Chapter 4 - Mila
I don’t remember how or when my breathing slows, but I do know it has something to do with him.
One moment, I’m choking on air as it comes in too quickly, never feeling like it’s enough, and the next, I’m calm again. My hands still shake faintly from the lingering adrenaline, but at least now I can unclench them.
The car hums as it idles, steady and patient, and as I glance out the window, it clicks in.
I’m sitting in a stranger’s car. A man who seemingly appeared out of nowhere to come to my aid. He shot those guards without even thinking twice about it, all for someone he doesn’t even know.
The thought should send me over the edge into an even deeper spiral, but it doesn’t. Instead, the shock of it all dulls the edge of everything I just witnessed, and even if I should be freaking out, I don’t have it left in me.
In the back of my mind, I’m still in the alley, surrounded by suppressed gunshots and men going down faster than I can process it. I can feel his arm around me still, pulling me close like he was guarding me. But I’m not there anymore, and this man made sure of that.
Drawing in a shaky breath, I force myself to look at him properly this time.
He looks back at me, seemingly lost in thought despite the way our eyes meet. He blinks steadily, seeming far too calm and composed for someone who just took down a handful of men like it was nothing.
His profile is sharp where the light casts shadows across his face, accentuating his defined jaw and a faint brush of stubble. For a man who just claimed several lives, he looks put together with his brown hair neatly cut and styled, save a few stray strands likely pulled from the exertion.
Those blue eyes are startling in the way they take me in, almost like it isn’t the first time.
And while I should be wary of someone who can look this unbothered after gunning down others for the hell of it, he’s…handsome.
The word registers like a ridiculous thing in my mind, both absurd and unwelcome given the circumstances. I almost want to laugh.
Regardless of all the things I could notice right now, it’s there, and it’s undeniable.
He’s not falsely pretty or dressed in a way that feels forced. Instead, he’s the kind of handsome that puts your mind and your heart at odds, like you already know getting close to him could be a problem.
When he doesn’t look away, and I realize just how long I’ve been staring at him, I avert my gaze and clear my throat. It takes everything in my power to fight the heat crawling up my neck.
“You can’t go back,” he says, breaking that quiet spell.
Before I can stop myself, I furrow my brows as I look at him again. “What?”
Even if something in me agrees with the sentiment, it feels strange hearing it directly from his mouth.
“They’re going to be looking for you, and regardless of why you were running from them, I don’t think you’ll be welcomed back warmly,” he murmurs, never letting his calm tone waver.
Hesitating, I know he’s right.
I disobeyed my brothers directly by running, and I managed to get some of their men killed in the process. Leaving puts their plan in jeopardy, and if I were to show up again, there’s no telling how they’d react. Especially Carlo.
Still, there’s a strange piece of me that feels like I should go back. That I have some kind of obligation to face them, even if that’s the last thing I want to do. It’s confusing, and I hate how it pulls at my heart.
Taking in a breath, I let it go again, feeling defeated. “I know…But I don’t have a choice. It was stupid of me to think I could get away from them.”
“But you did, technically,” he says, more like a temptation. “You just need to take it another step further.”
He catches me off guard, and as much as I don’t want to take advice from a man I don’t even know, my curiosity wins out. “How?”
The man doesn’t look away as something softer crosses his features. “Come with me. I’ll keep you safe until you figure out what to do.”
The offer settles in that silence again, full of promise and kindness I’m not used to receiving so readily. Usually, that kind of gentle reassurance isn’t given to me unless there’s something I’m meant to give in return.
But the reality of it sends a small prickle of resistance down my spine, and I almost gawk at him in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. I don’t even know your name.”
At that, a hint of amusement gleams in his eyes. “Ivan.”
“Ivan,” I repeat without meaning to, taking him in again, assessing him quietly. Even if I’m supposed to be desperate to get away from my brothers, I still need to be vigilant. But I don’t detect any kind of ill intentions from him, regardless of what he just did back there. “Where do you suggest?”
“Somewhere safe,” Ivan murmurs, leaning back in his seat, relaxed and unimposing. “I’ll take you to my place.”
I look up at that, not entirely on board with the implications.
But he puts his hands up. “I know it isn’t ideal, but it’s the best I can do for now. If you want to get out at any point, just tell me.”
Maybe I shouldn’t trust his words so blindly, but there’s something so disarming about the way he says it. Plus, I don’t have a plan. Running was my stepping-off point, and now, I have no idea where I’m going. I’ve never known anything different, and finding a place to start sounds out of reach.
At least with him, I’ll be away from them and given the chance to breathe. Maybe then I’ll think of something once my head is clear.
“Okay,” I say quietly, voice breaking slightly, though it surprises me how easily the word comes out.
Trust doesn’t feel like the right word for what I’m doing, since it’s more like following the momentum I started back at the restaurant. I’ve already taken the leap, and all I can do now is see where I land.
With a decisive nod, Ivan puts the car into drive and pulls out of the parking lot, steady as he eventually merges back into the flow of traffic.
The way there is quiet all the while I’m lost in thought, questioning what I’m going to do next, and thankfully, Ivan doesn’t press about why I was fleeing in the first place. He gives me room to process, even without stating it.
Eventually, the car turns onto a narrower street and then slows before pulling up to an underground garage hidden behind a black metal gate.
Ivan taps something into a keypad, and the gate rolls open with ease.
Immediately, the garage smells faintly of oil and concrete, despite its pristine condition, and Ivan parks in a more concealed corner before turning off the engine.
