Do I murder the innocent woman who holds my heart or take on the most well protected man on the planet?

Jesus fucking Christ.It’s not even a question.

So how the fuck am I going to take down Peter Ivanov?

46

ELENA

Dmitri lies beside me as the sun rises, his arm heavy across my waist. I trace the lines of one of his tattoos with my fingertip, marveling at the intricacy, but my mind keeps drifting back to the scars underneath.

“Does it bother you?” He asks, his voice low and rough. He doesn’t look at me when he speaks, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

“What?” I ask softly.

“Any of it.”

I pause, considering his question. “That depends,” I say finally. “What bothers me most is how casually you talk about life and death. Like none of it matters.”

He glances at me then, his dark eyes sharp and searching. “It didn’t. It does now.”

His words are like a punch to the chest. “Well, it scares me. Peter, your work, the danger you’re always in. Sometimes it feels like it’s swallowing me whole.”

He shifts onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at me. He brushes a strand of hair from my face, his touch tender as ever. “You don’t have to worry about Peter. I’ll handle him.”

“How?” My voice trembles despite my best effort to stay calm.

“He wants one last job done. I’m nearly finished with it.” His tone is matter-of-fact, as if tying up loose ends for one of the most dangerous men alive is just another item on his to-do list.

“What about us?” I whisper. “What comes next for us?”

His jaw tightens, and I can see the struggle in his expression. When he finally speaks, his voice is rougher than before. “I don’t know, Elena.”

His eyes close briefly, like my words are too much. When he opens them again, there’s a softness there I rarely see. He leans down and presses his forehead to mine. “You don’t know everything about me. I’m not a good person.”

“So tell me,” I urge. “Whatever it is, I won’t leave.”

He shakes his head. “You’d hate me if you knew.”

“I could never hate you.” The conviction in my voice surprises even me, but it’s the truth. He’s tangled himself so deeply into my heart that I can’t imagine pulling him out now.

For a long moment, we just look at each other, the air between us thick with unspoken words. Finally, he pulls me against his chest, his arms tightening around me like I’m the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

“Is our marriage real?” The words tumble out before I can stop them, but they’ve been sitting on the edge of my tongue for days. “Or is it just to protect me? What do you feel about me, really?”

His body stiffens, and I feel his arm withdraw slightly, like he’s bracing himself for something. “I wish it was real,” he admits, his voice low. “I wish I could give you everything you deserve. But you’d be better off without me, Elena. You know that.”

Anger flares in my chest, hot and sharp. I sit up, throwing the blanket off me. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“Elena—”

“No!” I cut him off, my voice rising. “You don’t get to tell me what’s best for me. That’s my decision, not yours. Belief, remember?”

His jaw tightens, and for a second, I think he’s going to argue. But before either of us can say another word, my phone buzzes on the nightstand.

The sound cuts through the tension like a blade, and I grab it without thinking, swiping to answer.

“Hello?” I say, my voice still trembling from our argument.