Page 14 of Gilded in Blood

She was curled up in her seat, looking far too small and vulnerable. Soft, little sounds escaped her every now and then—a quiet sigh, the faintest snore. Her lips were slightly parted, giving her an innocence that didn't match the thoughts she'd been stirring in my head since the moment we met.

Every time her lashes fluttered or she shifted in her sleep, revealing another glimpse of those abs, I wasn’t able to look away.

Maybe taking this job was a mistake. I turned down a high-paying extraction in Eastern Europe, the kind of brutal, no-rules operation I usually live for just to step into this. To become a babysitter to some spoilt Bratva princess.

Now I’m regretting it, because of one five-foot-four woman with fire in her eyes and curves that don’t quit, and my focus is already fracturing.

Letting out a groan, I grab her suitcase and lead her up to my penthouse.

I bought this place two years ago so I'd always have somewhere to stay whenever I was in the city. But like every other property I own, it mostly sits empty. I'm rarely in one place for long. Even when work keeps me in the city, I tend to stay in hotels.

The moment we step inside, she lets out a soft gasp.

“This place is beautiful.”

It is.

Even though I barely live here, I spared no expense when I bought it. I hired one of the best interior designers in the city, and they did a damn good job.

We’re standing in the living room, a wide, open space with floor-to-ceiling windows stretching across an entire wall. Morning sunlight pours through the glass, filling the room with warm light. Beyond the windows, the city sprawls beneath us, skyscrapers rising into the clear sky and busy streets already coming to life below.

I watch as she slowly turns in a circle, taking everything in. It's strange having her here. I've never brought a woman into this penthouse. Hell, I've never brought anyone here.

I don't like people. More importantly, I don't like people in my space. Yet somehow, seeing Milana standing in the middle of my living room doesn't feel wrong. If anything, she looks like she belongs here.

The thought hits me out of nowhere, and I shove it away immediately. What the hell am I thinking? Of course, she doesn't belong here.

Clearing my throat, I force myself back into business mode. “Your brothers are on their way, they’ll be here any minute.”

As if on cue, my phone vibrates. A text from Artyom: Parking lot. Coming up.

“They’re here,” I tell her.

Milana’s entire face lights up instantly, eyes bright, a genuine smile breaking through the exhaustion. The happiness radiating off her is almost startling. She’s clearly relieved to see her family.

I give them access through the building security and open the penthouse door. Artyom and Mikhail step inside, their presence filling the space like the dangerous men they are.

The moment Milana sees them, her face lights up even brighter. She rushes forward and throws her arms around Mikhail first, then Artyom. The two huge men engulf her in tight hugs, immediately checking her over.

“We heard about the attack. Are you hurt?” Artyom asks, voice low and controlled, scanning her from head to toe.

Mikhail tilts her chin up. “Any injuries?”

It’s strange seeing men like them, dangerous and hardened, become so gentle and concerned over their little sister.

“I’m fine,” she reassures them, smiling softly. “Just a small scratch from some flying glass, but it’s nothing serious.”

They both glance at me. I step forward. “Ilya,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “Sent by Konstantin.”

Artyom nods. “Good. Thank you for getting her out quickly.”

We move to sit down. The conversation turns serious immediately. They lay out the situation with Michael Volkov, how unstable and vengeful he’s become, the growing threats against the family.

Artyom looks at Milana. “We can’t bring you to the main house right now. It’s too obvious. Kira and Irina have already been moved to safe houses with heavy protection.”

Irina, Mikhail’s wife, is heavily pregnant, and he doesn’t seem to like the idea of being kept away from her.

“So I have to stay here with Ilya?” she asks, clearly not liking the idea. Our feeling appears to be mutual.