Chapter Thirteen
Two days later, the house was quiet in a way that felt earned.
Not empty. Not tense. Just ... settled.
The Kansas City house had absorbed the Covenant the way houses of similar stature did—rooms repurposed, corridors learned, silence adjusted to.
Security lights hummed softly behind reinforced glass.
Outside, winter pressed against the windows, pale and cold, while inside the house held warmth, low voices, and the steady rhythm of people who knew how close they’d come to losing everything.
Eliza lay on top of the covers beside Nikolai, the late afternoon light spilling across the room in warm bands.
They hadn’t undressed beyond comfort in those two days.
Hadn’t crossed any lines, either of them hadn’t been ready to cross.
They slept close, shoulder to shoulder, sometimes tangled by accident, sometimes by choice, always careful not to startle.
She’d learned the weight of him now. The steadiness of his breathing. The way he woke instantly if she shifted too sharply, one hand already half-raised, not to grab—never to grab—but to reassure.
They were learning each other in inches.
Down the hall, a door remained closed at all times.
Sofía’s room.
It had once been a guest suite, all clean lines and quiet luxury.
Now it was something else entirely—medical monitors humming softly, blackout curtains drawn, a nurse stationed nearby at all hours.
Sofía herself was conscious, quiet, healing slower than she liked and faster than the doctors expected.
A broken arm immobilized. Bruises blooming and fading by degrees.
Rafael hadn’t left her side much.
Not hovering. Not crowding. Just present—sitting in a chair near the wall, checking her vitals when the nurse stepped out, arguing softly with her in Spanish when she tried to push past pain she had no business challenging yet.
She wasn’t going anywhere until she was physically capable of being moved safely. That much was non-negotiable.
Where she would go after that ... remained unanswered.
Sofía had secrets. Eliza could feel them the way she felt pressure changes before a storm. She wasn’t ready to share them yet—and no one was forcing her.
On the first night back, Nikolai had suggested a full background sweep.
“Everything,” he’d said, voice low and controlled. “Financial, digital, aliases. I want to know who we brought into this house.”
Rafael had looked at him for a long moment before shaking his head.
“Not yet,” he’d said quietly. “Give her time. Let her breathe. Trust comes before truth. If she takes too long to do that, then we can go through with the sweep.”
Nikolai had held his gaze—then nodded once.
Later that evening, as the light outside softened into early dusk, Nikolai rose from the edge of the bed and offered his hand.
“Dinner,” he said quietly.
Eliza took it without hesitation.
Downstairs, the Covenant had taken over the long dining table again, plates already set, the smell of simple, nourishing food grounding the room—roasted chicken, vegetables, bread still warm. Nothing elaborate. Just sustenance, shared.
The mood was different this time. Lighter. Sharper. Victorious—but still disciplined.
“The indictment dropped this morning,” Dominic said, scrolling on his tablet. “Federal custody. No bail. They’re stacking charges against the fucker—human trafficking, racketeering, financial terrorism.”
“What about his immunity?” Mara asked, already knowing the answer.
“Gone,” Elias replied calmly. “Burned when the evidence went public. Too many eyes saw it. Too many governments affected.”
Eliza felt something ease in her chest.
Jail.
Not hiding behind walls or lawyers or money. A cell. Consequences.
“He won’t see daylight again,” Luka added. “Not without a presidential convoy and a riot.”
“That’s assuming he survives his first month inside,” Dominic muttered. "Assholes like him don't last long."
Conversation shifted easily, organically—damage control, political fallout, agencies tripping over themselves to distance, arrests spreading outward like cracks in ice.
“Good thing we had eyes watching our backs,” Elias said at one point, glancing toward Eliza and Mara. “It would’ve gone very differently otherwise.”
Mara smiled faintly. “Always nice to be appreciated.”
Nikolai sat back, arms folded, listening more than speaking. When Elias turned to him, it was with purpose.
“What's happening in Florida?” Elias said. “At your place.”
Nikolai nodded. “Workmen are there now. Repairs first. Reinforcement second.”
“And after?”
Nikolai’s mouth curved slightly. “After, it becomes a fortress. No blind spots. No soft entries. Nothing touches that place without my permission.”
Dominic raised a brow. “Mines in the water?”
Kol didn’t smile. “That’s what I’m thinking.”
