Chapter 17 – Drew
The rain tapped against the windows in a steady rhythm, each drop like a countdown to something inevitable. I sat in the living room, legs stretched out, arms crossed over my chest, watching the city blur behind sheets of water.
Maxim had returned from Moscow two weeks ago, which should have meant my ticket home. But Rafael had other plans. “Stay through the end of the year,” he’d said. “Maxim needs time to reintegrate, and these deals with the Italians need your touch.”
Behind me, in the kitchen, Cassandra was fixing herself something to eat. I could hear the clink of dishes, the soft pad of her bare feet on tile, the quiet hum she made when she was focused on something mundane.
It was domestic. Comfortable. Almost peaceful.
Almost.
Because underneath it all, there was a tension that never quite left. A weight that pressed down on both of us, unspoken but suffocating.
I’d been taking care of her for weeks now. Making sure she ate. Making sure she rested. Walking her to the office, keeping an eye on her throughout the day, driving her home. Hovering without meaning to, unable to stop myself.
And everyone had noticed.
The way I’d appear at her office door with water or tea. The way I’d intercept Rafael when he looked like he was about to dump another hundred tasks on her plate. The way I’d glare at anyone who so much as breathed too close to her.
The entire office was buzzing with speculation. Whispers in the hallways. Glances that lasted a second too long.
Even Rafael had noticed. He’d pulled me aside two days ago, his dark eyes sharp and calculating.
“What’s going on with you and Cassandra?” he’d asked, his tone neutral but his gaze deadly serious.
“Nothing,” I’d lied.
He’d studied me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Keep it that way. She’s good at her job. I don’t need complications.”
Complications.
That’s what we were. What this was.
A complication wrapped in lies, tied together with a baby neither of us had planned for.
Cassandra had been taking more days off than she ever had before. Not many—she was too stubborn for that—but enough that people noticed. Enough that Rafael’s suspicion was growing.
And I couldn’t protect her forever.
Not from Rafael. Not from the truth. Not from whatever she was hiding.
I turned my head slightly, watching her through the doorway. She was standing at the counter, her back to me, wearing one of my shirts that hung loose on her frame. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face.
She looked so goddamn beautiful it hurt.
And I hated that I couldn’t trust her.
Hated that every time I looked at her, I saw two versions of the same woman—the one I was falling for, and the one who might’ve betrayed everything I cared about.
“Did you tell him?” I asked, my voice quiet but cutting through the rain and the silence like a blade.
She froze. Her hand stilled mid-reach for a glass.
“Vance,” I clarified, keeping my tone even. Not angry. Not suspicious. Just... aching. “Did you give him intel that led to the ambush?”
Her jaw tightened. She set the glass down carefully, deliberately, and didn’t turn around.
Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.
“Cassandra.” I stood up, moved closer, stopped at the threshold between the living room and kitchen. “Did you?”
“Does it matter?” Her voice was low, controlled.
“Yes.” I took another step forward. “It matters.”
She finally turned to face me, her brown eyes guarded, her expression carefully blank. “Why?”
“Because I need to know if you’re lying to me.”
Her eyes flashed. “You think I caused it?”
“I think you’re hiding something.” I kept my voice calm, even though frustration was coiling tight in my chest. “And I think whatever you told Vance is part of it.”
She crossed her arms, her jaw set. “I didn’t. I didn’t give him anything that would’ve caused that.”
“Don’t do that.” I took another step, closing the distance between us. “Don’t lie to me, Cassandra. Not about this.”
“I’m not—”
“Do you think I’m a fool?” The words came out sharper than I intended. “Do you think I don’t know when someone is lying to me?”
Her eyes narrowed, fire sparking to life. “I never said you were a fool.”
“Then stop treating me like one.” I stopped just a few feet away, close enough to see the pulse hammering in her throat. “I’ve been doing this a long time, kitten. I know when someone is hiding something. And you? You’re drowning in secrets.”
She flinched, just slightly, but recovered fast. “If you don’t trust me, then why am I here?”
“Because I care about you.” The admission tore out of me, raw and unfiltered. “Because despite everything—despite my better judgment, despite knowing you’re hiding something—I can’t walk away.”
Her breath hitched. Her hands tightened around her arms, like she was physically holding herself together.
“I’m asking because I care, Cassandra. Not because I’m trying to trap you. Not because I’m looking for a reason to turn you in to Rafael.” I held her gaze, willing her to see the truth. “I’m asking because I need to know if you’re in danger. If we’re in danger.”
Her lips parted, and for a moment, I thought she might actually tell me. Might let down the walls she’d built so high I couldn’t see over them.
But then her expression hardened. Her eyes went cold.
“Just because I’m carrying your baby doesn’t mean you own my life.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut.
I knew she was deflecting. Knew she was throwing up barriers to keep me out. But it still stung like hell.
“I never said I did,” I said quietly.
