Chapter 13 - Ivan
There’s something unnerving about a change in routine, even when it’s subtle.
It’s been a week since Mila opened herself up to me, and now, she sleeps in my bed.
Not every night, but enough to let me know she doesn’t entirely hate this, or me.
The sheets smell like her more often than not, and when I wake up to an empty bed, I feel the weight of her absence, even if I shouldn’t.
Normally, this is where I step off. When I grow cold and pull away because things are starting to get too tender and familiar.
I’ve always been good at separating myself when the time calls for it. I don’t usually let this kind of thing become a habit.
I don’t soften, and I don’t linger. I haven’t done it for anyone, at least, not in any meaningful way.
Yet, I’m doing exactly that.
I’m not making demands of Mila anymore, or forcing her into spaces she doesn’t want to be.
I don’t watch her through the camera anymore when she sleeps in the spare bedroom, and I knock before entering.
I let her play music in the living room like she’s on some kind of getaway, even when I should be concentrating on work.
Mila’s still guarded as she should be, and watches me like she expects all of this to vanish if she makes the wrong move. But now, she laughs a little easier. She smiles when she wants to, and despite my usual ways, I find myself wanting to be the reason more often than not.
That’s a problem I’m not used to confronting, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.
I’ve been home for an entire fifteen minutes when Mila corners me, standing in front of the sofa I’m sitting in with her arms crossed, and her expression firm. Leave it to her to wait until I’m stationary with a drink nearby.
“We need to talk.”
Those words never mean anything good, but with her, it piques my interest. “We’ve been talking all week.”
“No,” she says, sounding so close to scolding without quite getting there. “We’ve been avoiding things all week.”
Raising my glass, I murmur over the rim, “Is it really avoiding if I don’t know what the thing is I’m avoiding?”
She sighs and shakes her head. “If you’re going to keep me here and expect me to play nice, then I need something. Consider it an exchange.”
“You’re bargaining with me already,” I return, lips pulling at the thought, then I give her my complete attention. “Go on then.”
Mila straightens her shoulders. “I want to go out.”
“No.”
She huffs, throwing me a pointed look. “Let me finish.”
“I already know what you’re going to say.”
“No, you don’t, so listen,” she fires back, leaving no room for me to argue, which is both infuriating and hilarious.
“I’ve spent my entire life being managed by someone else.
I’ve been hidden and given things to make me shut up, and then I was almost traded by my brothers.
I had to sneak out of the house just to feel normal for a few hours.
If I don’t get a choice about being here, then I at least want to live. ”
“You are living,” I say plainly, feeling an itch of annoyance beneath my skin at the thought of letting her go. “You’re safe.”
“Being stuck in a condo isn’t living. It’s barely surviving.”
I don’t even want to let myself consider her words or entertain the idea, yet the thought of Mila feeling like she’s wasting away here makes my gut tighten.
Maybe I shouldn’t care at all, and maybe I should be perfectly fine with getting a tight grip on her, but part of me knows I have a leash on her, and it’s far too tight.
Still, I can’t say it’s worth the risk.
“Please, Ivan,” Mila says, tone a little too close to begging, which sends a ripple of heat through me.
Focus…
“I want to get out of here every once in a while. I want to experience something other than this place, to play music, to sing—”
“You’re not out of the woods yet,” I say, firmer this time.
“Neither are you after everything you admitted to,” she returns, gaze sharp and vaguely warning, like I’m the one walking on thin ice. “Yet I’ve given you more than enough grace.”
She isn’t wrong, but I still don’t like how that fact hits me. And I don’t like the idea of letting her out in the open.
“Mila…”
“My brothers haven’t retaliated yet, and neither has Maksim. You seem to think they will eventually, but what does that leave for me? I’m just supposed to sit here and wait until someone does something?” She asks, looking almost drained now.
“Yes,” I mutter, not knowing how else to go about this. “That’s what you’re supposed to do. Stay where I can see you while I try to fix my mess.”
Mila looks at me with enough betrayal in her eyes to make my chest ache, and that alone is alarming. “I won’t.”
“You will,” I return, lifting a brow at her. “Your brothers are angry, and the Balakins are waiting. Any move you make could be the wrong one, and if you’re exposed out there, any one of them could easily take you.”
