Mikhail hesitates. "Boss—"
"Out."
The room clears. Men filing out quickly, efficiently, until it's just Lev and me in the blood-stained foyer.
The silence is suffocating.
"Patrick will retaliate." Lev's voice is controlled. Too controlled. "He'll come after me harder than before. Will probably target Mila to hurt me. Will burn my entire organization to the ground if he can."
"I'm sorry—"
"And it's your fault." The words are brutal. Clinical. "Your lies. Your betrayal. All these would have been avoided if only you had told me the truth from the start."
Tears stream down my face. "I…I’m… I'm so sorry—"
"Sorry doesn't fix this." He moves closer, and I see violence in every line of his body. "Sorry doesn't bring back the three men I lost tonight. Doesn't change the fact that Patrick is still out there. Doesn't undo the damage you've caused."
"Then kill me." The words tear out. "If that's what you want, if that's what you need, just do it. I'm tired of being everyone’s pawn. Tired of paying for sins I did not commit, and the ones I couldn’t help but commit."
His hand shoots out, wraps around my throat. Not squeezing, just holding. Just reminding me how easy it would be.
"Don't tempt me."
We stand there, his hand on my throat, both of us breathing hard.
Then something shifts in his expression. Something dark and hungry and completely unhinged.
"You want to know what I'm going to do?" His voice drops low. Dangerous. "I'm going to keep you. Because Patrick expects you to run, expects me to kill you or throw you out. But you're staying. We're finishing this together."
"What?"
"But make no mistake." His grip tightens slightly. "This isn't forgiveness. This isn't redemption. This is punishment. You created this mess, you're going to help me clean it up. And when it's over, when Patrick is dead and my organization is secure, then you leave."
"Lev—"
He pulls me against him roughly, crashes his mouth to mine.
The kiss is brutal. Claiming. Nothing gentle or forgiving about it. Just raw need and fury and the twisted chemistry that's always existed between us.
I kiss him back despite everything. Despite the pain and fear and guilt. Because this might be the last time. Because I need it like oxygen. Because I'm just as fucked up as he is.
When he breaks away, we're both gasping.
"Upstairs." His voice is rough. "My room. Now."
I go. Because I want this desperately, even though I know I shouldn't. Because some sick part of me needs him to hurt me, use me, punish me for everything I've done.
His bedroom door opens, and we stumble inside.
"Strip." He groans.
My hands shake as I pull off my clothes. The basement chill has left me with goosebumps, but Lev's eyes on me make heat flood through my body anyway.
When I'm naked and trembling, he just stares. Taking in every detail like he's memorizing it. Or saying goodbye.
"On your knees."
I drop, and he circles me slowly. Predator assessing prey. I feel his gaze tracking over me—the bruises from being dragged to the basement, the marks on my throat from his hands, the tremors I can't control.