Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Milana
I can't believe I'm actually wearing Ilya's hoodie, instead of the dress I had planned.
Then again, I understand his point. If someone is watching, the less attention I draw to myself, the better.
Still, that doesn't stop me from being painfully aware of what I'm wearing.
Just a few days ago, he could barely stand to be in the same room as me. And now here I am, wearing his hoodie.
The fabric carries his scent. Clean soap, cedarwood, and something distinctly masculine that is uniquely him.
The smell wraps around me almost as completely as the hoodie itself, warm and comforting in a way it has no right to be.
The drive to the restaurant is quiet. Ilya focuses on the road while I stare out the window, watching the city pass by.
Every now and then, the scent of him drifts up from the borrowed hoodie, and it takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to snuggle deeper into it and take a long, shameless breath.
It's already dark by the time we pull up to the restaurant, one the ones my family owns. It is upscale and completely closed to the public tonight.
The lack of cars outside and the subtle presence of my brothers’ men stationed around the perimeter make that obvious.
My heart beats faster with a mix of nerves and excitement as Ilya parks and comes around to open my door, his eyes constantly scanning the surroundings.
The moment we step through the doors, I see my family. Calina is already standing, and the second our eyes meet, I break away from Ilya and run straight to her.
We crash into each other, hugging so tightly I can barely breathe. Tears prick my eyes. It’s been months since I’ve seen her in person, and it feels like forever.
“Calina,” I whisper, burying my face in her shoulder. “I missed you so much.”
“I missed you more,” she murmurs, squeezing me tighter. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I tell her, pulling back just enough to look at her. She's glowing.
My brothers come over next. I hug Mikhail tightly, then Artyom, who holds me a second longer than usual, checking me over with that quiet intensity of his.
I tease them lightly about being jealous of my sister getting the first hug, and they both grumble good-naturedly. Even Maxim gives me a brief, warm embrace.
We settle around the large table. Maxim hovers near my sister like always, a formidable, constant shadow, protective and completely devoted.
Calina leans in closer to me, lowering her voice with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Nice outfit.”
I roll my eyes. “You have no idea.”
She laughs. “So… who is the hottie you walked in with? Is that the bodyguard I've heard so much about?”
I follow her gaze to where Ilya is standing a short distance away, speaking quietly with my brothers. Even from here, his presence is impossible to ignore, tall, broad, radiating controlled danger.
“Yup.”
Calina’s eyebrows rise. “Hmm. He’s hot.”
Maxim, who is never far from her, lets out a low, possessive growl. Calina immediately turns to him with a bright, teasing smile.
“Of course, I only have eyes for you, my love. You’re better. Much better.”
Watching them together makes something ache in my chest. The way Maxim looks at her, like she’s the center of his entire world. It’s everything I’ve secretly yearned for.
I’m so happy for my sister. Truly. When Maxim first demanded one of us as payment for the blood debt, he had chosen me.
But Calina sacrificed herself and took my place. At the time I was terrified for her. Now, seeing how deeply he loves and protects her, I’m endlessly grateful it was her.
He treats her like a queen. He makes her happy in a way I’ve never seen before.
I want that someday. That kind of love. That kind of devotion.
“Are you two having a fight? He's looking at you like he wants to reprimand you for something you did,” Calina comments.
I steal another glance at Ilya across the room. He’s watching me, those piercing eyes intense even from a distance.
“Oh, that's his resting face,” I say with a wave of my hand.
I hold his gaze for a moment, and quickly look away, heart fluttering.
Soon the waitstaff brings out our meals, beautifully plated dishes that smell incredible. Conversation flows easily around the table.
The men lean in closer, talking in low voices about security, Michael’s movements, and strategy. I don’t mind being left out of that part. I’m just happy to be here, surrounded by my family again.
Calina stays close, our shoulders brushing as we talk quietly. I wish Irina and Kira were here too. It would make the family feel complete, but I’m grateful for what I have right now.
“So,” Calina says, tilting her head with a curious smile, “how has it been? Living alone with your mysterious bodyguard?”
The question makes heat rise to my cheeks. For a second, the confession is right on the tip of my tongue. Of our attraction.
But this isn’t the place. And how exactly do I admit that I’ve been fantasizing about my bodyguard fucking me senseless?
“It’s… okay,” I say instead, keeping my voice light. “He can be really hard-headed sometimes. Everything is about safety. This afternoon a bird flew into the balcony window and he practically tackled me to the ground like we were under attack.”
Calina laughs softly. “Sounds like he’s taking his job very seriously.”
“Too seriously, if you ask me,” I reply, and we both giggle.
Calina leans in again. “How are your online classes going?”
Before I can answer, a sharp crack splits the air.
Glass shatters violently as a gunshot rings out, bullets tearing through the windows. Chaos erupts instantly.
