The next day, I can’t stop thinking about how she wrapped her arms around me, like she was silently telling me she epts who I am. Like she won’t walk away once the DeLuca business is finished.


    I want to believe I don’t have to force her to stay, that she’ll want to, but I don’t know if we’re there yet.


    When I step out of my car, the scent of earth and shit fills my lungs as I approach the pig farm, miles away from the house. The three men are already waiting, their bodies trembling, their knees in the dirt, my brothers and our men all waiting for me.


    The hint of blood and metal clings to the air as I circle them, tied to the fence, arms bound tightly behind them, their faces pale in fear.


    I grip the knife in my hand, its steel catching the faint light. The chainsaw rests on the ground beside them, gleaming with a deadly promise.


    One of them starts to speak, his body shaking.


    “I-I don’t know the n-name of the cop,” he stammers, eyes wide with terror. “Th-the boss doesn’t t-tell us any of that.”


    I tsk under my breath, taking a step forward. “It’s in your best interest not to lie to me. You know what happens when I lose patience, right, my friend?”


    He squirms, ncing at the chainsaw with obvious fear.


    The second man starts to plead. “P-p-please, please, we swear we don’t know anything. We’re j-just street-level guys. DeLuca only t-tells us what we n-need to know.” His words crack, desperation dripping from each syble.


    I don’t believe them. Not for a second.


    “And that hit on me at the hotel.” I flip the knife in my hands, continuing to walk around them. “Was that the cop’s idea or the boss’s?”


    The third man shifts ufortably, his eyes flicking between me and his twopanions.


    “Don’t fucking look at them.” I rush toward him, the tip of the knife inching near his eye. “You look at me.”


    He shudders with a nod.


    “What the fuck did you want to say? And it better be the truth.”


    “Y-yeah, o-o-okay.”


    “Speak!”


    “The hit, that was DeLuca. But…”


    “But what? Nu blyat govori!” Fucking talk!


    Sweat coats his forehead, face a mixture of terror and uncertainty. “The-the hit wasn’t meant for you.”


    I stop, my body stiffening. “What do you mean?”


    When he doesn’t say anything, I press my shoe into his hand. The man begs me to stop, but I don’t. I press harder until I swear a bone cracks.


    “All I heard…”


    I step off his hand, and he pants heavily.


    “All I heard was that they were after some woman. The one who killed the two lieutenants.”


    “I already knew they were after her. That’s not a surprise.”


    I grab the chainsaw from the ground and drop the knife, ready to end them all. The sound of the saw revving up fills the space between us, the noise ringing in the silence of the night.


    “Wait!” The man cracks in terror. “You don’t understand! They wanted her dead before she killed them.”


    My body locks in ce. “What?”


    “Please, I’m telling you what I heard. DeLuca put the hit on her. He wanted her gone.”


    Every muscle in my body tightens. “Do you know why?”


    I back away, staring at him for long seconds. The silence stretches between us as I wait for him to give me answers I need.


    His face pales as he stares at the saw. “I-I don’t know that…but if you let me go, I can find out.”


    I shake my head, the edges of my mouth curling into a smile that’s anything butforting. “No need. I’m more than capable. But thank you for the offer. You are far too kind. Now, with that…”


    The chainsaw roars to life once again.


    “Your usefulness hase to an end.”


    His eyes widen in realization, but it’s toote. Before he can say another word, I bring the saw down with precision, the de cutting through his neck. His scream is short, and his head hits the ground with a soft thud.


    The other two men wail vainly, their bodies jerking in their restraints as they beg for their lives, imploring me to spare them.


    But I won’t. Everyone who works for DeLuca will die.


    I bring the chainsaw to the second man, slicing through his neck with brutal force. The roar of the saw nearly drowns out the screams of the remaining man, but with a single pull of the lever, his head is severed from his body.


    Crimson stters across the ground, painting the dirt beneath us a deep red.


    They knew what they were getting into when they crossed me.


    I step back, wiping the blood from my forehead as I shut off the saw, the silence hanging heavy in the air.


    Aleksei steps forward, watching me carefully. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes that tells me he’s thinking about what just happened. Thinking about her.


    “Why would they want her dead? What does she have to do with the DeLucas?” The undercurrent of his tone is unmistakable.


    Tension builds in my body, my muscles growing stiff, my jaw clenched, and for a moment, I don’t speak.


    “I don’t know yet.” I cut the distance between us, staring right at him. “But I will find out. And when I do, I’ll deal with it. You stay out of it. Ponyatno?” Understand?


