Every breath I took was for her, but sometimes, I wondered if she even knew or even felt that I was suffocating. I never wanted to need her this much. Needing someone was dangerous, but here I was, drowning in her.
I’d lied, I’d killed, I’d betrayed but nothing felt as heavy as the weight of her sobs as she became wreckage in my arms.
Her tears could undo me, and her anger could destroy me, but the worst part was knowing I deserved every bit of it. I wanted to save her from the monsters in the dark, but I never stopped to consider, I might be the worst one of them all. She’d never forgive me, but I’d rather her hate me alive than love me in the grave.
She was my chaos, my calm, my ruin. And I would let her ruin me a thousand times if it meant she stayed. She could walk away right now, and I wouldn’t stop her. But God helped me, and I didn’t know how to let her go.
Every time I held her, I felt like I was balancing on the edge of a fucking knife. The truth clawed at the back of my throat, but I swallowed it down every time. I had every opportunity to tell her, every moment she looked up at me with those broken, pleading eyes, searching for answers I refused to give her.
It wasn’t that I wanted to lie. It wasn’t even that I tried to hide it. I just… couldn’t bear to see her cry again. Her tears carved holes in my chest. I’d rather die a thousand deaths than see her break apart in my arms because of me.
She didn’t know how much power she had over me. She didn’t see it. And thank God she didn’t. If she knew, she’d destroy me with a whisper. I couldn’t let her see just how weak I was for her, how she had ruined me without even trying. I needed her too much, craved her like a man starved, and it terrified me.
Her warmth was my salvation and my damnation, all wrapped up in one fragile, breathtaking woman. She was disorder and quiet, fire and ice, and I’d willingly let her burn me to ashes if it meant she stayed. But the truth? That was a fire I wasn’t sure she could survive.
I justified it to myself a thousand ways. She didn’t need to know. Knowing wouldn’t change anything. It would only hurt her. But deep down, I knew the truth. I kept it from her because I couldn’t watch her shatter. Not again. Not because of me.
As I held her now, her body trembling against mine, her sobs tearing through the silence, I felt that possessive, all-consuming need rise up in me again. My hands tightened around her, holding her closer as if I could shield her from every monster in the dark. Even if that monster was me.
She was mine. Whether she hated me or not, whether she walked away or stayed, she was mine. My ruin, my salvation, my everything. And I was hers, in every way that mattered. She didn’t need to love me. Hell, she didn’t even need to want me. I would still be hers until my last breath.
But God, how I wanted her to love me. How I craved it with a desperation that bordered on madness. I wanted every part of her-the light, the darkness, the rage, the sorrow. I wanted to drown in her, to drink her in until there was nothing left of me but her.
And I hated myself for it. For needing her so much it felt like I was suffocating. For wanting her to stay even when I knew I wasn’t worthy of her. For holding her like this, knowing damn well she deserved better than a man who couldn’t even tell her the truth.
But I’d tell her. When I was strong enough to watch her fall apart and know I couldn’t fix it. When I could face the storm of her anger and her grief without breaking under the weight of it. Someday.
But not tonight. Not when she was already crumbling in my arms. Not when her sobs were softening, and her breaths were starting to even out. Not when she finally felt safe enough to fall asleep against me.
I pressed a kiss to her hair, my lips lingering there longer than they should have. “You’re safe,” I whispered, even though I knew it was a lie. She’d never be safe. Not with me. Not with the truth clawing its way to the surface.
But for now, she was here. She was warm and alive in my arms, and I would hold on to this moment for as long as I could. Even if it killed me.
******
“Now you look human,” the bastard muttered as I gently shut the door behind me. His voice grated against my frayed nerves, and I glared at him, clearly not in the mood to hear anyone speak especially him.
I wasn’t in the mood for anyone or anything, but I had to endure this-if only for the blood I’d been craving like a starved beast.
“Status,” I demanded side-stepping him as he followed after me.
“Of what? Massimo Bianchi? Your mother? Or Lucius Morozov?”