In one swift move, Ilya grabs me and shoves me under the table, his big body covering mine completely.
His chest presses against my back, one arm wrapped protectively around my head as more gunshots explode through the restaurant.
Chaos erupts everywhere.
Glass shatters. Tables flip. People shout. I hear Maxim roaring as he pulls Calina down and shields her with his massive frame, barking orders at his men.
My brothers are already moving, guns drawn, returning fire with deadly precision. The sound is deafening, rapid gunfire, breaking glass, screams, the metallic ping of bullets hitting surfaces.
I can’t see anything except Ilya’s arm and the floor, but I feel every vibration of his body as he stays glued to me, ready to take a bullet if it comes.
This is my fault.
I begged to come here. I pushed for this dinner. If anything happens to my family, to Calina, to my brothers, I will never forgive myself.
I squeeze my eyes shut and pray silently, heart hammering so hard it hurts.
Please. Let them be okay. Please.
The gunfire seems to last forever, but eventually it slows… then stops. The silence that follows is almost worse.
“Clear!” someone shouts.
Ilya shifts off me and helps me to my feet, his hands steady on my arms. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I whisper, but my eyes are already scanning frantically for my family. “Calina?”
“I’m okay,” she calls out, shaken but unharmed, still tucked against Maxim’s side. My brothers look furious but untouched.
Artyom’s voice cuts through the tension like ice. “This has to be Michael. He must have had someone follow us. We need to move. Now. Before they send more men.”
We don’t waste time. Ilya keeps me close, one arm around my waist as we rush outside.
The scene is horrific, bodies of attackers litter the ground near a black car that tried to drive up. A dead driver is slumped over the wheel. I feel sick.
“Don’t look,” Ilya mutters, turning my face into his chest as he guides me quickly into our waiting SUV.
The drive back to the penthouse is dead silent. I barely speak, curled in on myself in the passenger seat. All I can think about is how close we came to losing everything tonight.
I was so selfish. So stupid. If I had just listened to Ilya and stayed in the apartment, none of this would have happened.
I glance over at him, guilt eating me alive… and that’s when I notice it.
There’s a wet patch blooming on the upper sleeve of his black shirt, near his shoulder. Even on the dark fabric, the stain is unmistakable.
“Is that… blood?” My voice cracks.
Ilya glances down at it casually. “Just a graze.”
“Oh my God.” My stomach drops. “I’m so sorry. This is all because of me. If I hadn’t insisted on seeing them—”
He levels me with a hard, steady gaze. “No. It’s not your fault.”
“How can you say it’s not my fault?” I whisper, voice thick with guilt. “I practically insisted on seeing them. If I had just listened to you and stayed home, none of this would have happened.”
Ilya keeps his eyes on the road, jaw tight.
“Beating yourself up isn’t going to change anything.
It’s not your fault, Milana. Whether we had dinner tonight or not, this attack would’ve happened anyway.
Your brothers would still have been at that restaurant to meet with me. This has nothing to do with you.”
I want to believe him, but the guilt sits heavy in my stomach. I keep glancing at the wet patch on his sleeve, watching it slowly spread. He’s bleeding because of me.
When we finally pull into the underground parking and take the elevator up to the penthouse, I can’t hold it in anymore.
“You need to see a doctor,” I say the second the doors close behind us. “That could get infected. What if it’s worse than you think? We should call someone right now—”
“Milana.”
“I know nothing about treating gunshot wounds, but maybe I can look it up or—”
“It’s not a bullet wound,” he says calmly, walking into the living room. “It’s just a graze.”
“But it’s bleeding! I can try—”
He cuts me off by pulling the first aid kit from a cabinet and setting it on the coffee table. Then, without warning, he reaches behind his neck and pulls his shirt off in one smooth motion.
My mouth falls open as I take in his hard, sculpted muscles. Yet again. Broad shoulders, defined chest, the ridges of his abs, and powerful arms corded with strength.
The large cross tattoo on his chest stands out darkly against his skin. A thin trail of blood runs down his left bicep from the graze.
“Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”
I snap my mouth shut, cheeks burning. “Sorry. I… um, what should I do?”
He sits down on the couch and nods toward the first aid kit. “You said you’d be my doctor. Start with cleaning it.”
I swallow hard, heart racing. “Okay,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
I move closer, kneeling on the couch beside him so I can reach his arm properly.
Being this close to him while he’s shirtless is completely different from when he treated the small cut on my stomach.
Back then, I was the one half-naked and vulnerable. Now the roles are reversed, and my brain feels like it’s short-circuiting.
I can feel the heat radiating from his skin. Every rational thought about first aid flies out of my head.
Ilya reaches into the kit, his large hand covering mine as he guides my fingers to the antiseptic wipes and gauze.
The moment our skin touches, that familiar zap of electricity shoots straight through me, making my breath hitch. I wonder if he feels it too.