Page 120 of The Bratva King

“You don’t know that!”

He stands. “I do.” He cups my face in his hands, holding me still until I look at him. “I will protect you. Both of you. No one touches what’s mine.”

“I’m not yours.”

The words come out automatically. Because if I’m not his, I can leave. I can run. I can protect Luke the only way I know how.

“I’m not a possession you can claim.”

The look in his eyes stops me. There’s nothing controlling in it, only a fierce certainty that makes me feel safe. Protected. Like he would burn down the world before he let anyone hurt us.

I’ve never had that.

I want to believe him. But how can I trust a man with enemies like this to protect my son?

“Can we lie down?” he asks. “Please.”

That small concession tells me how much he’s hurting. How much he needs me.

“I’ll get you tucked in.”

I settle him into bed, but when I pull away, he catches my hand. He doesn’t say the words, but I see it in his eyes.

I lie down carefully beside him.

“My men understand that things have changed,” he says. “They will not have an opportunity to get close to you or Luke. I swear, on my life, that you will be safe. This is one thing I know how to do very well. We have security protocols. We’ve been complacent. That ends now. You will not be hurt.”

That’s the most he’s said at one time since I’ve met him.

He’s trying. That means a lot. And a man who’s survived this world for this long has to know how to keep us safe.

He’s been honest. I should tell him. He needs to know the threat isn’t just from the Italians in Vegas.

I can’t though. Not now. He’s dealing with enough already.

“Sleep,” I tell him.

“Stay.”

I don’t know if he means for the night or for good. I brush my lips across his and settle carefully against him.

I stay until his breathing evens out, and the truth settles somewhere deep inside me.

For the first time in five years, I don’t want to run.

28

Nikolai

She’s gone when I wake up. I roll over and immediately regret it. Everything hurts. My shoulder screams in protest. My ribs ache. The cut on my head throbs with each heartbeat.

I sit up slowly and check my phone. Three missed calls from Sergei. Fuck.

I call him back.

He answers on the first ring. “Nikolai. Are you alive?”

His version of humor. Something we share.