38. Radimir

38

RADIMIR

It’s alright. Everything is going to be okay. I’ll take care of you. I whispered the words over and over until her breathing slowed and she fell asleep. And then I kept whispering them into the silent room, as if trying to convince myself. But it was a lie.

Everything was not alright. It was not going to be okay. And I wasn’t sure I could take care of her.

I sat there glaring into the darkness. The anger had returned, boiling up inside me, burning through all the ice that keeps everything locked down. I was furious, not just at myself but at—I looked around the penthouse—at all of it, at the Bratva, at my whole world. It had nearly killed her and for that, I wanted to rip it all down.

But the anger was just the emotion that escaped, like lava that bubbles up to the surface. It was coming from somewhere down deep, a hot, burning core that had been growing for weeks, that got denser and hotter every time I tried to crush it down. The horror of nearly losing her made me finally face up to it...

I was in love with her.

The hand stroking her hair stiffened into a claw. Chyort! How did this happen?

But I knew how. Because she was funny and voskhititel'nyy— adorable—and a shy librarian but a moaning, thrashing minx when I got between her thighs and because she was good, and she reminded me that the world could be good. She made me…

Happy. A few months ago, I hadn’t thought it was possible to be happy.

I stared down at her sleeping face. Now what? I’d admitted it to myself. But could I tell her? Should I tell her? I thought back to the night I killed Borislav, the way she’d recoiled from me. Don’t touch me! She’d hated me. What if she still felt the same way?

Feeling these things for my supposed-fake fiancée was hard enough. If she rejected me...I wasn’t sure I could take that.

I scowled down at her. Damn you, woman. She made me happy. But she also made me vulnerable.