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I want to cry because, for the first time in my life, I feel taken care of. I feel looked after.
I feel safe.
17
KOLYA
June’s eyes flutter closed. Her breathing is soft and rhythmic and she smells like lavender and caramel. I stand where I am for a long time, pretending I don’t notice how one fingertip is still grazing the curve of her calf.
I also pretend I don’t notice the way my chest feels somehow denser and tighter, like invisible fishhooks are pulling me toward her.
I pretend I don’t notice the thought running through my head on repeat:What the fuck are you letting her do to you?
I don’t notice that shit because I can’t afford to. Because acknowledging it would open doors that I swore I’d never open again.
Just when I was sure she was fast asleep, she murmurs something. “Thank you for taking care of me, Kolya,” she says softly. “I can’t remember the last time anyone looked after me like this.”
I part my lips to say something I shouldn’t. To open one of those doors.
Then I do the exact fucking opposite instead.
“I’m not taking care of you,” I snap. “I’m taking care of the future don of the Uvarov Bratva.”
She blinks her eyes open and recoils sleepily. “Huh? The what of the… huh?”
I glance down at her hand where it’s splayed across her belly. “I have no children. Adrian’s child is the only one that remains. Which means—”
“It means nothing,” she says sharply, her eyes flecking with furious browns. “My child is not going to be the don of anything.”
“That’s not up to you. This is larger than you. It’s larger than both of us.”
She looks shocked as she struggles to push herself upright on drugged limbs that don’t want to cooperate. “I don’t care about your damn—”
Before she can finish her sentence, I push her back down against the pillows. She’s soft and pliant under my hands.
I get the result I was after—anger.
But it’s less satisfying than I would’ve expected.
“So make your own damn baby,” she tries again, “instead of trying to take mine.”
“I don’t intend to have children,” I say coldly.
“Why not?” she scoffs. “Shooting blanks, are we?”
“Hardly. I just have no desire to procreate.”
“So you don’t want to make compromises for the future of your Bratva, but you expect me to?”
It’s a fair question. In fact, it isthequestion. Unfortunately, I don’t deal in justice. I’m not interested in being fair. I’m a selfish, evil bastard and I take what I want.
So I nod.
“That is exactly what I expect.”
“And what if I have a girl?” she argues sensibly. “I can’t imagine a big, tough guy like you being all that pleased with a little girl.”
“A woman still has uses,” I say. “Powerful alliances can be made through marriages.”
