16. Ilya
ILYA
Fuck.
The scent of her skin, lavender and the musk of our sweat from the mahogany desk, is still trapped under the collar of my shirt.
I’m standing by the window of my study, the grey morning light breaking through the heavy mist rolling off the river.
My shoulder is stiff, the bandage tight over the fresh graze, but the pain is still there.
Below, in the courtyard, three teams of sweepers are checking the gravel paths, their rifles held low across their chests.
Dmitri pushes the door open. He’s carrying a small, square wooden box, his face pale in the dim light.
He sets the box on the glass table, his hand staying near the lid. "This was left at the east gate. A courier delivered it to the outer patrol. No return address. No digital signature on the transit log."
I step away from the window, my boots quiet on the rug. I slide my fingers under the wooden lid and pry it upward, the dry pine wood splintering under my thumb.
The smell hits me first. It’s the sweet, cloying scent of lilies, strong enough to make my stomach turn.
Inside the box, resting on a bed of damp black soil, is a single white lily. The petals are fresh, but the center is smeared with a thick, dried coat of dark crimson.
My heart stops, a cold, heavy stone dropping into my gut.
The cathedral.
It’s the exact same flower from her wedding bouquet. The exact same blood that stained her train. Via wasn't hallucinating on the mezzanine. She wasn't succumbing to the panic or the memories of her mother’s death.
Mikhail is alive.
The two rounds I put into his chest in front of the altar didn't finish the job. He’s out there, hiding in the shadows of the city, and he’s using my own methods to send a message. He wants me to know he’s coming for his bride.
He’s fucking joking if he thinks I’ll ever allow that.
"Ilya," Dmitri calls. "The Russo family doesn't have this kind of reach. If Mikhail survived, he has backing from the southern factions. We’re looking at a multi-front assault."
I close my hand around the lily, my knuckles turning white as I crush the wet petals into a damp, sticky paste in my palm. The red sap stains my skin, looking exactly like fresh blood. "He’s not getting her back."
Never.
"She’s going to ask questions," Dmitri says, his eyes tracking the crushed flower in my hand. "She saw him at the gala. If she finds out he’s breathing—"
"She doesn't find out." I wipe my palm on a linen cloth. "Her head is already a mess. If she thinks that snake is hunting her, she’ll completely shatter. I’m not letting him take the small piece of peace she has left in this house. She stays in the dark."
"And the security?"
"Lock it down," I growl, walking toward the gun rack. "Triple the guards on Ekaterina’s wing. I want five men on Via’s door at all times. And when she leaves that room... shadow her. She doesn't take a single step in this house without someone behind her."
Dmitri nods once, his face turning hard. "I’ll notify the captains."
I spend the next hour in the war room. Viktorin is standing by the whiteboard, his arms crossed, his face a dark scowl.
"Having her out of the north wing is a mistake, Ilya," Viktorin says, slamming his fist against the table. "You’re running yourself ragged trying to play bodyguard while the Russos are lining up their snipers at our borders. Trade her back to Petr. Let him deal with Mikhail."
I step into his space, my height completely overshadowing his.
I don't raise my voice, but the sudden, terrifying silence that falls over the room is enough to make him freeze.
"She is my wife, Viktorin. Her name is Kovalevskii.
If I hear you suggest giving her away again, I will cut your head off and send it to Viktor Russo as a peace offering. Do we have an understanding?"
Viktorin swallows, his jaw tightening, but he slowly lowers his hands. "Yes, Pakhan."
"Get the men to the docks," I command, my eyes scanning the rest of the captains. "I want every warehouse on the northern channel cleared by midnight. If Mikhail is alive, he’s going to try to move his assets through the old tunnels. Flush him out."
They disperse silently, their heavy boots echoing down the concrete corridor.
I head up to the main floor, my pulse still humming with a dark, restless energy. My coldness has returned, the professional Pakhan firmly back in control of my body, but there’s a raw, frantic pressure in my chest that I can’t shake.
She’s in the greenhouse.
I find her sitting on a low wooden bench, her legs drawn up to her chest, her oversized grey sweater falling over her knees.
Ekaterina is next to her, holding a watering can, but they aren't talking.
Via is staring out the glass panels at the grey sky, her eyes wide, vacant, and completely lost in her own head.
I stop at the entrance of the glass house, my arms crossed, my shadow falling over the flagstones.
Via’s head snaps toward me, her eyes narrowing as she sees my posture, then the three armed guards standing silently in the corridor behind me. She stands up, smoothing her leggings, her chin lifting with that stubborn, defensive pride.
"Did you decide I’m not allowed to look at the plants anymore, or is the three-man escort just for my personal amusement?" She walks toward me, her bare feet silent on the stone. "You’re acting like a warden, Ilya. It’s annoying."
"You’re staying in this wing," I say, my voice a flat, unyielding vibration. "The gardens are off-limits."
"I was in the greenhouse!" She gestures to the glass roof. "It’s inside the house! I’m practically a prisoner anyway, and now you won't even let me see the grass?"
"It’s not safe," I say.
"Nothing in this city is safe!" She steps into my personal space, her chest rising and falling in short, angry gasps. She smells like wet earth and lavender, a combination that makes my teeth ache. "My father’s men are dead, your men are dead, and I saw... I saw a ghost last night, Ilya. You’re hiding something from me. I know you are."
I grab her by the arm, my fingers digging into the wool of her sweater. I don't answer her. I look past her shoulder at Ekaterina. "Ekaterina, go back to your room."
Ekaterina looks between us, her face shadowed with worry, but she sets the watering can down and scurries out of the greenhouse without a word.
