Chapter 33
Lev
The drive back from the coast takes forever. Mercer’s barrel is somewhere near the bottom by now, feeding the fish. Good fucking riddance.
I let myself into the house just before dawn. Pyotr’s nowhere to be seen, which means he’s either asleep or smart enough to stay out of my way. I take the stairs two at a time; my need to see her overrides every exhausted muscle.
I turn the key in the lock, and I push the door open. She’s asleep, exactly where I left her. The duvet’s kicked halfway down her body, and one arm is flung across my pillow. The vodka bottle on the nightstand tells me she had a rougher night than she let on.
She doesn’t stir as I undress quietly, placing my clothes in the hamper, although they need to head down to the incinerator in the basement.
The gun goes on the dresser. I turn on the shower and step under before it warms, feeling the chill hit my bones before it heats up.
I scrub every last inch of this night from me.
I will not go to her, covered in her attacker’s blood and guts, not to mention other unsavoury substances.
I turn off the water and grab a towel, drying myself roughly before I wrap it around my waist. My muscles ache from hauling Mercer’s, and the other two idiots’, dead weight around, but the sight of her sleeping in my bed makes every bit of effort worth it.
She’s still on my pillow, her fingers curled loosely near her face.
I drop the towel and slide into bed behind her, my arm snaking around her waist. She murmurs something unintelligible and presses back against me, her arse fitting perfectly against my cock. I don’t wake her. I just hold her, my nose buried in her hair, breathing her in.
“This wasn’t the plan,” she mumbles.
“No, it wasn’t. But I just need to hold you.”
“Go to sleep, Lev. You’ve done enough.”
I don’t close my eyes. I can’t. My brain is still wired on the adrenaline of the kill.
I pull the duvet higher. She’s soft and warm, and mine. I watch the way her pulse thrums in the hollow of her throat. This woman is going to be the death of me, or the making of me. Baron knows it.
She lets out a long breath, her body going limp against mine. I tighten my grip, my chin resting on the crown of her head. I won’t tell her about her father’s secrets yet. Tonight, she just needs to be the woman who survived.
I close my eyes finally, the darkness of the room swallowing us both.
Tomorrow, the world will want answers. Tomorrow, I’ll have to face my pakhan.
But right now, the only thing that matters is the steady rhythm of her heart against my palm.
I’ve killed for her, and I’ll do it again if she needs me to. That’s the Voronov way.
“Sleep,” I mutter. “I’ve got you.”
* * *
“Lev.”
Varvara’s voice is calling to me.
“Lev, wake up. Baron is here.”
My eyes snap open, and I stare into the green eyes of my woman. “What?”
She smirks. “Baron is downstairs. Pyotr is growing frantic.”
“What time is it?”
“Eleven.”
I sit up suddenly, forcing her to back away or get headbutted. “Eleven?”
“Mm,” she murmurs.
“How long has he been here?” I ask, climbing out of bed and ignoring my hard-on. She does too, which is both a good thing and a bad one.
“Pyotr knocked about fifteen minutes ago, and then ten and then five.”
“And you only just woke me now?”
“No, I’ve been trying. You were out for the count.”
“Fuck.” I grab clothes, throw them on, and don’t bother checking whether I match or look like a clown. I need to get downstairs.
I shove my feet into a pair of loafers without socks and grab my watch from the dresser.
My skin feels like it’s vibrating. Baron doesn’t do house calls unless the world is ending or he’s about to end mine.
I glance at Varvara. She’s dressed and ready to go, but not now. Not until I know what mood Baron is in.
“Stay here,” I say and move to the door. “Don’t come down even if you hear gunshots.”
Her eyes widen. “Should I be worried?”
“Hopefully not,” I say and kiss the top of her head before slipping out and closing the door behind me. I take the stairs quickly.
Pyotr is standing in the foyer, looking like he’s aged a decade since yesterday. He gestures toward the morning room.
“He refused the study, sir,” Pyotr whispers.
I nod and push through the doors. Baron is sitting at the large table, a cup of black coffee in front of him. He looks perfectly calm and controlled, but that’s his usual look. Vadim is standing by the window, staring out at the gardens with a look of pure boredom that I know is a lie.
“You’re late,” Baron says, his voice like grinding stones.
“I had a long night,” I reply, pulling out a chair and sitting across from him.
“So I hear.”
Vadim snorts softly.
“Mercer is taken care of. Popov is taken care of. Krestov is another matter.”
“One we are leaving alone,” Baron says.
“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow. “Why?”
“After you informed me last night of this shitshow, I called him. We talked. He is using the corridor. It’s fine.”
I sit back, wondering if I could get away with killing him. “Fine? It’s fine?”
“Yes.” His cold eyes meet mine, daring me to challenge him.