    His mouth jerks. “Da, ponyatno. But you know what must happen if she somehow betrayed us, right?”


    My fist tightens around the cor of his shirt, my teeth grinding. “If you even think about touching my wife, I’ll kill you just like I killed them.”


    Alekseiughs, and it’s cold. Sinister.


    “You’ve lost it, brother.” His voice isced with mocking amusement. “Maybe losing her is exactly what you need to be who you were before.”


    His words hit a raw nerve deep inside me, snapping away my control. My fist crashes into his face, the impact sending him stumbling backward. The pain in my hand is nothingpared to the rage boiling inside me.


    Aleksei recovers quickly and lunges at me, throwing his own punch and knocking me to the ground. Our fists fly, bodies mming into the dirt, each of us trying to overpower the other.


    As Ind a punch to his gut, Kirill and Anton step in, pulling us apart before things escte.


    “Okay, you two had your fun. Now stop this shit.” Kirill drags me back.


    My chest heaves as I stare down at Aleksei, lying on the ground with a bloody grin. I can still feel the rage pulsing through me. Because I meant it.


    I’d kill my own brother if he ever dared to hurt the woman I care about.


    Turning around, I don’t look at any of them as I walk away. There’s nothing left to say.


    And as I make my way back to the car, needing to see my wife, I know I will have to work even harder to protect her from everyone around us.


    I won’t let anyone touch Tessa. She’s mine. And I will do whatever it takes to keep her safe.


    For the rest of my life.<hr>


    EMILIA


    I wait for Konstantin to leave, the heavy door closing behind him as his footfalls fade down the hallway.


    The house settles into the familiar quiet I’vee to recognize. His men are scattered, doing their jobs, leaving me with a rare moment of solitude. But today, it feels like there are fewer of them than usual. Probably busy helping my husband with his…extracurricr activities.


    ncing around, I find one of his men by the foyer, his back to me as I flip through channels on the TV. Maybe this is my chance to go snooping to see if I can find just one more thing for Riley to go through.


    I texted with her earlier, and she’s at a dead end for now. I hate knowing there’s nothing I can do from here.


    Getting to my feet, I pretend I’m on my cell, staring at the screen as I start down the hall, feeling his man watch me as I move around.


    I step into the guest bedroom first, one of many in the house, and continue moving through each room quietly, pretending to familiarize myself with the space. But there’s nothing useful inside—noputers, no devices I can ess.


    Next, I slip into his study, the one room that feels more like him. Shelves line the walls, old leather-bound books stacked high, the desk perfectly organized, everything in its ce.


    A singlemp casts a soft light across the polished wood. I pace around, my fingers trailing along the edges of his things, but nothing stands out. Noptop. No sign of anything that could help me. Even the drawers are empty. Damn it.


    I stand there for a moment, knowing there are cameras everywhere, watching every move I make, even if I can’t see them. So I have to be careful.


    Walking out of the study, I enter a game room next. Arcade games line one side, and the centerpiece of the room is arge pool table. I strut around the table, my fingers brushing the edges, the polished wood cool beneath my touch. The sharp click of the pool balls echoes in the room as I pick one up, idly rolling it between my fingers.


    But then it slips from my hands and skitters across the floor. I lean down quickly to retrieve it when something under the rug catches my attention. My foot grazes it first: a slight bump beneath the fabric.


    What the hell is that? ess to some secret dungeon where he keeps souvenirs from his victims?


    Crouching down, I lift the corner of the rug, the fabric heavy in my hands. Pulling it back inch by inch, I flip it over until I find…a handle, a metaltch fastened to the floorboards like a hidden storagepartment.


    My fingers tremble slightly as I grip it, but it doesn’t give right away, refusing to open. But with a quiet grunt, I pull harder and it finally shifts, the floorboards groaning in protest as arge section slowly rises.


    A wave of excitement floods me as my eyesnd on the yellow envelopes stacked inside. Dozens of them. This is it. The breakthrough I’ve been waiting for. Something that could maybe help Nate.


    But suddenly, the sound of footsteps grows louder.


    His footsteps.


    Fuck!


    Panic jolts through me as I slowly shut thepartment, the low thud echoing louder.


    The door handle begins to turn.


    Oh God!


    I scramble to fix the rug, my fingers shaking as I try to smooth it out. Every second stretches into an eternity, the rush of adrenaline making my head spin.


    Straightening up fast, I move toward the pool table like nothing’s wrong. My body quivers with nerves as I pretend to line up a shot, my heart racing just as the door creaks open.


