Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Kirill
“I had no idea,” I finally say.
Milana gives a small, almost sad smile. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Ilya.”
She has no idea how right she is, and how wrong.
I did know. It was all in the file I received. The volunteer work, the pro bono cases, the advocacy for abuse survivors.
But I’d dismissed it the same way I dismiss most rich girls I've had to protect.
Pretty words on paper, donations to make themselves look good, charity galas where they pose for photos in designer dresses.
I assumed she just signed checks and played philanthropist for the image.
I was wrong.
The way she spoke about Maria, the passion in her voice, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about documenting trauma and fighting for protection orders… she actually cares.
She gets her hands dirty. She sits with these broken women and carries their pain with her.
She has a big heart.
She shifts on her feet, clearing her throat. “I was thinking of going out to the balcony for some fresh air. Do you want to come?”
My first instinct is to say no. I should be as far away from her as possible. Every second near her chips away at my control.
But then logic kicks in, or at least the excuse I need. It’s important we stay on the same side.
That’s a fucking lie, a voice in my head sneers. I squash it immediately. Besides, she looks… lonely.
“Sure,” I reply.
She turns and walks ahead of me toward the balcony doors. The flimsy shorts ride up with every step, giving me a perfect view of the soft, round curve of her ass.
It bounces slightly, taunting me. I clench my jaw so hard it aches. I want to tell her to go change, to put on something that doesn’t make me want to bend her over the nearest surface.
But I stay silent. Saying anything would force me to admit I’m staring at her ass like a starving man. And knowing how defiant she is, she’d call me out on it immediately and still not change.
We step out onto the balcony. The sun is just beginning to set, bathing everything in golden light.
I keep a careful distance, but my eyes are trained on her. The way the breeze plays with her hair, the smooth skin of her thighs, the way that thin top clings to her breasts.
I’m grateful she hasn’t brought up what happened in her room the other night. I feel like a coward for not addressing it myself, but what the hell am I supposed to say?
Sorry I watched you fuck yourself with your toys. Sorry I made you come while telling you how tight and wet your pussy looked. Sorry I sucked your fingers clean because I was dying to know how you taste.
And by the way, I’ve been jerking off to that memory every day since.
Yeah. No.
She glances over at me. “Oh, I made cookies last night. Would you like some?”
I let out a low groan in response, not trusting myself with actual words.
She smiles like that’s a yes and trots back inside. A minute later she returns carrying a tray with a plate of chocolate chip cookies and two glasses of cold juice.
I take the tray from her without comment and set it down on the coffee table between the lounge chairs.
I remain standing, scanning the surrounding buildings and streets out of habit. This area is secure, but I never let my guard down.
She bites into a cookie and hums happily. “One thing I don’t miss about Manchester is the weather. It’s so unpredictable.”
“One minute it’s sunny, the next it’s pouring rain, then it’s cold and windy. All in the same hour. Here in New York, at least the weather commits. When it’s sunny, it’s properly sunny. When it rains, it rains. I like that.”
I don’t reply, but she doesn’t seem to need me to. She keeps talking, nibbling on her cookie, her voice light and easy. She chats about her classes, random observations about the city, little things. She’s… yapping. Cheerful, animated, nonstop.
The file said she was calm. Quiet. Reserved.
What a fucking joke.
This girl is anything but quiet. And strangely, I don’t hate it.
She finishes one cookie and reaches for another. “I miss my sister. And my sisters-in-law,” she continues.
“Even after Calina got married, we still made time for each other. Now everything is phone calls and ‘stay safe’ messages. I haven’t seen Calina in so long…”
She turns to look at me then, big hazel-gray eyes wide and hopeful. Doe eyes. The kind that could make a weaker man do stupid things.
“Please,” she says softly. “Can’t we just sneak over to see her? No one even knows I’m back in the States. We could slip into her place and slip back out.”
The plea hits me harder than it should. For one dangerous second, I actually consider it.
