Chapter Seventeen
Tiana
I can’t believe my eyes.
The woman in the photos is older. Her features are softened and lined by time, her dark hair streaked gray. But it’s her. I’d know my mother anywhere. She’s been alive all this time. All these years that I’ve thought she was dead, she was out there.
I don’t know if that eases my pain or breaks my heart.
Why did she leave us?
Why did she leave me ?
I clutch a hand to my chest, not caring that I’m crying now. My heart feels like it’s stopped and then started again with a lurch, and now it’s racing. There’s a lump in my throat that I have to swallow down before I speak to Kirill again.
“You found her,” I whisper. “She’s alive.”
“See?” He shrugs. “I would never lie to you, Tiana.” His dark eyes are so intense they make my breath catch, and my cheeks grow warm.
I snag my bottom lip between my teeth as I glance back down at the screen, my thumb stroking over the shattered glass like a caress. I look at him again. “Thank you,” is all I can whisper without my voice breaking.
Something flickers in his expression. Something unreadable. He reaches a hand out to cup my cheek, his thumb stroking away a wet trail left by a tear. His touch is warm. I look into his eyes, trying to interpret what I see there.
“How did you find her?” My voice is husky. Instead of answering, he looks around, his expression darkening. In the depths of the building, I can hear shouts and movement. His men are still busy out there – and I don’t want to think about what they’re doing.
“We will discuss this later,” he says. “Let’s get you out of here, first.” Without warning, he takes the phone and slips it back into his pocket. I don’t get a chance to object, but I wouldn’t have the strength anyway. He stoops, reaches an arm down, and scoops me up against his chest.
“Kirill!” I yelp. He ignores me, walking across the room, kicking the door open, and striding down the hallway. “Where are you taking me?”
“You want to stay in this shit heap all day?”
I shake my head. He’s right. The sooner I can put this whole thing behind me, the better.
He keeps walking, moving quickly around rubble and lifeless mounds that I try not to look at.
When we make our way into an area that appears as if it might once have been a reception room, I suck in a sharp breath.
The place looks like the scene of a blood bath; bodies are scattered about, and smoke hangs in the air.
Men glance up at us as they pick through the rubble.
From their grim expressions, I’m guessing that they’re looking for survivors.
I don’t want to know what they’ll do with anyone they find.
After the way Kirill and Dima treated Aleksei, I don’t think there’s a lot of love lost between these factions.
Kirill cradles me closer so that my face nestles into the curve of his neck. I don’t lift my head up until I feel that we’ve left the building. The air outside is cool, almost free of the stench of sulfur and gunpowder.
I still have no idea where we are, but I no longer care to find out.
I just want to get out of here. A dark SUV glides up, and a driver gets out to open the back door.
Kirill leans in, deposits me on the back seat, and I heave out a deep sigh of relief.
He moves around the vehicle and gets in on the other side, sharing a curt sentence with the driver in the front seat. The driver nods, and the car pulls off.
I hear a muffled gunshot from outside, and instinctively I react, jerking sharply and clamping a hand over my mouth.
“There is nothing to worry about,” Kirill assures me.
“Dima will not leave any of Petrov’s men behind.
And the car is armor-plated.” He taps the window beside him with his knuckle, and it makes a dull thunking sound.
“Everything here is designed to protect you.” Our eyes meet, and he doesn’t need to elaborate; he’ll protect me too.
Another exchange of words between him and the driver has a thick, dark glass partition gliding up between us.
“It’s soundproof,” Kirill says. “Whatever you wish to say in here will remain between you and me.”
“What I want to say is that I want your phone back,” I say firmly, holding out my hand. “I want to see her again.
He passes it to me without question, unlocking the screen and then watching as I open up the gallery of photos again.
“I can’t believe it,” I say yet again. “It really is her.” The photos are of my mother going about her daily business. Walking out of a store. Talking on her phone. Sitting at a coffee shop. Oblivious to the fact that she’s being spied upon.
I look at Kirill, who’s half-turned in his seat, watching me inscrutably. “I still don’t know why you did this,” I ask him.
