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Moretti knows we’re onto him, but that doesn’t mean he’ll stop his business. The thing about that is, I don’t care about the business side of things. I never did. That part was just a pathway to catch Moretti.

I care about the past. My bloodthirst runs deeper than Kieran’s loss of business. Kieran can make back his money. He can also find other business opportunities.

But me… I can’t bring my mother or sister back from the dead.

I sigh and take the stairs up to the bedroom.

I shove the shitty memories of the day to the back of my mind the closer I get to the room, and deep down I hope this could be one of those times when Gabrielle is awake.

Before I reach the door, I notice slices of light splayed beneath it. Then I hear the shower going.

My girl is awake.

I push the door open and walk inside. The depraved part of me that wants to continue where we left off this morning pushes me inside the bathroom. There I find her in the walk-in shower, naked.

Fuck. She’s a beautiful sight.

Gabrielle hasn’t heard me yet. Her back is to me and she’s got her face pressed against the granite wall while the shimmering rivulets of water run down her body. My gaze travels down the smooth curve of her waist and settles on her perfect round ass.

I’ve never seen a woman more perfect.

I could stand here forever and admire that body. She’s exactly what I need after such a disastrous day.

I take off my jacket. The sound of it hitting the floor alerts her to my presence.

Startled, she turns, but when she sees me her entire being brightens.

“Lev—”

“Shhh.” I like this silence between us. I feel like if I speak, everything outside the door that’s been riding my shoulders will come in and spoil the moment.

I allow myself the pleasure of looking at her some more.

Beneath my stare her dusty-rose nipples go so tight they darken at the tips, and the clean-shaven mound of her pussy seems to be begging for my tongue. I can’t wait to taste that pretty cunt again.

Gabrielle grins sheepishly, blushing.

I unbutton my shirt and take it off. Her gaze drifts over my tattoos. On our wedding night, when she first saw them, I knew she knew what they meant. For someone who doesn’t understand too much Russian, she knows more than most.

She knew enough to understand I’m a dangerous man, but she looks at me like she sees something to admire. Beauty and art. Not death incarnate.

Or maybe she thinks death is a work of art.

I shove my pants and boxers down my legs, allowing my cock to jut free. She takes in the size of my erection, and I swear I hear her heart pounding deep in her chest.

I kick off my clothes and shoes and move toward her, shamelessly naked with my cock bobbing between my legs.

I walk into the shower and stop a breath away from her, smoothing the water through my hair and down my body.

Her eyes stay on me, touching everywhere I touch. She mulls over the eight-pointed stars inked on my knees—a declaration that I kneel to no one.

When her gaze lifts back to mine, I step closer and turn the water right down, so it’s barely sprinkling over us.

I catch her face, watching the water stream down her cheeks as I close the space between us. Her heartbeat picks up.

I can’t hear it; that was my imagination, but the rhythm pulses wildly against my skin.

Thum, thum, thum.