Chapter 2

Elena

“ W hat the hell do you mean you were the target?”

I slam the car door shut, my heart still pounding from what just happened. Grigori is behind the wheel, his eyes laser-focused on the road as he pulls away.

“Just… trust me, Elena. The less you know, the better.”

I scoff, throwing my hands up. “Trust you? You’re seriously telling me to trust you after you just let me and my friends—not to mention everyone else in that club—walk right into an ambush? How long have you known about this?”

His eyes flick to me briefly then back to the road. “I don’t have time to go into it right now. I need to focus on getting us to the safe house.”

“Don’t you dare shut down on me, Grigori, not now.” I cross my arms, my anger simmering beneath the surface. “I deserve answers.”

We’ve known each other too long for this cryptic bullshit.

There’s a history between us that runs deeper than most realize. But when he shuts down like this, he turns into a brick wall, and I know there’s no getting through to him.

“I’ll explain everything later,” he mutters. “Right now, just let me drive.”

I stare out the window as the city flies past us, the towering skyscrapers of downtown Chicago glittering against the night sky. My heart’s still racing, my blood hot from the adrenaline and the frustration toward Grigori. The streets are quiet, but my mind is anything but. I pull out my phone, quickly typing a message to Sasha, making sure that she and Natalia got out okay.

Before I can hit send, Grigori reaches over and snatches the phone from my hand.

“What the hell?” I snap, glaring at him.

“We don’t know who’s tracking us,” he says, his voice clipped as if I should’ve known better. Without another word, he rolls down the window and tosses both of our phones out into the night. Gone. Just like that.

Great.

“You could’ve just turned it off,” I mutter.

“I let your brothers know you’re safe,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Well, that’s one less thing to worry about. We can head back to the mansion then.” He shakes his head immediately.

“No. I already told you we’re going to the safe house. The one out in Downers Grove.”

I want to groan. That place? It’s miles away from anything useful, but I know he’s right. Grigori might be a pain in my ass, but when it comes to situations like this, he knows his shit.

“Fine.”

The drive to Downers Grove drags on in silence.

I lean back in my seat, arms crossed, staring out at the dark road ahead. I’m pissed, but I can’t help stealing glances at him as he drives. The way his jaw tightens, eyes scanning the road with laser focus, hands gripping the wheel in the calm and confident manner he brings to everything.

It drives me insane. How the hell can one man be so frustrating and yet so damn attractive at the same time? It’s annoying. I hate that he affects me like this. I hate it almost as much as I hate the silence between us right now.

We finally pull up to the safe house. It’s a small, nondescript place nestled in a quiet, wooded area on the outskirts of Downers Grove, about a half hour from downtown. Nothing about it screams Bratva safe house and that’s the point—no one would ever think twice about it. The lawn is overgrown, the siding faded, and the windows dark. The place is fully stocked and fortified, reinforced in ways no one would expect.

Grigori leaves me in the car, grabbing his gun as he steps out to check the perimeter. I wait, tapping my fingers on my knee, every nerve on edge. A few minutes later he returns, opens the door, and gestures for me to get out.

“Inside,” he commands, always in control, always herding me like some stubborn animal. I roll my eyes but follow him anyway, my nerves wound tight.

The inside is drab and boring. I drop onto the couch, sinking into the worn leather, my eyes immediately drifting to Grigori. It’s impossible not to look at him, even when I’m pissed, especially when I’m pissed.

That luscious brown hair, just messy enough to make you want to run your fingers through it, bold brown eyes that seem to strip away every ounce of your defenses, and don’t even get me started on that jawline—sharp and chiseled, like a Slavic god. Broad shoulders perfectly fill out his leather bomber jacket, the one he always wears on these "missions," a contrast to the tailored suits he wears when handling family business.

Grigori moves toward the kitchen, and my eyes follow without permission, wandering over those broad shoulders and down his back, noting the way his dark jeans fit. That familiar heat tightens between my thighs, making me cross my legs and inwardly groan in frustration. It’s always like this with him—one look, one moment, and my body betrays me.

He comes back with a bottle of water, snapping me out of my daze. I quickly sit up, trying to look like I wasn’t just staring at him like a thirsty idiot.

He hands me the water, his piercing gaze flicking over me like he knows exactly what I was thinking. I take the bottle, my fingers brushing his for a second, and I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes at myself.

I really need to get a grip.

I take a long sip of water, more to cool my temper than anything else, but it’s not working, not when every glance at him stirs up the same frustration I’ve felt for years.

“What the fuck happened back there?” I ask, my voice sharp. “Why were those men after you?”

Grigori, infuriating as always, doesn’t even flinch. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, looking calm and composed. It’s like we’re discussing the weather and not the fact that we were nearly killed less than an hour ago. His eyes meet mine briefly, but he says nothing.

Of course.

I set the water bottle down a little too hard. “You can’t just shut me out me, Grigori. People were shooting at us! At me! I have a right to know what’s going on.”

He exhales slowly, like he’s already tired of the conversation. “Elena, drop it. I told you, the less you know, the better.”

I stand up, my body moving toward him before I even realize it. “No, I’m not dropping it,” I snap, getting right in his face. “You expect me to just accept what happened and not ask any questions? Again? You think because you’ve got a plan, you don’t have to tell me anything?”

He stays calm, his gaze steady. “I’m protecting you. That’s all you need to know.”

I see red.

My hand flies up, and I slap him before I can stop myself.

Hard.

His head barely moves, but my palm stings from the impact.

“You’re not protecting me, you’re keeping me in the dark, as usual,” I hiss, standing so close I can feel the heat radiating off him. I can smell his musky cologne that always messes with my head. He stays perfectly calm, like always, and it makes me want to scream. He’s done this since we were kids—this stoic, unshakable wall of nothing.

“You always do this,” I say, trembling with anger and something else I refuse to acknowledge. “You always shut me out.”

Grigori’s gaze softens, just a little. “I do it because I know what’s at stake.”

“You think you’re so untouchable, don’t you?” I spit, getting right up in his face again. “You think you can keep everything locked up behind that stone-cold facade and I’ll just play along. I’m not a puppet you can control, Grigori. I’m not some helpless little princess you need to protect from the big bad world. I’m a fucking Ivanov.”

He remains stone-faced, taking my verbal assault like it’s nothing, which pisses me off even more.

“You’re not invincible, you know that, right?” I snap, shoving him in the chest. “You could’ve died back there! We could’ve died, and you’re acting like it’s nothing. Like I’m nothing.”

His eyes narrow but he doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word. So I push him again, harder this time. “Say something, dammit!”

Before I can shove him again, his hands clamp down on my shoulders, strong and steady, holding me in place. He stares down at me, his jaw tight with anger.

“For once in your life,” he starts, his voice dangerously low, “you need to be quiet, Elena, and do what you’re told.”

The roughness in his tone, the heat of his touch, the way his voice grates against his usual control—it sends a shiver straight through me and my breath catches. I feel the flush rising to my cheeks. Worse, I feel myself getting wet, my body betraying me again in the worst possible moment.

I part my lips slightly, my heart racing as I stare up at him. For a second, he just looks at me, his gaze hard, like he’s fighting some internal battle. His grip tightens as tension grows, thick enough to suffocate.

Without warning, Grigori pulls me against him, his lips crashing into mine in a fierce, almost desperate kiss as a growl escapes his throat.

It’s exactly what I’ve been wanting for far too long.