“It was important to you.” He says it so simply he could be talking about the weather, but I know it had to take significant resources to get it right. How long has he been looking for her? Scrolling through the gallery, I see date stamps from three weeks ago. He’s been doing this all that time?
“Why would that matter to you?” My brows grow heavy as they lower over my eyes.
He seems confused by my question. “I want you to be happy, Ptichka ,” he says. “You grew up without your mother. It broke your heart and I hated that. I want what is best for you.”
I’m speechless for a moment. Kirill Vyronov has managed to surprise me, yet again.
This hard, unfathomable man is so sparing with speaking about his emotions – until you realize that they’re evident in all of the things that he does.
He doesn’t talk about his feelings. He shows them.
And this is the most astonishing example.
“Thank you,” I say through lips that feel so dry I have to lick them. He watches the movement, then raises a hand to trace his fingers down the side of my face. As he passes my cheek, I flinch. My head is still bruised from where they hit me, and the skin around my temple feels tender.
His eyes narrow slightly. I see concern in them. “Are you in pain?” He looks down at my chest, and I drop my eyes too, seeing what he’s looking at. Dozens of tiny cuts mar my skin, but with all that’s happened, I’d almost forgotten about them.
“ Chertovy ublyudki, ” he says under his breath. “If I could bring those bastards back to life, I would kill them slower next time.”
“It’s okay,” I try to reassure him, putting my hand over his. “It doesn’t hurt. I was just afraid. But… I knew that you would come.”
His eyes search mine for a moment. The next moment he leans in, and his mouth brushes over mine. My breath catches in my throat. His lips move softly, and I close my eyes, letting the kiss deepen.
His hands come up to cup my face, his fingers tangling in my hair.
The leather of the car seat creaks as he pulls me closer, his lips devouring mine as if he’s trying to absorb every last bit of me.
The horrors of the day melt away somehow, and I feel like I’m floating, his warmth surrounding me like a shield.
He breaks the kiss, pulling away slightly to look into my eyes. “When are you going to understand that you belong to me?” he asks softly.
“I understand that,” I say huskily. “You bought me.” I hate being reminded.
“That is not what I mean, little bird.” He brushes the tip of his nose against mine. “You are mine, Tiana. And that means everything to me. Don’t you know that I would do anything for you?”
I don’t know how to answer him. I feel like I already know the answer, but it scares the hell out of me. To admit that I belong to him means that he has complete control over me – and that terrifies me. But at the same time, it excites me. I want to be with him always, no matter what happens.
I nod mutely, trying to take it all in. “Thank you,” I finally whisper, feeling like that really doesn’t cover it.
“Why do you thank me?” His face is still barely an inch from mine, his lips a whisper away. “This is how it is. It is what I do.”
His words sink in slowly, and begin to take hold as a thousand puzzle pieces start to fall into place.
This man cares about me. In the only way he knows.
Truly and deeply. It’s not simply some sort of ownership thing.
Not a wild obsession. He cares. And that’s irresistible to my lovelorn heart. It’s what I’ve always wanted, needed.
“Kirill…” I trail off. The intensity of his eyes forces me to continue when I find myself hesitating. “I love you,” I whisper against his lips as he leans in again for another kiss. He pulls away again, tilting his head slightly as if in question.
“I mean… I really love you,” I repeat, trying to sound more confident than I feel. “I love you so much it makes my heart hurt and feel all warm both at the same time.”
His expression softens as he takes my hand in his own and stares down at it for a moment before looking back up at me with a small smile on his face.
“Of course you do,” he says softly. “How could you not?” He leans in again for another kiss, but this time it’s different – it’s deeper and more intimate than before.
It feels like he’s trying to show me something about himself – something that he can’t quite put into words yet, but that makes my heart race with excitement and fear all at once.
When our lips part, I feel myself smiling.
“What?” he asks.
“ Of course you do? ” I say in a gravelly impersonation of his deep voice. “Do you know that you’re the most arrogant asshole I’ve ever met?” I wink.
“I do.” He nods, and that makes me laugh a little because the man would never deny it. He’s just that sure of himself. And I love that about him too. I love everything about him. And now that I’ve told him once, I’m going to keep telling him every day, whether he says the words back or not.
“I love you,” I say again.