Page 32 of The Bratva's Plus-Size Bride

I’m not sure if he’s trying to convince me or himself. From the tortured look on his face, the one that makes me want to reach up and smooth the creases from his brow, I think it’s the latter.

“I deserved to know what I was getting into.” Anger creeps into my voice, born out of the fear still coiling in my stomach. It doesn’t matter if I’m saferight now, all I can think about is the moment the men broke into the room, the way they’d grabbed me, smothered my mouth so I couldn’t call for Anton. “I deserved to have a choice.”

He doesn’t deny it, only hangs his head so we’re brow to brow. The Anton holding me right now seems a world apart from the violent, murderous man I now know exists. Those gentle fingers that comb through my wet hair are the same ones that broke a man’s face. I don’t know how to accept both sides of him. I don’t know if anyone could.

“You did. I’m so fucking sorry, Ella. For lying to you. For putting you in a situation where you could get hurt. For not protecting you. I should’ve been there. Should’ve made sure youknew not to open the door for anyone. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”

His voice cracks with emotion, and it’s all I can do to stop myself from telling him it’s okay, even though it really isn’t. But I can’t bear to see him like this, either. Tomorrow, once we’re home, I’ll be strong again. I’ll rebuild the wall and create the space between us that needs to be there. For now, he needs me. And I need him.

It’s so obvious that he’s beating himself up that I can’t bring myself to pile on, no matter how much he deserves it. Instead, I take his hands and raise them, kissing each of his battered knuckles in turn.

“Let’s patch you up. You don’t want these to get infected.” I lead him into the kitchen and make him sit before searching the cabinets for a first aid kit.

I’m still on the edge of hysteria because the thought of what the first aid kit was likely intended for—skinned knees, paper cuts—and what I’m about to use it for—bandaging wounds incurred during a multiple homicide—triggers another bout of laughter.

He sits still while I clean and bandage him, not even flinching when I wipe the antibiotic over the raw skin. I’m just putting the last band-aid on when there’s a knock at the door. Panic hits me across the face. My heart skips three beats, and I grab the edge of the counter to keep from stumbling.

Anton gets to his feet at once, steadying me with ease. “It’s just the clothes.” He sets his hands on both of my shoulders and waits until I meet his eyes. “Okay? You’re safe. I’ll be right back.”

But I’m not letting him go. I can’t let him out of my sight for even a second because if I do, the fear that’s climbing mythroat right now will suffocate me. His eyes search mine for a second and whatever he sees there makes him frown.

“Just hold on to me. We’ll go together.” Despite how absurd it is that I can’t let him walk the ten feet to the front door, he doesn’t mock me; he simply holds my hand and keeps me tucked behind him as he peers into the peephole. “It’s someone I know, so I’m going to open the door now.”

My fingers tighten around his until I know it must be painful, but I can’t let go because if I do, that pit of fear is going to swallow me. He opens the door just enough to take the bag, then locks it again and secures the chair back in its place beneath the door knob.

Only then can I breathe again. “Sorry,” I mumble, completely embarrassed now that the blood isn’t roaring in my ears. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“I do,” he says soothingly. “You just went through something really fucking traumatic, and you’re having a perfectly natural response. You couldn’t be handling it any better.”

Maybe he’s right, but it doesn’t make it any easier. I fish my clothes out of the bag and change in the bedroom before collapsing onto the bed. All I want is to sleep for a hundred years, long enough to wake up in an entirely different reality, one where Anton and I are just waking up from a perfect night together. How did it go from that toe-curling sex to this?

Anton lets himself in a few minutes later, probably after dealing with more mafia business.Mafia business.Like something out of a movie, but I’m stuck living it. He sets a bottle and two glasses down on the bedside table.

“A drink might help take the edge off,” he says, pouring two fingers' worth of whiskey into each glass before handing me one.

I scoot upright so my back is against the headboard and take it, downing half the glass in one swallow because he’s right, I can’t face this completely sober. He sits beside me, and I can’t stop staring at his bandaged fingers around the glass because they’re a stark reminder of who the man beside me really is.

We drink but don’t talk, and when I start to feel the buzz of alcohol numb the frisson of fear coursing through me, I lie down and let him curl around me. He’s so big he wraps me completely in a cocoon of muscle and that heady scent of his. It’s the last time I’ll feel this way. The last time I’ll let him hold me like this.

My palms are slick with sweat, and I’m careful to hold the paper only with my fingertips. The office is quiet. It’s still early, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Anton and I are the only ones here. I know he’s already here because he sent a car to pick me up from my apartment and bring me here, no longer trusting me to commute on my own.

I steel myself and knock on his office door.

“Come in,” he says, and my stomach twists because this will be the last time I hear him say that. The last time I see his face.

He’s handsome as ever, sitting at his desk, looking polished and clean-cut in his suit. Like a completely legitimate businessman and not at all a member of the mafia. No amount of alcohol could wash away the memory of that brutal fight in the hotel. I need to be far, far away from this life.

I set the paper down in front of him and take a step back, smoothing my hands over my skirt. He leans forward to read it,his eyes flicking quickly across the paper and his frown deepens with every line he reads.

“You want to resign?” He slides the paper back toward me in a refusal. “You don’t think I can keep you safe?”

“Please don’t argue,” I say, because I don’t know if my resolve is strong enough to take it. I don’t want to be apart from him. The thought alone tears me to pieces. “I can’t be involved in this world. It was… terrifying. I’ve never experienced anything like that. I’m not made for that life, Anton. For your life. Please, just let me go.”

He drops his head into his hands and the air between us is charged and heavy. After a long moment, he looks up. “If that’s really what you want.”

Is it? I don’t want to leave him. I want to crawl onto his lap and let him hold me forever. But the blood. The violence. A shudder runs down my spine.

“I have to.”

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