My jaw clenched. The urge to punch him in the face nearly overwhelmed me, but I forced myself to stay rooted, unmoving. Kyle smirked, clearly amused at his audacity, but when I took a deliberate step toward him, his smirk faltered, and he cleared his throat quickly.
“His ships are blasted. The media has been informed about the intel, along with Morozov’s partaking in illegal businesses. He’s cornered. Hiding. Somewhere.”
“And Tina?”
“Out of danger,” he said immediately, before hesitating, his expression shifting. “Though… I think it’s Bianchi you should be worried about.”
“What about him?” I narrowed my eyes.
He paused, measuring his words as though he knew I was one wrong answer away from losing my temper. “He took a blow to save Sera-I mean, Ms. Rosewood. Now he wants to change the negotiations.”
For a moment, I almost laughed. What was I even expecting from the Bianchi-spoilt brat? It was just a coincidence or my utter bad luck he happened to save ptichka before could reach her, and knowing the gravity of the situation, I wouldn’t have made it to her in time, no matter how much I fucking tried. He did save her.
My fingers curled into fists at my sides.
She was safe now, or so I was being told, but it wasn’t over. Lucius played his pawns well, fuck he did play me. Striking where it hurt most. My mother, my sister, my little bird… I had too much to lose now.
Blood calls to blood.
The world was rotting. Decay seeped into its bones, and no one cared. No one but me.
I saw it. Smelled it.
I know the rules. I set them. I break them.
Strike where it hurts most? Fine. Let’s play.
“What kind of blow?” I kept my voice low as Kyle followed me to the hallway. I had too much in my head rather than worrying about what Bianchi wanted. If he wanted to change the negotiations, he’d get that. But with that, my terms would change too.
The bastard thought he could get my sister, and ask for something else, well, he wouldn’t get anything then.
“A blow to the shoulder,” he answered cautiously. “He’ll recover. It wasn’t fatal.”
I exhaled slowly, trying to steady the violent storm brewing inside me. “And what’s this about changing the negotiations?”
“He wants more control over the Romanovski estate.”
Of course, he did. The bastard had been circling like a vulture since the beginning, waiting for an opportunity to exploit the situation. And now, with his act of fucking heroism, he had leverage.
I turned away, pacing to the window as I struggled to rein in the torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. The chaos of it all.
“Anything else I should know?” I asked, not bothering to look back at him.
“No,” he replied. “But what’re you going to do about Lucius?”
Lucius thought he could disappear. Thought he could outmanoeuvre me. Crawl into whatever shadowed pit he called a safe house and wait for the storm to pass.
But I was the storm.
Lucius was smart. Predictable in his unpredictability. He wouldn’t run without a plan, and he wouldn’t hide without an exit. A contingency. A fucking last resort.
He was waiting.
I just had to show him what he was waiting for.
“Find him.”
Kyle exhaled through his nose. “We’ve been trying like I said. He’s gone underground.”
“Then fucking dig him up.”
I had ways. Men who owed me favours. Others who owed me their lives. Every rat had a burrow, every ghost left traces. I’d burn every safehouse he ever touched, put a knife to every bastard who ever harboured him. But that was just cleanup. I needed him to come to me.
Which meant bait.
His empire was crumbling, his options were dwindling. He needed leverage. A way to tip the scales back in his favour.
But there was one person he wouldn’t be able to resist. Someone he thought he could destroy for ruining his plans.
Bianchi.
He was already in play. Already wounded. Lucius would see him as a pawn, a bargaining chip to claw his way out of the hole he was sinking into. Bianchi clan was his only last option, if he begged on his knees. Knowing Lucius, he wouldn’t.
I turned back to Kyle. “Put the word out that Bianchi’s been left vulnerable. Spread the right whispers. Make it believable.”
Kyle’s brow furrowed. “You’re using him as bait?”
I didn’t bother answering. He already knew.
Lucius wouldn’t be able to resist. He’d come for Bianchi, thinking he was making his move.
And when he did?
I’d be waiting.