Page 79 of The Bratva Sinner

I strip to my underwear, leaving my clothes in a pile on the floor. The bed dips as I slide in beside her.

She mumbles something in her sleep and shifts slightly. I wait for her to tell me to get out. Or swing at me. I’ll be able to get out of the way before she connects.

But she doesn’t kick me out. Her breathing stays slow and steady.

I pull her against me carefully, mindful of her injuries. Her back presses against my chest. She fits perfectly. This woman was meant for me; I’m sure of it.

“Sleep,” I whisper into her hair. “You’re safe.”

She sighs and relaxes into me.

“Maksim,” she breathes. Just my name, barely audible.

Then she snuggles closer, her hand finding mine and pulling my arm tighter around her waist. That was unexpected.

I close my eyes and breathe in her scent. Her hair still smells like smoke, a reminder of how close she’d come to being burned alive.

I’ve never held a woman like this. I’ve never wanted to. Sex, yes. Pleasure, sure. But this kind of intimacy is new.

And terrifying.

I realize I would burn down the world to keep her safe.

I would kill every Albanian in Florida. Every enemy who even thinks about touching her.

My broken, stubborn, fearless wife who runs into burning buildings and jumps out of moving cars and fights like hell to survive.

She’s mine.

I need to figure out how to make her choose me. Want me. Love me.

21

Lila

Sleep has been a problem since the fire.

I close my eyes and smell smoke.

I open them, and the dark ceiling of the bedroom feels like I’m back in the stable. The horses scream. Heat snakes over my body. My palm itches where the blisters formed and popped.

It’s been two days, and I haven’t left the house. Haven’t left my bedroom. The fire exhausted me. The lack of oxygen sucked every ounce of energy from my body, and I’ve done nothing but sleep and recover.

And now, it’s too much. I can’t sleep.

I don’t bother with shoes; I just need to move. I pad down the dark hallway, past the guard station at the bottom of the stairs, where two of them see me, nod, and go back to watching the screens on their phones.

I open the door to step onto the back patio. It’s odd there isn’t a guard, but I assume he’s making the rounds or something. I’m safe.

How many times do I say that to myself each day?

The grounds are lit by low landscape lighting that makes everything look soft and inviting. An ethereal glow lights up the blue pool water. It’s too inviting to resist. I won’t dive in, just soak my feet.

I'm halfway to the pool when I see him.

The outdoor bar is at the far corner of the terrace. It’s built into the landscaping and strung with Edison lights. A soft blue LED strip runs under the bar. Maksim is sitting on one of the stools with his back to me, forearms on the bar, and a glass in his right hand. He's not doing anything. Not on his phone, not talking to anyone.

Just staring into the darkness beyond the lights. I watch him for a few seconds. He’s never this still. He’s always moving, talking to someone. He came to me the other night. Neither of us said anything about it, but he was there. He held me against his hard body.