Page 70 of Ruthless Royalty

He doesn’t back down, but I can see the uncertainty in his eyes now. He’s out of his depth, and he knows it. But he’s too stubborn to admit it, too wrapped up in his little hero complex to see the reality of the situation.

He wasn’t trained and raised by a devil. He didn’t have blood on his hands before he even knew how to spell his own fucking name. Leo Volkov is a boy playing in a man’s world; he hasn’t learned that mercy is a weakness and hesitation gets you killed.

“Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Volkov. Chiara is mine; she fucking chose me. If you try to play the hero again, I’ll show you exactly what happens to boys who don’t know their place.” I tilt my head and smirk. “I don’t play nice and I don’t leave loose ends. So if you care about your pretty little life, you’ll keep your fucking distance. I’ve spilled more blood than you can imagine, and I won’t hesitate adding yours to the list.”

He glares at me, his jaw clenched so tight I’m surprised his teeth don’t crack. But he doesn’t say anything, just stares at me like he’s trying to figure out what his next move should be. I can see the frustration in his eyes, the realization that he’s out of options, that there’s nothing he can do to change the way things are.

“Chiara—”

“Is a grown woman who can make her own choices, so take your good intentions and stay the fuck away,” I say, stepping away from him. “Because next time I won’t be as polite by letting you walk away with just a warning.”

I let the threat hang in the air, the tension between us thick and suffocating. He knows I’m not bluffing. He knows exactlywhat I’m capable of, and that’s why he finally breaks, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

Without another word, he turns and walks away, his head low, his steps heavy. I watch him go, satisfaction curling in my chest. He’s learned his place, and as long as he keeps it, he won’t end up on the wrong side of me.

But if he doesn’t … Well, that’s a different story altogether.

CHIARA

Ipush the door to Studio 3 open, expecting the usual quiet solitude I crave, but instead, I’m met with the sight of Leo already there, standing in front of a half-finished canvas.

His back is to me, but the tension in his shoulders tells me he knows it’s me. For a moment, I consider turning around and leaving before he notices, but then he speaks.

“Chiara, wait.”

His voice is soft, almost pleading, and it stops me in my tracks. I take a deep breath, my hand still on the door, ready to bolt, but something in his tone makes me hesitate.

“Please,” he says, turning around to face me. “Don’t go. This is your safe space, too.”

I look at him, his expression open and vulnerable in a way that tugs at something deep inside me. Every instinct I have is telling me to walk away, to avoid whatever awkward conversation is bound to happen if I stay.

But instead, I find myself nodding and stepping further into the room, letting the door swing shut behind me.

We don’t speak as I make my way to my usual spot by thewindow, setting up my easel and pulling out my paints. The silence between us is heavy, almost suffocating, and I can feel Leo’s gaze on me, but I keep my eyes on my canvas, determined not to break the tension.

Minutes pass, maybe hours, and the silence only grows more uncomfortable. I try to lose myself in the colors, in the strokes of the brush, but it’s no use. My mind is too full of everything that’s happened, of Nikolai’s words, of Giovanni, of the complicated mess I’ve found myself in.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Leo breaks the silence. “I miss this,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

I don’t look up, don’t acknowledge his words, but I hear the pain in them, and it makes my chest tighten. I miss it too—the easy friendship we used to have before everything got so complicated. But I can’t go back to that, not now.

Another long silence stretches out, and I think maybe he’s given up on trying to talk to me. But then I hear his footsteps approaching, soft against the wooden floor, and I know he’s coming closer. I keep my eyes on my painting, trying to ignore the way my heart speeds up as he stops beside me.

“Chiara,” he says, and there’s something in his voice that makes me finally look up at him.

He’s holding a small envelope in his hand, and when he sees that he has my attention, he holds it out to me. “This is for you.”

I stare at the envelope for a moment before taking it from him, my fingers brushing against his as I do. I can’t help but notice how warm his hand is, how steady, despite the tension between us. I open the envelope and pull out a beautifully designed invitation.

“It’s an invitation to my gallery debut over Winter break,” Leo’s voice is quiet as he explains. “I’d really like it if you could come.”

I glance up at him, seeing the hope in his eyes, and for a moment, I’m tempted to say yes, to promise that I’ll be there. But Ican’t. There’s too much going on, too many conflicting emotions, and the last thing I need is to make a promise I’m not sure I can keep.

“I’ll think about it,” I say, tucking the invitation back into the envelope. It’s a noncommittal response, but it’s the best I can do.

Leo nods, looking slightly disappointed but not surprised.

“I understand,” he says, his voice soft. “Just … know that I’d really like it if you could be there.”

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