Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
DECK
The scenario drill goes perfectly. That's the problem.
At oh-five-hundred, I trigger the first flash-bang simulator. Vivian is out of bed and moving before the echo fades, grabbing her go-bag, her weapon, heading for the back exit exactly like we rehearsed. She doesn't freeze. Doesn't panic. Doesn't waste time asking questions.
She runs.
I pursue her through the forest for the next hour, appearing from shadows to bark commands, triggering more flash-bangs to keep her heart racing.
She stumbles twice but recovers both times.
Her breathing stays controlled even when I can see the fear in her eyes.
By the time she reaches the rally point at the split boulder, she's shaking with exertion but still alert, still scanning for threats, still holding her weapon correctly.
"Not bad." I step out of the trees, and she spins on me with the Glock raised before recognition registers. "Good target identification. You didn't fire."
"I almost did." She lowers the weapon with trembling hands. "You scared the hell out of me."
"That was the point." I close the distance and take the Glock from her, making it safe. "You performed well under pressure. Better than most people with twice your training."
"I don't feel like I performed well. I feel like I'm going to throw up."
"That's normal. Adrenaline dump." I hand her a water bottle from my pack. "Drink. Breathe. It'll pass."
She drinks, and I watch the trembling slowly subside.
The morning light catches the sweat on her skin, the wild tangle of her hair, the fierce determination in her eyes despite her exhaustion.
She's beautiful. I've been trying not to notice for a week, but standing here in the quiet forest with her chest heaving and her cheeks flushed, I can't ignore it anymore.
"What happens now?" She hands back the water bottle.
"Now we debrief. Go over what you did right, what needs work." I gesture toward the trail. "Back to the cabin. I'll make breakfast."
We walk in silence, but it's different from the loaded quiet of the past few days. She's processing. I can see her replaying the drill in her head, cataloging her responses, analyzing her performance. The prosecutor's mind, always working.
"I hesitated at the second checkpoint," she says finally. "When you triggered that flash-bang near the stream crossing. I should have kept moving, but I froze for a second."
"You recovered quickly. That's what matters."
"But if it had been real—"
"If it had been real, you would have died or you wouldn't have. There's no point second-guessing." I hold a branch aside for her to pass. "The goal isn't perfection. The goal is survival. You survived."
"Because you weren't actually trying to kill me."
"No. But the fear was real. Your responses were real. That's what I needed to see."
She's quiet again until we reach the cabin. I start breakfast while she showers, and by the time she emerges in clean clothes with her hair still damp, I've got eggs, bacon and toast ready.
We eat facing each other across the small table. The constant domesticity has been hitting me harder than it should. Sharing meals. Sharing space. Sharing things I haven't shared with anyone in five years.
"Can I ask you something?" She sets down her fork.
"You're going to anyway."
"The drill this morning. You designed it to test me, but it also felt like..." She pauses, searching for words. "Like you were preparing me for something specific. Not just general survival skills. Something you're expecting to happen."
Sharp. Too sharp.
"I'm always expecting something to happen. That's how I stay alive."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I have." I meet her eyes. "The Castellanos haven't given up. They're not going to give up. Sooner or later, they'll find a way to come at you again. When they do, I need you ready."
"You think they'll find us here?"
"I think they'll try. Whether they succeed depends on how good their intelligence is and how desperate they get." I push my plate aside. "Dominic Castellano has a lot to lose if you testify. Men with a lot to lose do desperate things."
She absorbs that, her expression thoughtful rather than frightened. "So the training isn't just about making me feel better. It's about giving me a real chance if your defenses fail."
"My defenses won't fail."
"But if they do."
"Then you'll have the skills to survive long enough for me to fix the situation." I lean forward. "I'm not planning to fail, Vivian. I'm planning for every contingency. There's a difference."
"The difference being your confidence level?"
"The difference being that failure isn't an option I'm willing to accept."
She studies me for a long moment. "You really mean that."
"I don't say things I don't mean."
"No." A small smile curves her lips. "You don't. It's one of the things I like about you."
"One of the things?"
"There's a list. It's getting longer." She stands and starts clearing plates. "Despite your best efforts to be unlikeable."
"I'm not trying to be unlikeable."
"You're not trying to be likeable either. Which is somehow more attractive." She glances over her shoulder. "Don't let that go to your head."
I shouldn't let any of this go anywhere. Shouldn't let her compliments or her smiles or the easy way she moves through my space affect me. But they do. Everything about Vivian Russo affects me in ways I can't control.
The day passes in more training. Knife work, as promised. She's clumsy at first, uncomfortable with the blade, but by afternoon she can execute basic defensive moves without cutting herself. Progress.
"You're a fast learner," I tell her as we clean up the training area.
"You keep saying that like it surprises you."
"It does. Most people take weeks to get where you are."
"Most people aren't being hunted by the mob." She wipes down the training knife and hands it back to me. "Motivation matters."
"So does natural ability. You have both."
She looks at me, something unreadable in her expression. "Was that a compliment?"
"It was an observation."
"From you, that's practically a declaration of love."
Neither of us moves.
"I'm going to start dinner," I say finally.
"Deck."
"It's getting late. You should rest."
"Deck." She steps closer. "We've been dancing around this for days. The looks. The touches during training. The way you find excuses to avoid being in the same room with me."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do." Another step. She's close enough now that I can smell her shampoo, see the flecks of gold in her dark eyes. "I'm not imagining it. Whatever's happening between us."
"Nothing's happening between us."