“Right. Fine. And what do I tell Varvara?”
“I’m under the impression Krestov doesn’t want you to tell her anything.”
“That’s not exactly how it went down. Varvara doesn’t want to know.”
“What’s the problem then?”
“I’ll know something about her father she doesn’t.”
“Tell her it’s fine.” He shrugs.
“Tell her yourself.”
I look up and groan inwardly. For the love of God, could she not have stayed where I put her for a bit longer?
I stand up so fast my chair scrapes the floor.
Varvara doesn’t stop. She walks right into the line of fire, her green eyes fixed on the man who runs my world.
I want to throw her over my shoulder and lock her away, but it’s too late. Baron is already evaluating her.
Baron doesn’t stand. He sips his coffee, his expression unreadable. He treats her as a problem he is deciding whether to solve or discard. “Your father is not the man you think he is,” he says eventually. “How much more do you want to know?”
That gets to her. She doesn’t want to know. She told me she doesn’t. And yet.
“Just tell me if you plan to kill him or not,” she says quietly.
“I have no plans to do that today.”
“Today,” she scoffs quietly. “I guess that’s fair. What about that bitch?”
Baron frowns. “What bitch?”
Varvara blinks and looks at me. I answer for her, “Marika Karpov-slash-Krestova. The handler who shot at us.”
“She is not my problem,” Baron replies.
Varvara looks disappointed.
“She is your father’s problem. One, I am told, he is dealing with.”
“What does that mean?” she asks.
“It means he has been using her and will continue to do so until she becomes less useful.”
“Great,” she mutters. “Fine. So we are all just fine.”
“And dandy,” Vadim pipes up.
Varvara’s gaze shoots to him and glowers viciously. “And you are?”
Vadim doesn’t look bothered by her tone. He steps away from the window, adjusting the cuff of his jacket with a precision that feels like a taunt. “Vadim Voronov. Lev’s older brother.”
“God, there are two of them,” she mutters, to Baron’s obvious enjoyment.
He sets his cup down on the saucer with a sharp clink.
“This matter is settled. Krestov has his corridor, and I have his assurance that his wife is on a leash. Mercer is a memory, and so is his investigation. I don’t care how you spend your time, Lev, as long as the business remains profitable.
” He stands, and the room feels smaller as he adjusts his suit jacket.
“Varvara. Welcome to the Voronov family. Wear the name with pride or I will take it from you.”
“Yes, sir,” she says, and he beams at her.
“Respect is so hard to come by these days. I like you, girl. You have gumption.”
Baron doesn’t wait for a reply. He turns on his heel and heads for the foyer, Vadim trailing behind like a well-dressed shadow. My brother gives me a smirk that makes me want to break his nose, but he vanishes before I can reach for him. The front door slams, the sound echoing through the house.
I exhale, the tension finally leaving my shoulders. I turn to Varvara. She stands there with her chin tilted up, looking like she just went ten rounds with the devil and won.
“Gumption,” she mutters. “Is that the official term? I thought I was just being a bitch.”
“You’re a Voronov now. It’s in the job description.” I walk over to her, sliding my arm around her waist and pulling her flush against me. The warmth of her body acts as a balm to the cold adrenaline still humming in my veins.
“Well, being with you is a chore.”
“Nice. That’s what I am? A chore?”
She smiles and looks up at me. “A chore I don’t mind doing.”
I pull her closer, my hand sliding up her spine to the back of her neck. “I’ll make sure you get plenty of overtime, then.”
“What happens now? What is normal in Lev Voronov’s life?”
“Whatever it was, that life is gone. You are here now, and you aren’t going anywhere.”
“Not even back to work?”
“Work? You will have your work cut out for you here, riding my cock whenever I want it.”
“Jesus. You are impossible.”
“Are you refusing?”
“No. But I can’t sit around here waiting until you decide it’s ride time.”
“Why not?”
“I will drive Pyotr mad.”
“Nothing can break that man.”
“Is that a challenge?” Her smirk is infectious.
“No, absolutely not. You break him, you buy him, and he isn’t cheap.”
“Fine, I won’t break him, but I will need something to do. I don’t like relying on you.”
“Rely away. I have more money than I know what to do with.”
“I know. I’ve seen the penis extension on the driveway.”
I baulk. “Extension? Have you seen the size of my cock?”
“Not lately. How about you show me so I can remember?” she says, and I groan.
“Fuck, woman. You are insatiable.”
I don’t waste time. I scoop her up, her legs locking around my waist. She lets out a sharp laugh that sounds more like a challenge than a protest. I back her against the table where my uncle sat minutes ago.
The porcelain clatters, but I don’t care about the fine china.
I only care about the fire in her green eyes.