“No,” I say firmly, before the thought can take root.
Her face falls. “But—”
“It’s not safe, Milana. We’re not risking it. You stay here.”
She looks at me for a long moment, disappointment clear in her expression, but she doesn’t push further. She turns back toward the city skyline, cookie forgotten in her hand.
I stay standing, arms crossed, fighting the ridiculous urge to give her what she wants just to see that light return to her eyes.
A sudden loud thud against the glass makes me move on pure instinct.
I grab Milana and yank her down to the floor, covering her body completely with mine.
My arm is wrapped around her head, my chest pressed to her back, gun already halfway drawn as I scan for threats.
Seconds tick by in heavy silence. Nothing. Just the faint flutter of wings.
I lift my head slowly. A small bird is lying on the balcony floor, stunned after flying straight into the glass.
“A fucking bird,” I mutter, relieved but still tense. I start to push myself up. I move to toss it away when she stops me.
"Wait!" Milana grabs my arm, her fingers curling around my wrist before I can take another step. Her eyes are wide with concern. "Don't. It might be hurt. We should help it."
I glance from her to the small bird lying motionless on the concrete. "It's a bird, Milana."
"I know." She looks up at me, her expression earnest. "Please?"
That soft, pleading tone again. The same one that made me follow her out here in the first place. I clench my jaw but nod once.
"Fine."
Relief washes over her face as she hurries to the bird and kneels beside it. It's a sparrow, one wing bent awkwardly beneath it, its tiny chest rising and falling in quick, panicked breaths. She cups it carefully in both hands, whispering softly as though it can understand every word.
"It's okay," she murmurs. "You're safe now."
The bird flutters weakly, trying to pull away.
"It thinks we're predators," I say. And then I find myself saying the words before I can stop them. "What do you need?"
She glances up, surprised. "A small box would help. Maybe a towel and a little water."
I head back inside and return a minute later with everything she'd asked for. By now, she's managed to calm the bird enough to examine it. Her fingers are impossibly gentle as she checks its wing, brushing aside a few ruffled feathers until she finds a small scrape.
"I don't think it's broken," she says with visible relief.
She dampens the corner of the towel and carefully cleans the tiny wound, speaking to the bird the entire time in the same soothing voice.
I crouch beside her, holding the box steady while she settles the bird inside to rest. Our fingers brush for the briefest second. She doesn't seem to notice.
I do.
"How do you know what you're doing?" I ask.
She smiles faintly. "I volunteered at an animal rescue near campus in Manchester. Mostly dogs and cats, but we'd occasionally get birds too."
Of course she did.
Saving people apparently wasn't enough. She had to save animals too.
I lean back against the railing and watch her. She isn't trying to impress me. There isn't anyone else here to witness this. This is simply who she is. She sees something small and helpless, and her first instinct is to protect it.
Where I come from, kindness is a liability. Mercy is exploited. Compassion gets people killed.
But Milana… she’s gentle with this tiny, broken thing like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
It does something dangerous to me. Makes the walls I’ve built feel thinner. Makes me want things I have no business wanting.
After several minutes, the sparrow hops to the edge of the box and gives its wings a tentative flap.
Milana smiles. "I think it's ready."
She carries it to the balcony railing and slowly opens her hands. The bird hesitates for a moment before pushing off into the air. It circles once above us, then disappears between the surrounding buildings.
"I hope it makes it," she says quietly.
"It will."
She turns to me with a warm smile. "Thank you... for helping."
I nod.
Milana gives me one last soft smile and heads back inside to her room. I stay on the balcony a moment longer, staring at the empty stretch of sky where the sparrow vanished.
I can’t believe I just did that.
But Milana looked at me with those eyes and asked so gently… and I folded. Just like that.
This is what she does to me. She has an effect, a dangerous, all-consuming effect that makes me act completely out of character.
