Page 35 of Savage Boss
“It took me two years, but I finally wore her down.” He spits the words out like they have a bitter taste. “She was always too good for me. I should have let her go, chased her out of my shadows.But she made them recede, and I thought they wouldn’t touch her.”
I nearly swallow the words, but they’re begging to come out, to give me a glimpse of what my future might hold. To prove Andrey Mikhailov wrong about this man in front of me. “But they did?”
Dmitri is quiet for so long, I don’t expect him to answer me.
“Yes,” he finally says. “I thought I could protect her, protect them. She was pregnant with our first child, a boy. She wanted to name him Zachary, which I thought was a terrible name for the heir to my empire.” He chuckles at the memory. “It seems so silly now. And she would have had her way, of course. She always did—I couldn’t say no to her. We had bickered about it that day. You know what her last words to me were? ‘At least it’s not Quincy.’ Can you imagine? Quincy Smirnov, CEO of Smirnov Corporation andpakhanof the feared SmirnovBratva.”
The laugh Dmitri lets out is mirthless, more ragged breath than a sound of amusement. The laughter edges on mania, and so does the look in his eyes.
“I would take Quincy Smirnov any day over the emptiness.”
Dmitri drains the whiskey, thenspringsto his feet so suddenly, it makes me jump. He stalks to the bar and pours himself another. “Do you want one?”
“No, thank you,” I answer, hoping I didn’t disagree too quickly.
Dmitri clears his throat and sits back down on the couch. I’ve never seen him so ragged. His hair looks like he’s been running his hands through it over and over, his jaw shadowed by stubble.
“What happened to you?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, but I’m concerned seeing himin such a raw state.
“You.”
I blink. “Me?”
“You walked into my life, Clara Benson; that’s what happened. You make it impossible to forget you. Hell, I can’t say no to you either. When Pavel told me you demanded to come over tonight, the only answer was yes, though he doesn’t take orders from you.”
I stand up and walk swiftly to his couch, sitting down so I can face him. “Dmitri, look at me?—”
I reach out and place my hands on either side of his face, turning his head toward me. His gaze doesn’t follow, focused on the amber liquid in his glass.
“Dmitri?”
He finally looks at me, deep pain darkening the blue depths of his eyes.
“What happened?” I ask softly, almost a whisper.
“We’d just had lunch at her favorite place. She stepped out to take a call while I paid the bill. I heard the shots as I was heading toward the door, and then the squeal of tires as the car took off. She never had a chance—she bled out within minutes, before the ambulance could get there. Do you have any idea what it was like to hold her as she died, to be so desperate to save her and know I couldn’t? To know I’d never hear her laugh again? See her smile? To know I’d lostthem both?”
Dmitri turns away. I notice the hand holding the whiskey glass is shaking. He drops his head, his hair falling over his eyes and his pained expression.
“I should never have dragged her into this life. I never deserved her.”
The words and the desolate tone break my heart.
I hesitate before wrapping my arms around Dmitri’s shoulders and bringing him closer to me. I expect him to pull away, but he doesn’t. He stiffens for a moment before leaning into my embrace and placing his head against my shoulder. I draw slow circles on his back.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that, and I’m sorry you lost them. I can’t imagine how much pain that caused you, still causes you.”
Gradually, Dmitri’s breathing slows and his body slackens against mine. I carefully lean over and take the whiskey glass from his hand, placing it on the end table. We stay like that for a while, watching the rain form rivulets of water into odd shapes and patterns on the windows.
I drift off, lulled by the warm, crackling fire and the slow rhythm of Dmitri’s breathing.
Eventually, he wakes me, seeking the kind of comfort only I can give him in that moment.
16