    Konstantin.


    His eyes meet mine, cold and calcting. For a moment, he just stands there, watching me with that unreadable expression. And then a smirk slowly spreads across his face, like he knows exactly what I was doing.


    “Having fun?” he asks, his voice smooth,ced with something dark and yful.


    But it’s the blood that catches my attention first. His shirt is torn, crimson staining the fabric inrge patches. His face is bruised, the cut on his lip still fresh, and there’s a deep gash along his cheek.


    “What the hell happened?” I ask, rushing over to him. The concern is instant, the anger and fear for him rising within me.


    “Just a little sparring between brothers.” His mouth tilts up.


    I take in the state of him and my brow curves. “That looks like more than just a friendly fight.”


    “Are you worried about me, moya l’vitsa?” His voice is smooth like whiskey as his hand reaches up, fingers grazing my cheek and sending a shiver through me.


    “I am.” The words slip out before I can stop them. I don’t even try to hide it.


    His gaze sharpens, the smirk curling at his lips as he watches me, studying me like I’m a challenge he can’t resist. Then, without warning, he leans down, his lips brushing against my ear, his breath hot on my skin.


    “So make me feel better, then.”


    The air between us crackles, like a storm ready to break.


    “How shall I do that?” My finger trails down from his chest, dragging slowly until it reaches the outline of his hard erection.


    He stiffens under my touch, making a wicked thrill race through me.


    “I’m sure you cane up with something.” His voice pulls with something low and rough, a growl barely hidden beneath the surface.


    There’s that hunger again—the same hunger that pulls me in and forces me to give in, even when I know it will consume me. His eyes are on fire, dark with need, and for a moment, the world around us disappears. It’s just him. Just us.


    I can’t escape the pull. And I don’t want to.


    Before I can second-guess myself, I drop to my knees in front of him, holding his gaze without breaking it. My fingers go straight to his belt, his jaw tensing as I unbuckle it with teasing precision.


    “Blyat,” he growls, his hand tangling in my hair like he’s already unraveling.


    I tug the belt free, his zipper following. When my fingers stroke over him through the fabric, his cock jerks—hard, heavy, and barely restrained.


    “How many times have you imagined this?” My lips graze the skin just above his waistband. “Me on my knees. Wanting to please you and suck you dry.”


    He mutters something in Russian.


    “Too many times to count, malyshka.” His voice is heavy with arousal as he brushes his knuckles along my jaw. “I’ve imagined your mouth wrapped around me, your eyes watering while you fight to take more. The way you’d sound while you struggled to make it fit, to breathe with every inch of my cock stuffed down your pretty throat. I’ve thought about the way I’d fuck you after, hard and fast, bent over this very pool table.”


    His grip tightens in my hair, tipping my head back while his gaze devours mine, hunger and control swirling in every line of his face. “And most of all, I’ve imagined how good it would feel when you begged me to do it all over again.”


    My core throbs, wanting all of that. When I yank his pants and boxers down, his thick hard-on springs to life.


    My fingers wrap around him, barely able to meet, and when he shudders at my touch, a thrill of dominance pulses through me. I’m the one who’s making the ruler of the underworld ache like that.


    He watches my every move, eyes intense. Wanting, waiting for me to taste him.


    I close the distance between us, my lips barely grazing his hardness, my gaze locked on his as my body hums with need. Seeing him like this, ovee with desire, makes everything burn hotter.


    His body tenses as soon as the tip of my tongue traces the crown of his cock, a soft hiss escaping him. Fingers slip into my hair, pushing me down until I swallow him whole.


    “Fuuuck!” A harsh, guttural growl escapes him as he keeps me trapped around him while I savor every inch.


    His hand in my hair guides me deeper, but I don’t need it. I know exactly what I’m doing. His length hits the back of my throat, and when I gag, he groans.


    “That’s it. Take it all, katyonak. Every inch of me is yours.”


    My mouth tightens as I bob my head, his cock twitching against my tongue. My eyes stay fixed on him as he tilts his head back, his hand tangled in my hair, his body tense with power. He looks like a god in every sense of the word.


    The taste and feeling of him fills my senses. The way he groans, the way he can’t stop himself from pushing his hard-on deeper. Every inch of him is a promise of things toe, and I’m not sure I can wait for it.


    The faster I suck him, the tighter his fingers tangle in my hair, his control undoing with each flick of my tongue, each hollow of my cheeks around him.