“I know…but I don’t care,” she says, full of defiance and perhaps naivety too. Or, this is all coming from a place of being stuck in this for so long that she just wants to know something else. To live differently. “I’m tired of watching my life go by. Please, let me play.”
The longer I have to endure those soft, pleading eyes, the more my resistance wobbles, and I hesitate. It’s enough of a crack for her to notice.
“I’m not scheming, and I’m not asking for you to let me go fully,” Mila says, moving closer until her leg brushes against mine, making something come loose in me. “I want to sing. Even if it’s one night a week, I just need to feel like I’m not suffocating.”
Pulling in a breath, I lean forward a bit more, bringing my face closer to hers even as she stands over me. She notices the proximity and almost flinches, but forces herself to stay in place. How brave of her.
“You want me to let you go, one night a week. To willingly let you risk everything just to sing,” I reiterate, cocking a brow at her, close enough to feel the heat of her skin. “That’s not much of a bargain, Mila.”
“It’s a compromise,” she says, looking caught between wanting to be annoyed and knowing she has to be good if she wants to convince me. “I complain a little less about being here, and you let me sing. I don’t care if I’m flanked by guards just to do it.”
Against my better judgment, I consider her words, reaching forward to carefully take her hand, savoring the light touch of her fingers against mine.
I give her the chance to pull away if she wants, but to my great satisfaction, she doesn’t, even if her brows pinch together.
The urge to snap is there beneath her skin, but she keeps it at bay for now.
Then I picture her on stage, alive in a way that leaves no room to question who commands the room, even if it’s a soft kind of rule.
I see all those eyes on her, drinking her in like I had before.
Then, I envision it souring, and her landing right in the middle of a trap set by her brothers or Maksim.
I hate it.
But the way she looks at me, hoping for this small thing, ruins my ability to refuse her outright.
Pulling in a breath, my thumb brushes against the back of her hand. “Mila—”
My phone buzzes on the side table, shattering the moment, and Artem’s name appears on the screen.
Gift or disappointment, I don’t know, and I don’t dwell on it.
My gaze flicks back to Mila. “We’re not done with this.”
“No, we’re not,” she mutters, looking more annoyed now as she pulls her hand away and leaves the room without another glance.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath before grabbing my phone and accepting the call. “What is it?”
“You got a minute?” Artem asks, deep voice calm and controlled.
“For family? Always,” I say sardonically, pushing myself out of my seat before moving towards the windows.
He snorts. “How gracious of you. Still an ass, I see.”
“I come by it honestly. What do you want?”
“I’ve been digging into Maksim Balakin.”
Setting aside the mental image of Mila’s irritation, my focus sharpens at the mention of him. “And?”
“His presence in Vegas isn’t spontaneous, and he hasn’t just stepped up in Yuri’s stead,” Artem continues. “From what we’ve gathered, he’s been leading operations for months. Yuri’s name might still be on the papers, but Maksim is the one giving orders.”
Watching the cars move down below, I tuck my free hand in my pocket and find myself considering every angle now. “Go on.”
“Maksim is consolidating and making a mess of things to clean house after the fact. He’s removing weak links and Yuri’s most loyal,” he informs me, giving me more to work with. “And better yet, he’s pushing hard for legitimacy, which is likely why he’s been after Mila to begin with.”
“He’s trying to push Yuri out,” I murmur, feeling as some of the pieces start clicking together. “Where the hell is Yuri then?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet, but we’re working on it. As things currently stand, keeping Mila out of reach has complicated things for him, so maybe you weren’t completely stupid to act.”
It’s a small, reluctant concession, but I’ll take it.
“Finally, a piece of recognition.”
Artem huffs out a chuckle, though it’s brief. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. You still have a situation to un-fuck, but I’ll send you what I have, and I’ll relay what we come up with next.”
“Consider me in your debt, cousin. Thanks for this.”
He hums, sounding all too smug. “I hope you’re ready for the day I come to collect. And you’re welcome.”
When we say our goodbyes, and I’m left with my thoughts, my head’s swimming with possibilities.
If Yuri’s men have started deserting him in favor of Maksim, then that either means we have a new competitor or one enemy split into two. Either way, it’s more obvious now just how crucial Mila is to all of this.
She’s the one thing standing between Maksim and his goals, and of course, the Grimaldis, too. So long as I keep her away, none of them will get what they want.
I just have to make sure she doesn’t lose her mind in the meantime.