"Then why did you just look at my mouth?"
Fuck. I did. I do it again, involuntarily, my eyes dropping to her lips before I can stop them.
"Because I'm human." The words come out rough. "Because you're beautiful and you're right there and I haven't touched a woman in years. It doesn't mean anything."
"It doesn't?"
"It can't."
"Why not?"
"Because you're my responsibility. Because I'm supposed to protect you, not—" I cut myself off, jaw tight.
"Not what?"
"Not want you."
The admission costs me. My walls are crumbling, the careful distance I've maintained dissolving under the weight of her presence, her questions, her relentless push against my defenses.
"What if I want you too?"
"Then we're both in trouble."
"Maybe I'm okay with trouble." She reaches out and touches my chest, right over my heart. "Maybe I'm tired of being careful. Of holding back. Of pretending I don't feel things because feeling things is dangerous."
"Feeling things is dangerous. Especially in our situation."
"Our situation is already dangerous. At least this kind of danger comes with benefits."
I should step back. Should put distance between us. Should remember all the reasons this is a terrible idea.
I cover her hand with mine instead.
"If we do this," I say slowly, "there's no going back. I don't do casual fucks. I don't do temporary. If I let myself have you, I'm going to irrationally want to keep you."
"Who says I want to be kept?" But she's smiling. "Maybe I want to keep you."
"I'm not worth keeping."
"Let me be the judge of that."
We stand there in my kitchen, her hand on my chest, mine covering it, the last light of day fading through the windows. I can feel her heartbeat against my palm. Fast. Matching my own.
"This is a mistake," I say.
"Probably."
"I'll hurt you. Or you'll hurt me. Or we'll both end up destroyed."
"Maybe." She steps closer still, eliminating the last distance between us. "But at least we'll have tried. At least we won't spend the rest of our lives wondering what if."
"You should run. While you still can."
"I'm done running." Her free hand comes up to cup my jaw, her thumb tracing the line of my cheekbone. "I've been running my whole life. From grief. From connection. From anything that might make me vulnerable. You make me want to stop."
Something breaks inside me. Some wall I've spent five years building, crumbling under the weight of her words and her touch and the look in her eyes.
"Vivian." Her name comes out rough. Desperate.
"Yes?"
"I'm going to kiss you now."
"Finally."
I close the distance between us, my mouth finding hers. She gasps against my lips and then she's kissing me back, her hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer. I cup the back of her head, angling her face to deepen the kiss, and she melts into me with a soft moan that goes straight to my gut.
My other hand finds her waist, pulling her flush against me. She fits perfectly, her curves molding to my body, warm and soft and alive. When she arches into me, I feel every inch of her through the thin fabric of her clothes.
"Deck." My name is a plea on her lips.
I walk her backward until she hits the counter, lifting her onto it without breaking the kiss. She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me between her thighs, and the contact drags a groan from somewhere deep in my chest.
"I've wanted this since you walked through my door." I kiss along her jaw, her throat, the sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder. "Since you argued with me in my own living room and refused to back down."
"I've wanted this since you put your hands on me during training." Her head falls back, giving me access to more skin. "Every session. Every touch. I thought I would lose my mind."
I capture her mouth again, slower this time. Deeper. Learning the shape of her lips, the taste of her tongue, the sounds she makes when I do something she particularly likes.
Her hands slide under my shirt, palms flat against my abs. I hiss at the contact. Her fingers trace the ridges of old scars, mapping the history written on my skin.
"So many." Her voice catches. "You've been hurt so many times."
"Old wounds. They don't matter."
"They matter to me." She presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth. "Every scar matters to me."
My chest cracks open. Years of armor, crumbling. I rest my forehead against hers, breathing hard, trying to find my footing.
"This changes things." I frame her face with my hands. "There's no going back after this."
"I know."
"I can't promise you anything. Can't promise I won't fail you."
"I'm not asking for promises." She covers my hands with hers. "I'm asking for right now. For this moment. For whatever time we have."
I kiss her again because I can't not kiss her. Because she's right. We're both damaged and broken, but we're also alive. Right here, right now, we're alive and we want each other, and for once that feels like enough.
When we finally break apart, her lips are swollen and her eyes are dark with desire.
"We should slow down." The words hurt to say. "You've been through trauma. I don't want you to regret—"
"I won't regret anything with you." Her certainty steals my breath. "But you're right. We have time."
Taking it slow with Vivian seems impossible, but I nod. She deserves patience. Deserves a man who puts her needs first.
"Slow," I agree. "But this is real. I'm done pretending it isn't."
Her smile lights up her whole face. "Finally."
I help her down from the counter, keeping her close, not ready to lose the contact. We stand in my kitchen wrapped around each other as darkness falls outside the windows.
"Stay in my room tonight." I say it before I can stop myself. "Not for sex. Just... stay. I don't want to sleep alone knowing you're twenty feet away."
"Okay." Simple. No hesitation.
We end up on the couch, her back against my chest, a blanket thrown over us, the fire crackling in the wood stove. I hold her while she drifts toward sleep, her breathing evening out, her body relaxing into mine.
For the first time in five years, the silence doesn't feel like punishment. It feels like peace.
I press a kiss to her hair and let myself imagine a future I have no right to want. One where this woman stays. Where I don't fail her. Where the walls I've built become a home instead of a prison.
It's a fantasy. I know it's a fantasy. But with Vivian warm and safe in my arms, I let myself believe it anyway.
Just for tonight.