I shake my head and head inside. I pull out my secure phone and message her brothers. They’re already planning a meeting.
I suggest bringing her along to a secure, closed restaurant they own. I tell myself it’s strategic. That keeping her happy keeps her cooperative.
But the truth is, she looked sad on that balcony. Lonely. And for some reason I can’t explain, I hated it.
I’m losing the plot. Badly.
Her brothers agree. The dinner is set.
I walk to her bedroom door and knock. She opens it a moment later, still in those tiny shorts and tank top.
“I spoke to your brothers,” I tell her. “We’re having dinner with them tonight. At one of their secure restaurants. You can come.”
For a second she just stares at me. Then her entire face lights up. She lets out a happy sound and throws her arms around me, pressing her soft body flush against mine.
“Thank you,” she whispers against my chest, squeezing tight. “Thank you, thank you, Ilya.”
I go completely still. Every muscle locks up. The warmth of her, the smell of her hair, the way her breasts press into me. It hits like a drug.
My hands itch to grab her waist and pull her even closer, but I don’t move. I barely breathe.
She seems to realize what she’s done and quickly pulls back, cheeks flushed. “Sorry. I got excited. Thank you again.”
“We leave by seven.”
“Alright. I’ll go get ready.”
She disappears back into her room with a bright smile.
I drag a hand through my hair, swearing under my breath. This is fucking madness. I’m supposed to be the one in control.
Instead, one hug from her and my mind is spiraling, my body is on fire, and I’m already counting down the minutes until I get to see her smile like that again.
I need to get a grip before I do something I can’t take back.
I’m waiting in the living room when Milana finally steps out.
The sight of her hits me like a punch to the chest.
She is wearing a deep red strapless dress that clings to every curve like it was poured over her body.
It hugs her waist, accentuates the swell of her breasts, and stops high enough on her thighs to make my mouth go dry.
Her long dark-blonde hair is swept up, exposing the elegant line of her neck and shoulders. She looks fucking breathtaking. Expensive. Tempting. Like every man’s fantasy.
A low groan escapes my throat before I can stop it.
She smiles brightly. “I’m ready. Can we go?”
“Hell no.”
Her smile drops. “What? Why? What’s the problem?”
I gesture at her, jaw tight. “There’s no way in hell you’re going out dressed like that.”
She looks down at herself, genuinely confused. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“I’m already risking taking you out of this apartment. You might as well paint a target on your back in that color. Red is conspicuous as fuck. Go change.”
She huffs. “Fine. If the color is the issue, I can wear a different dress—”
“No.” The word is out before I can think. The thought of her in another dress, something equally tight, equally revealing, makes my blood run hot.
“No dresses. At all.”
She stares at me, shocked. “Then what am I supposed to wear?”
“Something that doesn’t make you stand out. A hoodie. Sweatpants. Anything that hides you.”
She blinks. “A hoodie?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t have any hoodies here.”
Of course, she doesn’t. I drag a hand down my face, then turn and walk to my bedroom. I grab one of my black hoodies and bring it back to her.
She looks at it like I’ve lost my mind. “You’re joking, right?”
“Nope. You want to have dinner with your family? You do this my way.”
She grumbles something under her breath but snatches the hoodie from my hand and walks back to her bedroom.
When she comes back dressed in it and a leggings, the sight nearly undoes me.
The hoodie swallows her small frame, the hem falling to mid-thigh. The sleeves are so long she has to fold them back.
She looks soft. Seeing her in my clothes does something primal to me. Worse than the red dress. The red dress made me want to fuck her. This makes me want to keep her.
I swear under my breath.
“Fucking perfect,” I mutter. “Let’s go.”
She adjusts the sleeves, still looking displeased, but there’s something almost shy in the way she tugs the fabric closer around herself. I have to force myself to look away.
Giving her my hoodie might have been an even bigger mistake than letting her out of the apartment.
Because now all I can think about is peeling it off her later.