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I made a broken sound in my throat. “You don’t know half the things I’ve done⁠—”

“And even if you told me, my opinion of you still wouldn’t change,” he said, voice low and fierce. “You’re the same asshole who butchered my men and sent them to me in pieces. The same man who’s been a pain in my backside for the last ten years. You’ve stolen from me and damn near killed me more than once.”

“Where’s the part that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“I knew all that when I climbed into bed with you.” He ran his fingers through my hair. “You listen to me. You’re Yuriy Orlov, one crazy ass motherfucker, and you’re exactly what I need in my life. And I’m hoping I’m what you need as well. You don’t have to go through life alone anymore. I’d like to see who’d dare to give you shit with me next to you.”

My grip tightened. It felt reckless, leaning on him like this. Dangerous. How could I trust him? For so long, I’d done this alone. The one person I’d thought would always have my back—my brother—had betrayed me again and again. Why should I believe Stas wouldn’t stab me in the back the first chance he got?

But his arms didn’t waver.

“You have me,” he said again. “You hear me, Yu? You have me now.”

I stifled the sob that threatened to tear free, raw and unguarded. I hated how pathetic I sounded.

His chin brushed my hair as he held me tighter.

“For as long as you’ll let me,” he whispered, then chuckled. “Who am I kidding? You’ll still have me even if you decide you’re finished with me.”

I sagged against him, drained, hollow, clinging. For the first time in years, I felt the tiniest, most fragile flicker of something like safety. Like maybe I didn’t have to keep bleeding alone. It terrified me how much I wanted to believe him.

“You mean it?” I said hoarsely. “You’re not leaving?”

Stas tugged my head back and lowered his lips over mine. “Nope. Besides, you promised me a date, then bailed on me, so until then, you’re kind of stuck with me.”

25

STAS

Yuriy looked like he was holding himself together by the thinnest thread. His breathing was uneven, his eyes unfocused, his body trembling from too many things at once—exhaustion, fear, adrenaline, grief. He tried to straighten, to pretend he was fine, but the moment he leaned into me, everything in him sagged.

His weight wasn’t merely heavy.

It felt defeated.

I hated seeing him this way. Not my Yuriy. Not the man who’d mailed me a coffin with my name engraved on it “just in case.” Not the asshole who’d hacked my accounts and changed every password to “suckmydick.” Not the monster who’d kidnapped my lieutenant and sent him back in a freezer minus his tongue.

I slid an arm around his waist before he could collapse outright.

“Come,” I murmured. “You’re still recuperating from last night.”

“I’m fine,” he whispered, though his voice sounded frayed, thin, nothing like its usual razor edge.

“No.” I guided him toward the bed. “You’re not.”

He didn’t argue.

He folded into me as I steered him across the room, curling his fingers weakly in the fabric of my shirt. By the time we reached the mattress, his legs barely kept him upright. I helped him sit, then eased him back, pulling the blanket up over him.

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment. He blinked them open again, dazed.

I brushed a damp curl from his forehead. “Sleep. We’ll talk more when you feel better.”

He swallowed, throat tight. “Stas⁠—”

“Yes.”

His voice came out small, stripped of bravado. “Don’t go.”