Mateo shook his head and muttered something about crazy is as crazy does.
Eliza listened to all of it, absorbing the weight of what these men did, how they planned for futures that assumed attack rather than peace—and how careful they were about the people they let close.
Nikolai’s hand brushed her knee under the table. Not possessive. Not claiming. Just there.
Eliza stood a moment later, the decision already made in her body before her mind caught up.
She turned to him and held out her hand.
“Come with me.”
He didn’t hesitate.
They didn’t go anywhere else.
The bedroom door closed softly behind them, the noise of the house fading until there was only the quiet hum of the heater and the low rush of their breathing.
Eliza stood near the foot of the bed, suddenly aware of the space, of how much this moment mattered.
Two days of closeness. Two nights of shared breath and careful distance. Trust built one quiet hour at a time.
She turned to him.
Nikolai didn’t move closer. Didn’t assume. His hands rested loosely at his sides, his posture open but contained, like a man waiting for instruction he would follow exactly.
“What do you want?” he asked quietly.
The question didn’t frighten her.
That was how she knew she was ready.
She took a breath, steadying herself, and met his eyes. “Before anything happens,” she said softly. “I need you to hear me. I need to know I can stop at any point. That this ... that I’m choosing it. This is happening not because you want it, but because I do.”
“I hear you,” he said at once. “You set the pace. You set the rules. I don’t move unless you ask me to.”
Something in her chest loosened.
“I want you here with me,” she said. “I want this to be slow. I want to feel safe the whole time.”
“You will,” he said, steady as stone. “At your speed. However long it takes.”
She smiled, a little unsteady, a little grateful. “Thank you ... for always putting what I need first.”
His gaze didn’t leave her as he reached for her—careful, deliberate. “Tell me if this is okay,” he said, even as his fingers brushed the hem of her shirt.
“It is,” she whispered.
He moved exactly as he promised—slow, eyes never breaking from hers as he helped her out of her clothes piece by piece, each movement a question, each pause an invitation for her to change her mind. She felt seen in a way that had nothing to do with her body and everything to do with choice.
When she stood before him, bare and unguarded, he swallowed once—then, only then, did he step back and strip himself with a swift economy that made her breath catch. He stopped in front of her, close but not touching.
“You set the rules,” he said quietly. “At your speed. Whatever you want, I follow.”
Emotion rose sharp and sudden. She smiled, eyes bright. “Thank you for always putting my needs first.” She stepped into him and lifted her face. “I want this,” she said clearly.
A sound tore from his chest, half relief, half reverence. “Thank fuck,” he murmured.
She kissed him—no longer tentative, no longer testing. This time, there was intention behind it. Want. He answered, deeper now, still careful, still hers to command.
****
Her mouth was still on his when the world finally narrowed to the two of them.
Nikolai had been trained for restraint. For distance. For holding the line even when every instinct told him to close the gap. But nothing in that training had prepared him for the way Eliza kissed—like a choice being made in real time, deliberate and unafraid.
He kept his hands at her waist, not moving higher, not taking more than she had already offered. When she drew back, searching his face, he didn’t chase. He waited.
“I need to know I’m in control,” she said softly.
“You are,” he answered without hesitation. “You always will be.”
Something in her eyes softened.
He watched every breath she took, every minute shift of her shoulders, attuned to the smallest change. When she nodded, just once, he asked anyway, seeking verbal confirmation.
“May I?”
“Yes.”
He moved slowly, never breaking eye contact as his fingers found the edge of her clothing.
Each touch was a question, each pause an invitation for her to stop him.
When she didn’t, when she lifted her arms to let him help her out of what she was wearing, something tight in his chest finally loosened.
When she stood before him, bare and unguarded, his breath caught. Not with hunger—with awe.
He stepped back only long enough to strip himself quickly, efficiently, as if speed were the only way to keep from overwhelming her with what he was feeling. Then he was there again, facing her, close but not touching.
“You set the rules,” he said quietly. “At your speed. Whatever you want from me, I give. Whatever you don’t offer, I don’t take.”
Her smile was small, luminous.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For always putting what I need first.”
The words hit him harder than any weapon ever had.
She stepped into him then, closing the last inch of space between them, her hands resting against his chest. Her voice didn’t waver.
“I want this.”
