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But to Manic…

Knowing who he was, I wondered if I meant more to him than what he was implying or saying outloud. Was I only a job for him to complete, or did I actually mean something? After five years, I must mean something to him… right? Or was following me just another order from Ronan? Did I prevent his opportunity to leave the mafia?

I wasn’t sure why, but I felt guilty for it. I was supposed to hate him after all, wasn’t I? Yet I couldn’t find the hatred I was so desperate for. Hell, I wasn’t even mad at him.

“Okay. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” I offered, hoping he’d forget all about that punishment he mentioned in the garage.

His face softened slightly, brows creasing like my apology had confused him. Then he let out a humorless chuckle and continued walking, mumbling to himself. I followed closely behind, my shoulders dropping from my ears.

“It’s too late for any of your apologies,” he said.

“What does that mean?”

“It means Dmitri already has his eye on you, and he will stop at nothing to get what he wants.” Our eyes met as he reached for his usual whiskey bottle and popped the top. “Or in this case, you.”

My stomach soured at the thought.

“I’m his prize,” I murmured. “But… why? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Because Dmitri thinks that you are mine, and he wants what he can’t have.” Manic exhaled and blazed his stare at the counter, his grip tight around his glass.

“But Ronan said I would be free in three weeks. Is… that not happening?”

The thought of leaving the penthouse sent an unwelcome pang beneath my ribs. I’d be lying if I said half of it wasn’t because of what we did before. If anything, us fucking around only made that feeling worse—more so now that I’d discovered the truth. I was beginning to like him, and that was a dangerous thing for me to feel.

But I’d also be lying if I said I wasn’t excited to have my freedom back. I missed my library visits, my friends, and the frequent coffee shop dates with myself. I missed being able to just leave whenever I wanted.

I didn’t exactly have a plan for when I left, but I wanted to chase something outside my forced degree and my father’s approval. A library. A bookshop, maybe. Anything besides this. Most of all, I wanted to get the fuck away from the mafia. This was no place for me.

Except the thin line between my admirer and Manic was beginning to fade as more pieces clashed together. I didn’t want to, but I cared for Manic. Somehow, he was slowly healing the splintered shards of my soul—filling pieces of me I hadn’t realized were missing.

And that was a problem.

If I fell for him, leaving wouldn’t be so simple. Staying meant dealing with my father’s misfortunes and potentially becoming his replacement for the mafia. It meant getting pulled deeper into a world I wanted nothing to do with.

Yes, it was dangerous to feel anything for Manic.

Maybe I should leave.

“You will be free,” Manic said, then paused as if he were calculating his words. “But now that I’ve killed one of his members, he’s determined to have you. What do you think will happen in three weeks when you’re free, hm?”

“Dmitri will come after me,” I mumbled.

Bile rose in my throat as he nodded. Stars slowly drifted into my vision, my pulse racing in tune with my quickening breaths. Dmitri will come after me. Oh, God.

My chest grew hot, my lungs constricting as panic washed over me. Everything around us faded as I pictured myself in Dmitri’s world. The Russian mafia. Manic wasn’t a saint, but I feared Dmitri would be far worse⁠—

I blinked once, and Manic was in front of me, gripping my chin with whiskey on his breath. The warmth of his palm seared me, and I instinctively inhaled his familiar scent.

“It won’t happen,” he said gruffly. “He will not have you.”

“No?” I forced a small laugh. “I thought you hated me.”

“I wouldn’t wish it even on my worst enemies.”

“That bad?” I questioned, cold fear curling around my shoulders. “What does he have on you? Why does he want me?”

Manic’s brows furrowed with a wrinkle of brief sadness, like something in him had cracked before it was swept away, his expression smoothing.