What the hell am I doing? What kind of man fucks a woman after he failed to protect her father?
My phone buzzes on the counter distracting me from my jumbled emotions. Enzo’s message lights up the screen…
We spotted Volkov and six of his men over at the southside warehouse, near Pier 17. Several trucks are being loaded under heavy guard. Looks like they’re prepping for export.
I close my eyes and force myself to focus. The bastard is packing up to move product. Or to run. Either way, he’s exposed.
I’ll catch him before he disappears, and I’ll make sure he learns what happens when you hurt what’s mine.
Christ. Even thinking of her that way should terrify me.
When I return to the bedroom, Constance is awake, propped up on one elbow. “You’re leaving,” she says quietly.
“I have to go handle something.”
She stares at me, trying to search my face in the dim light from the bathroom. “Is it Volkov?”
I nod.
“Then I’m coming with you.”
Her voice is steady, but her fingers curl slightly, betraying the tremor she refuses to acknowledge.
That’s why my response is simple. “No.”
Her hazel eyes sharpen. “You said you’d let me see this through. You gave me that choice.”
“I also said I wouldn’t let you die for it.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“That’s the problem. You should be, and that’s exactly why you’re not ready.”
We stare at each other for a long moment.
Then she stands, still completely naked and completely fearless. She walks up to me and presses a hand to my chest.
“You leave me behind, and we’re done. Whatever this is, it’s over, Maximo.”
I close my eyes. I want to call her bluff, but I can’t risk not having her underneath me again. “This will get bloody.”
“I’m sure you can guarantee that with one hundred percent certainty,” she remarks. Then, “I have a car, you know. Even if you try to leave me behind…”
I laugh, low and bitter. “You’re goddamn impossible.”
“Good. That means you’ll remember me when I’m gone.”
She says it like a threat, but all I hear is truth.
I look at her, this defiant woman who should hate me, who probably does hate me, and realize I should face Volkov without her, but I can’t leave her behind. I don’t want to do this without Constance.
Somewhere in the chaos of tonight, I crossed a line I can’t uncross.
I’m already hers.
Lord help me.
“Get dressed, firefly,” I tell her.
