I nodded at the familiar faces, kept my voice civil, my posture relaxed. I played the role. All the while, I was assembling the blueprint in my head. Every hallway. Every weakness. Every opportunity.
Because when the time came, I wouldn’t hesitate.
I’d destroy this place from the inside.
19
With the Devil Knocking
—Maksym—
It was well past midnight by the time the body hit the ground. Pakhan gave the nod, and I obeyed—like I always fucking did. No protest. I did what needed doing, wiped it clean, and left nothing behind but silence. Now I had to keep up the act, play the part while it scraped me raw from the inside out.
The estate was quiet by the time I got back, the halls dim, but I couldn’t shut my head off.I just wanted to see her. One quiet moment, one breath of something pure, even if I didn’t fucking deserve it.
It didn’t matter how much was on my plate—violence, strategy, revenge—my thoughts always circled back to her. Likea goddamn moth to a flame. A reckless, sarcastic, sharp-edged flame with a killer mouth and no sense of self-preservation.
I walked quietly through the east wing, past the hall where the portraits hung like silent witnesses. Her door was closed. I tried the handle. Locked.
Reasonable, I thought. With that lunatic Felix staying just down the hall, of course she locked it. But doors never stopped me.
It took less than ten seconds to open it. I stepped inside and locked it behind me.
Moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a silver wash over her bed. She was lying there, facing away, hair dark as ink spilling across the pillow. One arm curled under her, breathing slow and deep.
Quietly, I slipped off my boots and moved to the bed. The mattress dipped as I lay down beside her.
And that’s when she struck.
She spun around, fast, body fluid and sharp as a whip. The glint of steel caught my eye an instant before the cold blade pressed against my throat. Her knees pinned my hips, her breath ragged, eyes wild.
A fucking knife. My knife.
It was almost funny. My own girl, my own knife, one breath away from slicing me open. A fitting end for someone like me.
I grabbed her wrist, my other hand steadying the blade so it didn’t nick anything vital. Her heart was pounding hard enough I could feel it through her thigh.
Then she froze. Her eyes scanned my face, recognition dawning.
“Maksym?” she whispered, like she was still unsure.
I smirked. “You’re lucky I like women who try to kill me in bed.”
The knife hit the mattress with a soft thud as she exhaled, hand still trembling. But instead of pulling away, she stayed—perched on top of me, breath hot and uneven, her hair falling into her face.
“Christ, Maksym,” she breathed, voice shaky. “You scared the shit out of me. I thought it was Felix.”
That name ignited something inside me.
I cupped the side of her face, my thumb brushing her cheek. My voice was lower now, hard and edged. “Did he touch you?”
Her eyes flickered. “No. Not yet. But he’s a psycho. I keep locking the door and praying he doesn’t try.”
I studied her face. The fear was still there—but so was the fire.
“Feisty little thing,” I muttered, fingers curling in her hair.
She leaned in and kissed me—slow and deep—hands already tugging at my hoodie, impatient to peel me open. My blood surged so fast it felt like a fever. I kissed her back with force, cupping her neck with one hand and grabbing her hip with the other, dragging her body tight against mine. One hard twist and she was on her back, legs spread, nightgown riding up.
