Not because it's strategic. Not because I need her for the fight against Patrick.
Because despite everything, despite the betrayal, the lies, the months of deception, I still want her.
Still need her in ways that make no rational sense.
It's pathological. Dangerous. The kind of weakness that gets men killed.
But I can't stop it.
I find myself craving her every night.
I fuck her with anger and desperation and the need to exorcise these feelings that won't die, no matter how much I want them to.
Some nights I'm rough, hands in her hair, forcing her head back, making her look at me as I brand her. Other nights I'm desperate, pulling her close, burying myself inside her, holding on like she might disappear if I let go. Those nights are worse because they feel too much like a need instead of punishment.
And I hate that it helps. Hate that having her there makes the rage settle into something manageable.
Tonight I wake from a nightmare, Patrick's men breaking through, Mila screaming, Valerie's body on the floor, and lunge for my gun on instinct.
Valerie's hand on my arm stops me. "It's okay. You're safe. It was just a dream."
My heart hammers. Sweat soaks the sheets. The nightmare lingers with visceral clarity.
"Lev." She pulls me back down. "Breathe. Just breathe."
I do. Let her hold me while the adrenaline fades. Let myself take comfort I don't deserve from the woman who caused half this mess.
"Patrick's coming," I say into the darkness. "Soon. I can feel it."
"I know."
"When he does, it'll be bad. Worse than the park. Worse than anything."
"I know." Her hand strokes through my hair. "But you’ll be ready."
"Will I?" I pull back enough to see her face in the dim light. "Or am I deluding myself that we can survive what's coming?"
"You'll survive." She says it with certainty I don't feel. "Because you're Lev Volkov. And you don't lose."
"Everyone loses eventually."
"Not you.”
The next day, I watch Mila talking nonstop to Valerie. She had been overjoyed when Valerie returned to regular duties. Oblivious to what had transpired between us.
I watch from the doorway as my daughter launches herself at Valerie, wrapping small arms around her waist, chattering about everything that happened while she was "sick"—the lie Elena told to explain the absence.
"I missed you so much! Elena doesn't do my hair the same way. And she reads too fast. And she doesn't know the voices for all the characters like you do."
"I missed you too,Cielo."Valerie kneels to Mila's level. "So much."
"Are you better now? You're not sick anymore?"
"All better. I promise."
"Good." Mila squeezes tighter. "Don't get sick again, okay? It's scary when you're not here."
The innocence is painful to witness.
