Instead, he’s left me a tray of snacks, and there’s a mini-fridge stocked full.
I quickly make myself a plate of cheese and crackers, grab a drink, pop the top off some seltzer, and settle into bed with the tablet.
But as I scroll mindlessly through a show, my mind keeps circling back to his words.
"I never messed around with your bank account."
A chill runs down my spine.
If he didn’t… then who did?
I stand and cross the room, moving to the large window that overlooks the grounds.
I think about the look in his eyes tonight when I told him about what happened to me.
About the assault.
I didn’t tell him the repercussions of that assault.
I can’t.
If he finds out the truth… will he still want me?
The thought of losing Matvei fills me with a strange kind of grief.
The kind that should only come with death.
For the first time in my life, I feel wanted.
Seen.
Understood.
I never could’ve imagined this chain of events.
I exhale and follow the sound of his voice, but… it isn’t just his voice now.
Is he talking on speakerphone?
When I walk down the stairs, I realize Matvei isn’t alone. There’s a younger guy with him. A younger, veryattractiveguy with an athletic build, strong jawline, piercing gaze, and what looks like a perpetual smirk. The ink that scrolls over his shoulders and up his neck marks him as Kopolov family Bratva.
Rodion?
"Hi," I say tentatively from the doorway.
The stranger flashes me a grin. "You’re up? Feeling okay?" His brows knit together slightly, studying me.
Just a moment ago, they were both talking about very violent, very mafia things.
But Matvei’s demeanor shifts the moment he sees me.
The tension in his jaw releases. His eyes, normally storm clouds and razor-sharp, soften in a way that makes my breath catch. He shouldn’t be looking at me that way. I might do whatever he tells me. I might follow him to the ends of the earth.
Without a word, he lifts his arm—an invitation, silent but sure. Like I belong there and he was waiting for me.
A lump rises in my throat. Maybe it’s because he’s the last person I expected to feelsafewith.
I step closer. Slowly. Warily. I’m still unsure of my footing in this family. Maybe I’m afraid it’s only temporary.
