Mikhail walks back to my side, but I pull away, standing up and pacing toward the window.
"Irina, stop," he says, his voice firm.
"No! You don't understand!" I spin around, panic clogging my throat. "He has my son, Mikhail! He has him in a house in Jersey, and I don't even have the address yet! Aris is probably dead or running, and if my father realizes we're working together, he’ll just... he’ll make him disappear!"
"We’re going to find him," Mikhail says, stepping into my space to grab my upper arms. "I told you, I have Konstantin. He’s already dealing with it. If there is a trust fund or a shell company in Jersey with Boris’s name on it, we’ll find the deed by tonight."
"And if we don't?" I push against his chest, my eyes hot with tears I refuse to let fall. "If we’re too late? You think you have time because of your casino contacts, but Boris doesn't play by the rules, Mikhail! He nearly blew up your brother yesterday! He doesn't care about the docks anymore—he wants to ruin you!"
"Then let him try," Mikhail growls, his grip tightening, blue eyes flashing with wild, dangerous energy. "He thinks he can use a child to put me on my knees, but he’s about to find out what happens when you touch what’s mine. I am going to tear New York apart, Irina. I’m going to find your boy, and then I’m going to make sure your father never draws another breath."
"Mikhail..."
"Don't," he says, his forehead resting against mine. His breathing is ragged, his chest heaving. " I promise you."
I look into his eyes, the terror and hope swirling in my chest. We're standing in the middle of a burning house, the match struck by my own father.
But as I feel Mikhail’s hands on my arms, solid and hot, I realize that for the first time in years, I’m not running from the fire. I’m standing right next to the man who’s going to help me burn it all down.
He pulls me closer, his hands sliding up to cup my jaw, and seals his lips over mine in a fierce, desperate kiss.
He is reassuring me he will never break his promise.
And I believe him, I really do.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
His mouth is still hot on mine, his tongue demanding as he seals his promise against my lips.
I can feel the wild vibration of his chest against my own, his large hands still framing my face. It isn't just a kiss, it’s him putting a stamp on my skin, telling the ghosts of our fathers that they don't own a single millimeter of the girl in his arms.
And I lean into him.Yes, I belong to him.
"Upstairs," he growls against my mouth, his voice a low, rough edge.
He doesn't wait for me to answer as he hooks his arm under my thighs and lifts me, carrying me out of the dining room. I wrap my legs around his waist, my face burying in the crook of his neck as he takes the stairs two at a time. The house is quiet, the guards outside probably still breathing sighs of relief that they didn't have to clean up our fathers' blood today.
We reach our suite, and he kicks the doors shut behind us. He doesn't lock them this time—he doesn't need to. The whole world knows better than to knock on this door right now.
He sets me down on my feet near the edge of the bed, but he doesn't let me go. He stands close, his chest heaving, his blue eyes dark and wild under his brow. He yanks his tie off with one hand, tossing it onto the floor, then starts unbuttoning his shirt with a quick, impatient aggression.
"Strip for me, Irina," he commands. His voice is a quiet, gravelly rasp that goes straight to my knees. "Slow. I want to watch you."
I look at him, my heart doing a hard, heavy thump.
I reach for the zipper of my black hoodie, my fingers trembling a little. I pull it down, letting the dark fabric part. I slide the sleeves off my arms and let the hoodie pool at my feet on the rug. I’m left in just my grey gym tank top and the tight black leggings, my skin flushed and hot.
"The rest of it," Mikhail murmurs, his shirt hanging open, revealing the serpents and stars on his chest.
I reach for the hem of the tank top, pulling it up and over my head. I toss it aside, standing before him in just my sports bra and leggings. My heart is beating so hard I’m sure he can see the pulse jumping in my throat. I slide my thumbs under the elastic waistband of my leggings, pushing them down slowly, my gaze locked on his. I step out of them, then reach behind my back to unhook the bra.
When the fabric falls away, I’m completely bare under his gaze. I feel a shiver run through me, but I don't try to cover myself. I stand tall, my chin up, letting him take in every inch of me, including the scar above my hip that we don't have to lie about anymore.
"On the bed," he growls, his hands already moving to his belt. "On your knees, wife. Face the headboard."
A hot, thick wave of desire rolls through my belly. I don't argue. I climb onto the mattress, the silk sheet cool against my bare knees. I crawl to the center of the bed and settle onto my knees, my thighs parted, my hands resting on the dark wooden headboard. I arch my back slightly, my rear tilted toward him, my head bowing as I wait for the weight of him.
I hear the rustle of his pants hitting the floor, the heavy tread of his feet on the mattress.
