voice carries that edge of regret he rarely lets slip. “The things I’ve done…the people I’ve hurt. Sometimes I think I’ve been trying to make up for all of it by keeping you safe.”
I squeeze his hand. “Maybe we both needed saving.”
For a moment, he doesn’t respond. Then he exhales, almost like a confession.
“I don’t want to keep living in that kind of world, Sasha.
Not the one built on blood and revenge. I want a life that means something.
I want to wake up and see you there and know that the world outside doesn’t matter as much as this.
” He turns toward me, his eyes fierce and unguarded.
“I want a happy life with you. Threats will come and go—hell, we both know they will—but we can build something real. Something that lasts.”
My chest tightens, emotion burning behind my eyes. “Even though our marriage started the way it did?”
He gives a small smile. “Especially because of that. It means we fought for it.”
I lean my head on his shoulder, heart steady now. “Then we’ll build it,” I say softly. “A life that’s ours. Not perfect. But good.”
He kisses the top of my head and whispers, “Good is more than enough.”
Then he lowers me back onto the bed and claims my lips in a romantic kiss. It’s not rushed, not possessive—just sweet and full of love. I melt beneath him.
He moves the food tray onto the bedside table and leans over me, careful not to put all his weight on me.
“I love you.” He punctuates it by kissing all over my face. “You’re my entire world. My life revolves around you.”
I don’t respond with words. I reach up and kiss him back, letting my lips say everything I feel. He kisses my neck, tracing down my chest as he slowly pulls the sheets down my bare body.
I reach up, my fingers threading into his hair, pulling him toward me. “Now, babe, please,” I whisper, my voice thick with need. “I want to feel you inside me. We can take our time later.”
His eyes meet mine, dark and searching, and I see that same fire there—the obsession, the hunger, the absolute devotion. A slow smile curls on his lips, and he leans down, pressing his forehead to mine for a brief, excruciatingly sweet moment.
Then he’s all over me again, every kiss, every touch, making it impossible to think about anything but him. I arch into him, letting him feel me, needing him, wanting him—right here, right now. Time doesn’t exist. There’s only us.
He’s still kissing me when he pushes down his sweatpants, his warm body molding over mine. Every inch of him presses against me, and I shiver under the heat of him.
I part my legs instinctively, and I feel the tip of his erection teasing me, brushing against me in slow, deliberate strokes. My breath hitches, and my fingers dig into his shoulders, holding on as the tension between us coils tighter.
He pauses just long enough for me to feel the ache building, the delicious anticipation, before moving again, every touch calculated to drive me wild. I press into him, my body craving more, every nerve alive, each beat of my heart synchronized with his.
He slides inside me, and we both moan, a shared sound of relief and pleasure that vibrates between us. I press into him, feeling the delicious weight of him, every movement sending sparks through my body.
We move together, in perfect sync, chasing our own pleasures while giving to each other. Every motion, every gasp, every brush of skin feels like a language only we understand. I feel him—his love, his devotion—coursing through every touch, every heartbeat, every whispered sigh.
I wrap my arms around him tighter, needing him, wanting him, letting him know without words how completely he owns my attention, my body, my heart.
And in return, I feel the certainty of him holding me, protecting me, loving me, as though the world outside doesn’t exist and never will, as long as we’re here together.
We reach our climax together, and I cry out, my body trembling, every nerve alight. He grunts deeply, a sound that grounds me even as pleasure washes over us.
For a long while, we hold each other, bodies pressed close, hearts still racing but slowly finding a steady rhythm. I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat, feeling the warmth of him, the safety, the devotion.
We don’t speak. Words aren’t necessary. The quiet between us is full—full of trust, full of love, full of the knowledge that we’ve found each other, here, now, and nothing else matters.