I wake up feeling almost human.
The ache in my ribs is still there, but duller now. The fog in my head has lifted. I'm clean, rested, and for the first time in weeks, not actively terrified.
I sit up slowly, testing my body. Everything protests, but nothing screams.
That’s a good sign.
The room is empty. I wonder if last night was real or some fever dream conjured by exhaustion and trauma.
Did he really hold me? Kiss my forehead? Climb into bed beside me like I deserve comfort?
My face heats at the memory.
I need to stop the schoolgirl fantasizing. He's probably just being decent. That's all.
Except...no one has ever been decent to me before. Not like that.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet sinking into plush carpet.
What should I do now? I don’t know the rules. Am I supposed to stay here?
I don’t want to be any more trouble than I’ve already been, but no one told me the rules. And I’m curious.
I pad to the door and ease it open. The hallway stretches in both directions, all dark wood and expensive art. I pick left, following the sound of voices drifting up from somewhere below.
Male voices.
Deep, clipped, and professional sounding.
I creep toward the sound. To a room with the door slightly ajar. I press my eye to the crack like a child spying on adults.
He's there.
He stands in what looks like a study, surrounded by men in dark suits. They're all focused on him, their body language unmistakable—deference, respect, and maybe even a little fear.
He commands the room without raising his voice, without even trying. Absolute authority radiates from him.
My stomach goes all fluttery.
"You're sure about this, Dante?” one of the men asks him.
Dante. That's his name.
"I'm sure."
One of the men—tall and broad, with sharp cheekbones and cold eyes —leans against the desk. “Volkov won't like it," he says.
“Volkov doesn't have to like it." Dante's voice is calm, final. "There's an unspoken rule that wives and children are off-limits. Both our organization and the Volkov Bratva honor that. Marrying her is the cleanest solution."
Marrying her.
Is he talking about himself? Is he planning to get married? My heart sinks at the very thought.
"It's going to complicate things."
"Things are already complicated."
The broad man smirks. “It could work…but it’s insane."
