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“Crystal clear. Too clear. We’ve got every goddamn one of us on high alert, and nothing’s out of place. Doesn’t make sense unless they learned their lesson already and know better than to cross us.”
I shrug, looking casual, so I don’t betray the staccato rhythm of my heartbeat.
They call Mikhail the Siberian Tiger. Viktor the Iron Fist. Nikko the Steel Serpent.
You could say we have a reputation.
“We don’t let our guard down for a second,” I tell him, putting toothpaste on a toothbrush. “You want to hit the weights with me?”
He scowls and wrinkles his nose. “Fuck no. Think I have a death wish?”
He lifts with Viktor but doesn’t like the early morning ass-kicking routine.
“Fine, be a pussy then. You gonna tell me what you need or what?”
He gives me a sheepish grin. “Well, now that I’m here…”
I roll my eyes and spit out the toothpaste.
“So, uh… got a small issue with some footage that might not look too good for us. Can you clean it up? Make it look like we were never there?"
I narrow my eyes at him. “Mikhail know?”
“Fuck no, but it’s nothing big. Just keep it between us.”
I snort. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks, man.”
I need to see Harper.
I just want to prove to myself that it was only a dream.
I need to see her now. When I close my eyes, I can still see her wrapped in a blood-soaked wedding dress. I need to purge that image from my mind.
Nikko takes off and I walk to the guest room where she’s staying. We Russians have our traditions and so do the Italians. The idea of an Italian princess sharing a bed with her future husband is scandalous. I don’t usually care about shit like that, but I hold to traditions. Simplifies shit.
There’s a faint clink of dishes in the kitchen, staff preparing for the day ahead, but other than that the house is still cloaked in the pre-dawn quiet. My steps are noiseless as I walk to her room. The guards I have stationed outside her door scatter to the side when I glare at them to move.
I pause outside the door and listen for a sound.
I knock. No response.
I knock again. Nothing.
I can’t hear…anything. No rustling of sheets. I can’t even hear her breathing. Panic swoops over me and my vision blurs.
I quickly unlock the door and shove it open, rush in and find — her sleeping peacefully in bed.
I feel like I shouldn’t be here. It’s my home and she’ll be my wife, but without her sassy sparring it feels like she’s as vulnerable as a small child.
Blood-soaked satin and vacant eyes.
I shake my head and will the nightmare to be purged from my goddamn brain.
I shut the door and feel my entire body slump in relief. I’m mad at myself for getting so worked up, for letting stupid dreams rob me of my peace. If I feel this way about harm coming to her now, how will I ever survive if I develop feelings for her? I can’t let myself fall for her. It’s too damn dangerous.
I stand beside her and watch her. Her hands are folded under her cheek, her honey-blonde hair askew on her pillow. The blankets and sheets are wrapped around her body.