I drag Via toward the master suite. She’s fighting me, her heels dragging on the flagstones, her small fists beating against my chest, but I’m an immovable force.
I push open the heavy oak doors, haul her inside, and slam the door shut.
The lock clicks, leaving us in the quiet, dim twilight of the bedroom.
"Let go of me!" She twists out of my grip, her eyes burning with a wild, angry fire. "You're a brute! You're a paranoid, selfish brute who thinks he can just lock me in a room whenever he’s in a bad mood!"
"I am keeping you alive," I rasp, my voice finally cracking under the weight of the pressure in my chest.
"I don't care about alive if I have to live like this!
" She throws her hands up, her face flushed, her breathing jagged.
"You took a bullet for me, Ilya. You held me in that car. You touched me... you touched me like you actually cared whether I breathed. And now you’re back to being this cold, silent monster who won't even look me in the eye! "
I move.
I’m across the room before she can even draw a breath.
I slam her back against the heavy oak door, my body a solid, crushing weight that pins her flat against the wood.
My hand goes straight for her throat, my fingers wrapping around the column of her neck, not to choke her, but to hold her steady as I look down into her eyes.
I don't want to talk about Mikhail. I don't want to think about the war. I just want her. I need to feel her body, to taste the vanilla of her skin, to be sure she’s still here, still mine, before the world burns down around us.
"You want to know why I’m looking at you, Via?" I growl, my mouth inches from hers, my warm breath fanning across her lips. "Because every time I close my eyes, I see you… I see the blood. And I see how close I came to losing you."
Her breath catches, her eyes widening, her chest heaving against my shirt. The anger in her face slowly melts, her lower lip trembling as she stares back at me.
"Ilya..."
I don't let her finish as I seal my mouth over hers, my tongue driving into her mouth, devouring her, leaving her no room to breathe.
She lets out a soft, whimpering groan against my lips, her hands flying up to grip my shoulders, her nails digging into the torn fabric of my shirt, pulling me closer instead of pushing me away.
I release her neck and slide my hand down, my fingers tangling in the hem of her oversized grey sweater. I rip it upward, pulling the heavy wool over her head and tossing it onto the floor.
She’s wearing nothing but a thin, black lace bra, her pale skin gleaming in the dim light of the bedroom. Her breasts are rising and falling in rapid, shallow movements, her nipples already hardened into tight peaks.
"You're beautiful," I mutter, my mouth dropping to her collarbone. I bite down on the soft skin near her neck, my teeth grazing the flesh just hard enough to make her arch off the door with a loud, breathless gasp.
"Please, Ilya... now..." Her voice is a ragged, wet thread, her legs automatically rising to wrap around my waist, her body wet, aching, and completely ready for me.
I hook my hands under her thighs, hoisting her up against the wood of the door.
She locks her legs around my hips, her arms wrapping tightly around my neck, her face buried in my shoulder as I quickly unbuckle my belt.
I slide my trousers down, my cock springing free, thick, hard, and throbbing with a heavy, painful pulse.
I slide her silk panties down her thighs, ripping them away with a single, rough tug.
I position the head of my cock right against her wet, throbbing entrance. She’s soaking wet, the hot, slippery syrup of her arousal coating her thighs, her body completely begging for the fullness of me.
"Via," I growl, my hand coming up to grip her chin, forcing her face up.
I drive myself inside her.
I don't go slow. I thrust deep, my entire length sliding into her tight, burning channel in a single, heavy stroke.
She let out a sharp, piercing cry, her back arching off the wood of the door as she clings to me. The stretch is immense, her internal walls wrapping around me like a hot glove, squeezing me so hard my jaw clenches as I fight the urge to release immediately.
I begin to thrust.
The pace is hard, deep, and relentless. The heavy wood of the door creaks under our weight, the rhythmic, wet slap of our skin meeting echoing through the quiet bedroom. I slide my hand under her bottom, lifting her higher, driving myself deeper into her core with every single stroke of my hips.
She’s crying now, small, breathless groans escaping her throat as she thrashes her head against my shoulder. The pleasure is too much, too sharp, too intense.
"Ilya... I'm going to..."
"I know," I growl, my thumb sliding down to rub her swollen nub with a hard, relentless pressure.
Just then I feel her climax that makes her internal muscles contract around my length. The feeling of her release shatters the last hold on my control. With a growl, I drive myself deep inside her one last time, my body shaking as I release deep inside her.
I stay buried inside her, my chest heaving against hers, my head buried in her wet golden hair as we both shiver in the aftermath.
The rain continues to beat against the window, a steady, driving downpour that seems to wash away the blood, the secrets, and the war, just for a second.
Slowly, I pull back, the sticky friction of our release making a soft, wet sound as I slide out. I set her down on her feet, my hands lingering on her waist as she shivers, her legs barely able to support her weight.
I don't say a word as I button my trousers, buckle my belt, and look down at her.
She’s leaning against the door, her eyes wide, glassy, and completely dark, her chest still heaving as she stares up at me. She looks wrecked, beautiful, and entirely mine.
I turn and walk toward the bathroom, the coldness in my eyes returning as I prepare to face the war waiting outside.
"Get cleaned up, Via," I say, my voice a flat, unyielding rasp. "We have a meeting with the captains in ten minutes."
I step into the bathroom, the heavy door clicking shut behind me, leaving her alone in the dim light of the bedroom.
I look at my reflection in the mirror, my jaw set, my hands still shaking slightly from the desperation of her touch.
Mikhail is alive.
And I’ll kill every last man in this city before I let anyone take her away.