“He’s a dead man.” His voice hardens. “I’ll take my time with it. I’ll make sure he regrets every second he made you feel afraid.”
I stay quiet, my body relaxing against his. His palm finds my cheek, turning my head toward him carefully. He looks at me like he’s trying to see inside my head.
“You’re safe now.” His thumb strokes my cheekbone. “I swear to you, Zoya. Nobody will ever take you from me again.”
“Come on.” He starts to sit up. “Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”
Cool air hits us when he pushes the door open and climbs out. I don’t get a chance to stand on my own before he’s picking me up, carrying me out. I’m pressed against him, held securely in both arms. “I’m capable of walking.” But my voice has no strength behind it.
“I know you can.” His voice rumbles in his chest beneath my ear. “But I want to carry you.”
His house rises ahead, enormous and lit up like a small city. Armed men line our path, staring straight ahead. Doors swing wide as we approach, staff anticipating our arrival. Wealth surrounds us immediately, though it all feels sterile somehow.
I watch the workers vanish after a series of small, respectful bows, leaving me alone with the man carrying me effortlessly up the stairs. Every inch of this place screams of Alexei; it’s a powerhouse built on luxury and the constant, underlying threat of force. Without a word, he hauls me through the labyrinth of the house, moving down a long corridor with a singular focus that only breaks when he kicks open the double doors to what looks like his private room.
It’s huge. A bed that could fit six people, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the grounds, a fireplace already crackling with warmth. He sets me down on the bed gently. I sink deep into the mattress, the silk sheets and plush pillows offering alevel of comfort I’d only ever seen in magazines. Every muscle in my body seems to liquefy, wanting nothing more than to melt into the softness and let me sleep for an entire week.
My brain fights against the exhaustion, staying alert despite how tired I am.
“Thank you,” I say. “For saving me.”
Alexei stands at the foot of the bed, watching me.
“You can leave now.” I pull my legs up, wrapping my arms around my knees. “I’ll be okay.”
He cocks his head. “Leave to where? I’m confused.”
“To… wherever you sleep.” I gesture vaguely. “Another room. I’m sure you have plenty.”
The confusion disappears, replaced by amusement. “This is where I sleep.”
“Then I’ll take another room. It’s fine. I just need…”
“No.”
The word cuts through my rambling. I look up at him. When I meet his gaze, the tender man from before has disappeared. I feel my spine straighten, the fog of exhaustion clearing just enough to remember who I was talking to.
“I’m not sleeping in the same room as you.” Finding my backbone again. “Absolutely not.”
He chuckles darkly. Then he moves. One second, he’s standing, and the next, he has me pinned to the bed. A gasp tears from my throat as I shove at him, accomplishing nothing against his strength. His body blankets mine, separated only by our clothes, and the heat and weight and muscle are impossible to ignore.
He holds himself up with his arms, hands pressed into the bed on either side of my face, leaving me just enough room to get air. His lower weight, though. That rests on me. Pins me to the bed with casual possessiveness.
“Let me introduce myself again, Zoya.” His face hovers inches from mine. His brown eyes were burning into me. “I’m Alexei Romanov, your fucking husband. And you are to be my wife. Willing or not.”
The words should have terrified me.
Instead, they make me angry.
“Hate to break it to you.” I hold his stare without flinching. “But I’m already promised to another man.”
His eyebrow arches. “Is that so?”
“Yes. That’s so.” I lift my chin, finding my footing even pinned beneath him. “I’m not new to this world. I’m Zoya Koval. Artem Koval’s daughter. The arms dealer? Maybe you’ve heard of him.”
A look passes over Alexei’s features, possibly interest, possibly amusement. “I’ve heard of him.”
“Perfect. Then you understand my father deals in alliances, not small transactions.” I maintain a steady tone, the voice I perfected growing up around violent men. “The German syndicate’s heir, Erik Müller, is my fiancé. You’ve made a mistake. When the Germans discover you have me, there will be consequences.”