“Then stop acting like it.” Her voice rose, sharp and defensive. “Stop watching me like I’m a criminal. Stop interrogating me. Stop—”
“Stop caring?” I cut her off, my own frustration bubbling to the surface. “Is that what you want? You want me to stop giving a damn about what happens to you?”
“I want you to trust me!”
“Then give me a reason to!” I shouted back, my control finally snapping. “Tell me the truth, Cassandra! Tell me what you gave him!”
“I can’t!” The words exploded out of her, desperate and broken.
Silence crashed down between us.
She stared at me, her chest heaving, her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears.
“I can’t,” she repeated, her voice barely a whisper now.
My heart hammered against my ribs. “Why not?”
“Because if I do….” She swallowed hard, her hands trembling. “If I do, you’ll hate me.”
The pain in her voice—raw and terrified—made something crack inside me.
I took a step forward. She took a step back.
“Cassandra—”
“Don’t.” She held up a hand, her voice shaking. “Just…don’t.”
But I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t let her run from this. From me.
I closed the distance in two strides, and she reacted on instinct, pushed me back, her palms flat against my chest.
“Don’t touch me,” she said, but there was no conviction in her voice.
I caught her wrists, held them gently but firmly. “Stop running.”
She pushed again, harder this time. “Let me go.”
“No.”
“Drew—”
“No.” I pulled her closer, my grip tightening just enough to keep her from pulling away. “I’m not letting you run. Not this time.”
She struggled, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her eyes blazing with anger and fear and something else I couldn’t name.
And then, like a dam breaking, she shoved me as hard as she could.
I let her. Let the momentum push me back a step.
But I didn’t let go.
Instead, I pulled her against me, my hand sliding into her hair, and crushed my lips onto hers.
She gasped against my mouth, her body going rigid for half a second before she melted into me. Her hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer even as she tried to push me away.
Anger and desire merged in the heat between us until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
Her lips were soft and desperate, her body pressed against mine like she was trying to disappear into me. I kissed her like I was drowning and she was air, like if I let go, I’d lose her forever.
Maybe I would.
My hand tightened in her hair, angling her head back, deepening the kiss until there was nothing left but the taste of her, the feel of her, the overwhelming need to never let go.
But I forced myself to pull back. Forced myself to stop before I lost control completely.
I pressed my forehead against hers, both of us breathing hard, my hands still tangled in her hair, her fingers still clutching my shirt.
“I’m warning you, Cass,” I said, my voice rough and unsteady. “I’m watching you. Not just for the Bratva. For my baby. My blood.”
Her breath hitched. Her eyes fluttered closed.
“I know you’re in danger, but if you’ve said anything else to Vance, anything that’s going to come back and hurt you, hurt our child, I need to know.
” I pulled back just enough to look at her, to see the fear and guilt swimming in her eyes.
“Because I will burn this world down to protect you. But I can’t do that if you won’t let me in. ”
For the first time since I’d known her, Cassandra didn’t fight back.
Didn’t throw out a sharp retort or a defensive wall.
She just stood there, trembling in my arms, her lips parted, her heart hammering so hard I could feel it against my chest.
“Drew….” Her voice broke on my name.
“Tell me,” I said softly, desperately. “Please, kitten. Tell me the truth.”
Her eyes opened, and the look in them—anguish, terror, guilt—nearly broke me.
“I can’t,” she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Not yet.”
I closed my eyes, my jaw clenching against the frustration and fear clawing at my insides.
Not yet.
That meant eventually. That meant there was something to tell.
And when it came out—when the truth finally surfaced—it was going to destroy us.
I knew it. She knew it.
But neither of us was ready to face it.
So I held her. Wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close, feeling her body shake with silent sobs against my chest.
“I’ve got you,” I murmured into her hair, even though I wasn’t sure if I was reassuring her or myself. “I’ve got you.”
She clung to me like I was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.
And maybe I was.
But deep down, I knew the fall was coming.
For both of us.
I just didn’t know if we’d survive it.
***
Later that night, after she’d cried herself out and fallen asleep curled against me on the couch, I sat there staring at the ceiling, my mind racing.
Cassandra was in trouble. Deep, dangerous trouble.
And I had a sinking feeling that when Rafael finally found out the truth, I’d have to choose.
Between her and Bratva.
Between love and loyalty.
Between protecting the woman carrying my child and honoring the family that had raised me.
I looked down at her, her face peaceful in sleep, one hand resting protectively over her stomach.
My baby. My blood.
I’d meant what I said.
I was watching her. Protecting her.
But technically, she’d betrayed us—she’d put my family, my people, in danger—and I didn’t know what I’d do.
Kill her, the way Bratva demanded?
Or save her, and damn myself in the process?
I brushed a strand of hair from her face, my chest tight with emotions I couldn’t name.
“What have you done, kitten?” I whispered into the darkness.
She didn’t answer.
But somewhere, deep in the shadows, the truth was waiting.
And when it came for us, there would be no mercy.
Only blood.