Page 57 of Gilded in Blood

“You like that one?” I ask.

She shrugs. “It’s pretty. But I don’t need it.”

I reach past her and pick it up anyway, placing it firmly in the cart.

“Ilya, you don’t have to⁠—”

“If you want it, you get it,” I say simply, voice low. “It doesn't have to be a necessity. You want something, you get it.”

She looks up at me, surprised, a soft flush coloring her cheeks. Something warm and unfamiliar settles in my chest at that look.

I want to give her a thousand useless pretty things just to see that expression again.

We finish shopping and head to checkout. She stays close, still chatting lightly about recipes she wants to try. I pay, load everything into the car, and drive us back.

This feels too good. Too dangerous. Because the more I let myself have these moments with her, the harder it’s going to be when it's time to let her go.

After we get back to the penthouse, I help Milana carry the groceries inside and put them away.

I watch her for a moment as she begins preparing dinner, before forcing myself to step away.

I have a meeting I can’t miss.

"Where are you going?" Milana asks as I grab my keys from the counter.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” I respond, before I can stop myself.

The words barely leave my mouth before I regret them. Hurt flashes across her face. She hides it almost instantly, but not before I catch it. Something twists painfully in my chest.

I shouldn't care that I hurt her feelings. I'm here to keep her alive, not worry about whether she likes what comes out of my mouth. Yet somehow... I do.

I let out a slow breath and drag a hand through my hair. "That came out wrong," I admit. "I'm going out to take care of something."

Her only response is a nod.

I linger by the door for another second, wondering if I should say something else, instead I turn and walk out without another word.

I leave the building and drive to a discreet location on the edge of the city. One of Michael’s men is already waiting in the shadows of an old parking garage.

I get straight to the point. “What’s the plan now?”

The bulky man leans against his car, smirking like he’s got good news. “Michael says it's time to move on the girl. Bring in Milana, rough her up a little, maybe break a few bones. Send the brothers some pictures. They’ll fold fast once they see what we’re willing to do to her.”

My blood turns to ice.

“No,” I say immediately, voice flat and cold. “That’s not happening.”

The man raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised by my reaction. “You got a problem with that? We’ve learned what we could from keeping her close. It’s time to use her properly. That has always been the plan.”

I have to fight the urge to put a bullet between the man’s eyes right here. The thought of anyone laying a hand on Milana, hurting her, breaking her, makes something violent and possessive surge inside me.

The man studies me for a second too long. “You’re getting real protective over the target, man. She’s just a job, remember?”

I don’t answer.

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. Michael’s done waiting. He says to let you know we move soon. She’s going to help us bring the Morozovs to their knees. Be prepared.”

I drive away from the meeting with my hands clenched so tight around the steering wheel that my knuckles turn white.