Relief crashed through him, fierce and sudden. “Thank fuck,” he breathed.
When he kissed her again, it was deeper—still careful, still controlled, but no longer restrained by doubt. He poured everything he hadn’t said into that kiss: the wanting, the waiting, the vow he had made long before she ever knew his name.
For the first time in years, Nikolai didn’t feel like a weapon.
He felt chosen.
And that was everything.
Nikolai had been trained for restraint. For distance. For holding the line even when every instinct told him to close the gap. But the way Eliza kissed him—intentional, chosen—unmade that training in the best possible way.
He lifted her then, and placed her gently in the center of the bed, and came down beside her, he held himself up on his elbow, to look down at her, then leaned in for another kiss.
He drew back just enough to look at her. Really look.
“I’ve dreamed of what you’d taste like so many fucking times,” he said, the truth rough in his throat.
Her breath caught. “Are you—your mouth?” she asked, startled but not afraid.
“Fuck yeah, I am.” His voice went low as he moved lower, inhaling her—her warmth, her skin, the quiet courage in the way she held herself for him. “And I’m sure as hell going to use my mouth. But only if that’s what you want.”
She searched his face for a long beat. Then her nod was small. Certain.
He didn’t tease. That wasn’t his way. He settled between her legs and pressed his mouth to her, tasting her, learning her in the most honest language he knew.
When she tensed for a heartbeat, panic flared—had he moved too fast?
—but then her hands slid into his hair, pulling him closer, her hips answering him with a clear, aching yes.
That was all the permission he needed.
He devoured her like a man who had waited his whole life to be allowed.
He took her into his mouth, drawing every sound from her, learning the cadence of her breath, the places that made her gasp, the way her body told him when to be gentle and when to be relentless.
Her voice filled the room—English, a curse, a broken laugh—and it was his name she cried when he carried her over the edge the first time. And then again.
The third time he brought her close, she tangled her fingers in his hair and tugged hard. He groaned at the loss of her heat against his mouth.
“Nikolai,” she panted, voice shaking. “I know I said I wanted you to take your time with me, but I’m rescinding that. Taking your time sucks. It’s not what I want.”
Every instinct in him roared to climb over her and drive himself home, but he forced himself to pause, to make sure—always to make sure.
“Eliza, are you—”
“Don’t ask me if I’m sure,” she growled, fierce and beautiful even in need. “I know what I want. And I want you. In me. Now.”
His mouth curved, equal parts reverent and wrecked. He moved up her body, loving the sound she made when he covered her, the way she wrapped around him as if claiming what she had already chosen.
“You’re the boss,” he murmured.
“Don’t you forget it,” she said, breathless, a grin in her voice.
He felt her heat against him, wet and wanting, and the moment branded itself into him.
“Forget this moment? Forget you?” His voice broke on the truth. “There’s no way in hell I could do either, Eliza.” He pressed into her, the fit so right it stole the air from his lungs. “I love you.”
Her smile—soft, luminous—undid him completely.
“I love you too,” she whispered.
The way she took him—heat, softness, the unmistakable pull of her body welcoming his—stole the breath from his lungs.
Every inch deeper felt like a promise being kept.
He couldn’t stop looking at her, at the way her gaze stayed locked to his, the way she never hid what she was feeling, the sounds she made telling him exactly what she wanted and what she loved.
When he was fully inside her, he held still for a heartbeat, grounding himself, making sure he had her—really had her—before he moved again.
Then he began to rock into her, slow at first, controlled, letting the rhythm build only as her body asked for more.
He felt her growing warmer, slicker, more urgent around him, the response unmistakable.
When he knew she was close, he let himself go faster, deeper, the motion turning relentless as he chased the edge with her.
Even with his own release tightening through him, he never lost focus on her.
Every sound, every breath, every instinct told him whether she needed more or needed him to hold back.
Her hands bit into his shoulders, her voice broke around his name, and he knew—absolutely—that she was right there with him.
Too close to the edge to risk losing her moment, he reached between them, thumb finding what she needed most.
Eliza cried out, her body tightening around him, and he drove into her, hips rolling as he held her through it.
She shattered beneath him, her release rippling through her in waves so powerful it stole what little control he had left.
He followed her over, thrusting once more as the world fractured, her name torn from his throat like a vow, like something holy.