    He groans, low and guttural, the sound dragging desire straight through me. I lick along the length of him, slow at first, then faster—relentless, greedy. His hips jerk, and when I take every thick inch, he curses sharply in Russian, his whole body straining under the pressure until he spills down my throat, his grip tightening like he needs to anchor himself to reality.


    He doesn’t pull away. He keeps me there, wrapped around him, until he’s given me everyst drop. And even then, I want more. My lips are swollen, breath ragged, but I stay right there, licking along his crown, tasting every trace of him.


    A deep rumble vibrates in his chest, and with a swift movement, he pulls me up, his grip stealing my breath before his lips smash into mine with a force that leaves me breathless.


    This isn’t just a kiss. It’s a possession, wild and intense, driven by a desperate hunger.


    His tongue meets mine, tasting himself, and it only drives him to kiss me harder. My hands clutch his bloodied shirt, gripping on to him as I begin to lose myself. His kiss overtakes me like he’s starving, like I’m the only thing that can sustain him, and I kiss him back with a depth I didn’t know I had, surrendering every part of myself.


    My back ms against the pool table, and before I can even process it, he lifts me effortlessly,ying me back against the smooth surface. The chill of the table contrasts sharply with the heat of his body as it presses into mine, his hands exploring every inch of me, tracing every curve he’s memorized.


    He pushes up my dress, his mouth leaving a trail of heat down my throat, his breath tattered against my skin. His hand rests on my stomach, his palm warm and steady.


    “I’m not done with you yet, malyshka. Not even close.” And from the fire in his eyes as he stares down at me, I know he means every word.


    The next moment, he’s pulling me to the edge of the pool table, my legs falling open beneath his touch as he tears my panties to shreds. His mouth wraps around my clit, sucking hard, his fingers thrusting inside me, and I lose all ability to think or do anything besides feel.


    I bow beneath him, a moan slipping past my lips as he flicks his tongue around me, driving me higher with nothing but his fingers and his mouth, undoing me piece by piece.


    My hands grip the end of the table, heart racing. It’s too much. Not enough. I can’t think. I can only feel—the sharp rush of pleasure, the burn of throbbing need twisting inside me.


    My head tips back as his tongue grazes faster, teasing me to the edge before he slows. The faint scrape of something against my thigh makes me blink down just in time to see him with a pool stick in hand, a slow, dangerous smile growing as he strokes it.


    “What are you?—”


    The words barely leave my lips before he slides the stick inside me, the sudden rush of sensation crashing over every nerve, overriding my thoughts and stealing my breath. My legs tremble uncontrobly, as if I’m caught in the wake of a tidal wave I didn’t seeing.


    And when he pushes it further into me, my body answers before I do, writhing beneath his touch, chasing the release only he can give me. He thrusts the stick into me, and my walls clench, need spiraling, wanting more.


    I reach for him, needing him closer, needing more, but he’s already ahead of me, already working me deeper, faster, taking me beyond my limits with ruthless precision.


    My cries echo as he teases me, slowing down the tempo, my core dripping for him.


    “Please don’t stop. I need more.” My voice is nothing but a wrecked plea.


    “Then take it.” He forces more of it inside me, fucking me with it while the thumb of his other hand strokes my clit. He’s not gentle, the way he punishes me, the way he elicits every moan, each one of them his.


    When Ie, it rips through me like lightning—a harsh, electric pulse that leaves my body shaking. I cling to whatever I can hold on to as the aftershocks roll through me, his name the only thing I remember how to say.


    He doesn’t give me a second to recover. The stick hits the floor with a loud tter, and then he’s on me, the tip of him nudging into me as his body presses against mine, his eyes fixed on me like I’m the only thing that matters. His hands grip my hips, and in one hard thrust, he’s inside me.


    My gasp is swallowed by his mouth as he starts to move, slow at first, then faster, rougher, until all I can do is beg for mercy that neveres. His rhythm is punishing and perfect. There’s nothing gentle about it, which is what I need. Every thrust sends me closer to the edge again, every kiss deeper, more consuming.


    I can’t think. I don’t want to. I want to drown in him.


    He mutters something low in Russian, sweat slicking his skin, his hands possessive on my waist as if he’s anchoring himself to the very depth of me.


    I reach up, fingers threading through his hair, and whisper, “Harder, baby.”


    His teeth snap, chest rising higher before he pumps his hips even faster. The sound of skin on skin fills the room as he drives us both to the edge, until I’m begging without shame, until his mouth finds my neck and he groans, “Tessa,” like it’s the only word he’s ever known.


    When wee together, it’s violent. A quiet explosion that leaves us tangled, breathless, and utterly undone.