“It’s cold.” Kyrill shrugged, trying to keep a straight face as he looked at her over his shoulder.
“It’s eighty degrees.”
I held her gaze. “Does it matter?”
She hesitated. And there it was again — a choice she had to make. I held my breath, hoping she would make the right one, because she was coming with me either way. I’d just prefer her to come willingly.
“No,” she admitted. “It doesn’t.”
I reached for her hand again, deliberately twining our fingers together.
“You’re mine, Little Devil.”
Addy studied my face, searching for something, and it looked like she’d found what she was looking for.
“This is so fucked up,” she murmured. “There must be something wrong with me because I can’t actually be into this.”
I grinned as a deep sense of satisfaction spread through my chest. “You’re perfect.”
She exhaled sharply, a mixture of laughter and surrender. “If I find out you have a secret crime board somewhere with red string connecting rival families, I’m going to be so mad.”
Kyrill was already walking up the gangway.
I squeezed her hand once. “You’ll like the view … even if you’re puking.”
Addy glared at me, then looked at the yacht again. “This is the worst decision I’ve ever made.”
But she followed me anyway.
We walked down the dock, the wood creaking softly beneath her feet. She absently reached out, brushing her fingers along a mooring rope, as though she had wandered into an art installation instead of something carefully orchestrated.
Two men were already waiting near the stern. They weren’t wearing uniforms, just dark jackets, and their stance betrayed an air of discipline.
One of them, Arthur, glanced at Addy, who offered him a smile in return. It wasn’t flirtatious or even intentional; it was simply a reflex due to her open nature.
“Hi—”
I shifted slightly in front of her, not wanting to make it obvious, and addressed him first. “You’re not talking to her.”
She went completely still behind me but Arthur’s expression didn’t change. He dipped his chin once in acknowledgment and averted his gaze again.
Addy leaned around my shoulder. “Excuse me? What do you mean he’s not talking to me?”
“Not tonight.” I shook my head and tugged at her hand.
“Rude. What if I want to talk to him?”
“Not the time, baby. We’re kind of on a schedule, remember?”
She studied me for a second; I could sense something recalibrating behind her eyes — awareness, perhaps?
“You’re serious.”
“I’m always serious when it’s about keeping you safe.”
That was the moment reality hit me. She still thought these were dock workers. Hired help. Normal people.
When in reality, they were mine. Loyal, vetted, hand-picked, and most importantly, silent.