Page 180 of Wicked Proposal
“You should have stopped me earlier.”
“Earlier, you didn’t give a shit about her.” He mirrors my posture on his side of the elevator. “Now, you’ve grown a rather inconvenient heart.”
“You’re one to talk.”
“That’s fair.” He lets out a sigh, bone-deep and tired. For once, he actually looks his age. “But I never had any illusions, Yulian. I know where I stand with Kalinda. She’s young, pure, untouched by this world. What we have won’t last ‘til dawn.”
“But you’re still buzzing around her like a goddamn fly to honey.”
“And when the time comes, I’ll stop doing that. I’ll let her go.” He takes one step towards me. When I don’t glare at him, his hand touches my shoulder. “Sometimes, the best thing we can do for the people we love is to let them go.”
“So what exactly are you suggesting?”
“Ship her overseas.” His tone is dark, serious. “Put her and Eli on a plane. Give them fake names, new lives, and burn their addresses afterwards. Never go near them again. Only then can you truly keep them safe.”
Maksim’s words are a butcher’s knife. It guts me to listen, to hear the reason behind them—but he’s fucking right. I’ve got no other choice.
I have to let them go.
The elevator doors slide open on the basement floor.
“Good luck,” Maksim tells me. “And don’t punch anyone else. They’re not all as tough as me.”
I stride into the basement.
Suddenly, I hear a scream.
Herscream.
I dash through like a madman. What if I’m already too late? What if Mia’s?—
“Fuck, Missy!” A bald man with head tattoos whistles. “You sure know how to hold your liquor.”
Laughing.
She’s laughing.
I take in the sight before me. The basement floor is where I host Bratva gatherings—away from the limelight and the cameras. Whenever there’s a party elsewhere, my people make sure there’s one here, too.
It’s a stupid little thing, but this way, no one feels left out. Too manypakhanihave been cut down by their own men after playing too hard at being CEO and forgetting to be leaders.
That won’t be me.
“Bartender!” Nikita calls, perched on a stool next to Mia. “Another round!”
The stupidity of my earlier suspicions hits me all at once. I hate Maksim’s habit of butting in, but I hate it even more when he’s right. Nikita’s weakened right now, but she’s far from broken.
I should know that better than anyone.
I move my gaze back to Mia. She’s radiant like this: a shot glass in her hand and laughter on her lips. She’s joking with my menlike she was born into a Bratva bar, not even flinching when they slam their palms on the counter or break out in vulgar choruses.
There’s even a little brawl going on off to the side, but Mia looks unfazed, only keeping an eye out for injuries.
“Keep still,” she orders once the losing party trudges back to the bar, dabbing at his broken nose with a cloth thick with alcohol. “Otherwise, it’ll sting worse.”
She’s beautiful.
She’s perfect.