Wordlessly, he gets out and rounds the front to open my door, and the courtesy feels almost strange after what I watched him do. It seems on brand for him at the same time.
I murmur my thanks as I step out, hearing the door close and lock behind me, then I follow along with him, wondering if I’m doing the right thing here.
Ivan takes me through the building like it’s as typical as anything, and I catalogue every detail I can, just in case. The outside of the place doesn’t necessarily scream luxury, but the inside certainly does.
Every surface is smooth and polished, and the gold accents in the lobby catch me by surprise. Though I keep quiet as the elevator climbs higher. Ivan stands casually, checking his phone, while I lean against the wall, feeling as the last of the adrenaline ebbs away.
When the elevator dings and the doors slide open, I glance at the red light signaling that we’re on the top floor, and that catches my attention.
Who the hell is this man?
Feeling a bit more awake as the questions move through my mind, I follow Ivan down a short, clean hallway before he unlocks a door and pushes it open.
Inside, the condo is dimly lit from backlights surrounding the countertops in the kitchen, along with a lamp next to a white sectional across the space by the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Immediately, I know I’m in the house of someone wealthy—wealthier than what I’m even used to.
Ivan flicks a switch, and a few more lights come on as he moves through the space.
Despite how expensive the place looks, everything inside is minimal and clean. From what I can tell, there’s no personal clutter or even photos lying around. Everything seems strictly necessary, like he doesn’t spend much of his time here.
“Sit, please,” he says, gesturing to the living room as he unbuttons his cuffs and rolls the sleeves up. “Make yourself comfortable.”
I nod instinctively, feeling incredibly out of place as I head over to the section and sit.
The silence is deafening while I try to distract myself by looking out the window. Not knowing what to do with myself, I wait for him to tell me what happens next, or at least, for the other shoe to drop.
Ivan simply walks through the kitchen with even strides, pulling open smooth cupboard doors in front of him. “You want some water?”
When I say yes, well aware of how dry my throat is after everything, he grabs a glass without hesitation, fills it, then brings it to me.
As I drink from it, thankful for how it soothes me immediately, Ivan watches, but it doesn’t feel quite as heavy as staring would, more like he’s being observant instead of invasive.
After a moment, I set the glass on a coaster on the side table and clear my throat. “Should I call someone, or—”
“No,” he says immediately, though with a disarming gentleness.
That single word settles heavier than it should, and I look up at him. “No?”
“I’m not calling anyone unless you ask me to.”
It’s a bit odd for a grown woman to need to call anyone in this situation instead of just getting up and leaving, but my upbringing hasn’t exactly been normal. I’m used to needing permission, even when it’s aggravating.
“Why?”
“Because you weren’t safe back there, and I’m not going to call the people who put you in that situation,” he says evenly, expression not giving anything away. “I’m giving you space to breathe, Mila, and to think. You can leave in the morning, but I think you should rest for now.”
The moment my name leaves his lips, I freeze.
“How do you know who I am?”
Ivan doesn’t say anything for a beat, then he tucks his hands in his trouser pockets. “One of the guys said your name while they were chasing you. I figured that was you.”
The static that comes with a rush of panic lingers in my system, but his explanation makes sense. Everything happened so quickly that I don’t remember any of them saying my name, but I don’t think my memory is all that reliable right now either.
I only manage a nod, not trusting myself to speak.
“You must’ve done something to really piss off your brothers,” Ivan says, shifting his weight onto one leg. “Those men were determined to get you back.”
At that, my brows furrow. “My brothers…I never mentioned them.”
He pauses, eyes not leaving me as a long beat of silence settles in the room, far too obvious to ignore. Then, he tilts his head. “Didn’t you?”
“No,” I murmur, voice dropping quieter as a newfound dread settles in my gut. “I didn’t. So how did you know?”
“I know a lot of things.”
The words aren’t even close to comforting as I stare at him, feeling as I withdraw further into myself as a chill grips my spine.
Seemingly realizing some kind of error, Ivan sighs and rubs at the bridge of his nose and sits in the armchair across from me, removing that built-in intimidation from his stance. “I know you sing at local lounges on Friday nights.”
I blink back at him as it sinks in. “What?”
“The crowds are small, and you usually start around nine,” he continues, never pulling his gaze from mine.
Everything he says adds to the rock forming in my stomach, and my heart slams against my ribs over and over at the implication.
He has me completely still, studying his face and trying to read what he’s not saying. Even if he has been rather open and forthcoming with me, there’s something else wrapped up beneath his calm exterior.
The fact that he knows about my performances is enough to make me question everything that led me to this moment.
“Who are you?” I ask, unable to shake the dread and panic starting to crawl around inside me.
As if he knows there’s no backing out of it now, he leans forward just enough to brace his forearms on his thighs, and his eyes keep me pinned.
“Ivan Lukov.”
Lukov.
It was a name that didn’t mean anything to me before, but it resurfaces again, taking me back to the restaurant with Cesare.
He had said it with such disgust and disdain, and if I wasn’t mistaken, a touch of fear. The Lukovs were a problem, apparently.
My brothers don’t fear just anyone, and that fact alone makes my stomach drop.
As I stare at Ivan, partially aware of who he is and what that means for my brothers, every piece clicks into place.
Whether he saved me from that potential engagement or not, enemy or not, this man isn’t a savior. He isn’t my ticket out of an unsavory situation.
I willingly walked through the front door and traded one prison for another.