Page 30 of Crimson Sin
Viktor has won this round, sowing enough doubt to damage my reputation and create questions about my stability and judgment. But wars aren't won in single battles, and I'm far from finished with him.
The cool night air hits us as we step outside, and I feel Naomi shiver beside me. As Lex brings the car around, she looks up at me with eyes full of questions I'm not ready to answer. Not yet. But soon, she'll need to understand exactly what she's gotten herself into.
10
DANIIL
The silence in the car is brutal.Naomi sits beside me, still and quiet, her hands folded in her lap as the city rolls past in streaks of gold and steel. The diamond necklace at her throat reflects the passing streetlights, throwing fragments of light across the leather interior like scattered stars. Every red light, every bump in the road, grates against my nerves like sandpaper to skin. I can feel her watching me from the corner of her eye, hesitant and uncertain, maybe even a little afraid.
Good. Let her be afraid. Let her see the actual man she's tied herself to. Because what I felt back in that ballroom, the white-hot urge to knock Viktor's smug face into the marble, wasn't rational. It wasn't strategic. It was primal. The beast that lives beneath my carefully constructed facade, the one that's kept me alive in a world where weakness means death, will tear everything down just to prove a point. And the point is,she's mine.
Whether Viktor wants to admit it or not. Whether Naomi understands it yet or not. She. Is. Mine.
I flex my fingers against the armrest, feeling the phantom sensation of Viktor's throat beneath my hands. The image plays on repeat behind my eyelids. His face going purple, his eyes bulging with shock and fear as I squeeze the life from him. It would have been so easy. One moment of lost control, and I could have ended this threat permanently.
But then what? A blood war with my cousin in the middle of neutral ground? Every alliance I've built crumbling because I couldn't keep my composure over a woman who technically isn't even mine?
The thought makes my jaw clench so hard I hear my teeth grind together. Viktor's words echo in my head, each syllable a fresh cut.“Some of us know how to give a woman what she really needs.”The way his eyes had traveled over her body, lingering on the curves of her breasts, and the elegant line of her neck. The promise in his voice that suggested he'd thought about her in ways that made my vision go red.
“Daniil,” she whispers softly. The sound of my name on her lips does something dangerous to my chest, making it tighten with emotions I don't have names for. “I know he upset you. But you can't let him?—”
“Don't,” I cut her off. Not harshly, but sharp enough to make her flinch and press her back against the seat as if she's trying to disappear into the leather.
A vein throbs in my temple, and I force my gaze forward, watching the black curve of the windshield split the night ahead. The city blurs past us. Neon signs advertise strip clubs and late-night diners, thugs hide in the shadows waiting for their next target, and the occasional police cruiser with its red and blue lights paints the darkness in primary colors. This is my world.Violence, power, and the constant threat of death lurk around every corner.
What the hell am I doing dragging someone like her into it? I don't trust myself to respond to her unfinished question. Because if I start speaking, I might tell her everything. About how Viktor's whispers aren't just a nuisance. They're poison, spreading through the room like smoke, seeping into the minds of men who respect strength above all else. How one rumor, and one suggestion of weakness in me, especially if it's tied to her, could fracture alliances I've spent years holding together by blood and silence. Or how the image of his eyes crawling over her body is burned behind my eyelids and won't stop replaying, no matter how tightly I grip the armrest.
She shifts beside me, the silk of her gown whispering against the leather. The sound is soft, almost musical, but it makes every nerve ending in my body come alive. I'm hyperaware of her presence; the warmth radiating from her skin, the faint scent of her perfume mixing with the lingering fragrance of the lotion on her skin, and the way her breathing has quickened since my sharp dismissal of her attempt at conversation.
Through the rearview mirror, I catch Lex's eyes. He's been by my side for years, has seen me through countless battles and negotiations. He knows me well enough to read the tension coiled in my shoulders, and the dangerous stillness that settles over me when I'm on the edge of losing control. His gaze slides to Naomi, then back to me, and I see the question there:How far are you willing to go to protect her?
The answer terrifies me. Because I would burn Chicago to the ground before I let Viktor touch her.
The rest of the drive slips past in gritty quiet. I don't speak, and neither does she. But the silence is loaded with unspoken words of what happened tonight and what it means for both of us. She's smart enough to understand that the evening changed something fundamental between us and tilted the dynamics of our arrangement in ways neither of us anticipated.
I can feel her processing, that brilliant mind of hers working through the implications of what she witnessed. The way the most powerful men in Chicago deferred to me with a mixture of respect and fear. The trace of violence that ran through every conversation like an electric current. The way Viktor's challenge wasn't just personal but a direct threat to my authority.
I feel every breath she takes. Every subtle movement of her body as the fabric of her black silk gown hisses against the leather seat. The way her fingers worry at the clasp of her small evening bag. I shouldn't have brought her to a Bratva gathering. Not when Viktor is circling like a vulture. But I needed her by my side. I needed them all to see that she belongs to me, that any threat against her would be met with the full force of my fury. Even if that fury might ultimately destroy us both.
The wrought-iron gates of the estate come into view, their ornate scrollwork silhouetted against the night sky like something from a gothic novel. Security cameras track our approach, and I know my men are watching from their positions throughout the grounds. This is the Zorin family fortress, the one place in the world where I can let my guard down even slightly.
Lex pulls the car into the circular drive and kills the engine without a word. The sudden silence is deafening after the low hum of the road. Outside, the fountain in the center of the drive continues its endless cycle, water cascading from tier to tier ina sound that should be soothing, but tonight feels ominous. The gates swing shut with a dull clang that echoes like judgment.
Lex steps from the car, his eyes sweeping the perimeter with automatic wariness. He nods once to the shadows where I know Timur and Roman have positioned themselves, invisible sentries guarding against threats that might follow us home. I climb out without acknowledging him. The cool night air does nothing to calm the fire burning in my chest.
Naomi hesitates before emerging from the car. I can see her through the window, gathering her courage and preparing herself for whatever comes next. When she finally steps out, her heels tap against the stone like a countdown. One step. Then another. Keeping up, but barely.
She's strong, I'll give her that. She didn't buckle under Viktor's veiled threats. She held her head high even when his implications grew more pointed and personal. She defended our fake marriage with a conviction that felt suspiciously like pride. Even now, I can feel her bracing herself as we step into the marble foyer. The door closes behind us with a soft thud.
I turn to her, drinking in the sight of her under the crystal chandelier. The black silk gown clings to her curves, and my mother's diamonds gleam at her throat like a brand of ownership. Her auburn hair has begun to escape its elegant updo, soft tendrils framing her face. She looks beautiful and fragile, completely out of place in my world of violence and shadows.
“Upstairs,” I command.
She blinks, her warm brown eyes searching my face for clues about my mood. “Daniil?—”
“Now.”
The authority in my voice brooks no argument, but I see the flash of defiance in her eyes before she carefully banks it. Her chin lifts in that stubborn streak I'm beginning to recognize, and she moves toward the sweeping staircase. Her gown flows around her legs, and I follow, my footsteps heavy, each one a nail in the coffin of the control I've spent the last two hours trying not to lose. By the time we reach the landing, I've already made up my mind. No more space. No more pretending or lines that shouldn't be crossed.
