Page 91 of Inked Athena

Especially cold.

“Why are we up here, Samuil?” I ask, teeth chattering. “It’s past midnight and it’s freezing.”

He doesn’t look down at me. “I wanted you to see the view.”

“I’ve seen the view. Many times. Usually by myself while you’re holed up in your office working late. Which is most nights.”

“You’re angry.”

“I’m annoyed,” I correct, though that’s the understatement of the century. “And you should know better.”

He turns to face me and I panic. Because this—this is why I needed those few inches of space. He’s warm and huge and confident; I’m cold and small and vulnerable. One touch and I’ll dissolve into a puddle at his feet.

Which is precisely why I retreat, desperate to keep this fragile distance between us intact.

“Forgive me,” he says, his hand falling back to his side. “I’ve been preoccupied today.”

“Clearly.”

“I’ve had a lot on my mind. I had a big decision to make. There was a lot to consider.”

My heart stumbles. “And what is it you’re considering?”

He’s not smiling, but his silver eyes twinkle. “Us.”

My heart drops. “‘Us?’ What do you mean, ‘us’?”

“My world is a dangerous one, Nova.”

‘Nova’?He never uses my actual name anymore. It’s always “zaychik”or “baby” or—when he’s really trying to get his way—krasavitsa. Hearing my name in that deep voice sends ice through my veins.

Even worse is the way his hands keep fidgeting—behind his back, at his sides, clenched into fists. Samuil Litvinov doesn’t fidget. He calculates. He conquers. He controls.

What the hell is happening?

“Ever since you entered my life,” he continues, “you’ve been in constant danger.”

I know that. We’ve talked about this.

But why is he bringing it up now?

My stomach is in knots. A second ago, I wanted to step away from him. Now, I want to grab him by the front of his shirt and shake the words out of him.

“Your life before you met me was simple and quiet. You separated yourself from your father and your brothers. You’d built a business and a life for yourself that you loved.”

My throat is dry, my heartbeat coming in erratic bursts that hurt my rib cage. I can barely breathe. “What are you trying to say, Samuil?”

“I’m trying to say that your life would be simpler without me in it.”

My hand falls to my stomach, like I’m trying to remind him of the life we created together. The life I already love. “I… I don’t understand.”

“We’re so different, Nova.”

This is the gentlest Samuil has ever spoken to me, but each word is a punch to the chest.

He’s breaking up with me.

I sat around most of the day, debating how I could getmorefrom him, while he was locked away imagininglesswith me. He wants to leave, and I’m not going to have a say in it.

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