Page 54 of Crimson Sin
Her silence on the other end of the line dares me anyway and challenges me to deny what she's just accused me of. The audacity of it, the cruel precision of her words, makes my vision blur.
“You think I would confuse you with her?” I snarl into the phone. “You think I would drag you into this hell because I want some ghost back from the dead? You know nothing about what you're talking about.”
Her voice cracks with outrage when she responds. “Then prove me wrong, Daniil. Prove to me that this isn't just some twisted attempt to rewrite history.”
“I don't need to prove anything to you.” The words slam from my chest before I can temper them and think about their consequences. “You're not going back to that apartment. You're confined to the mansion from this moment forward. From now on, you do not leave without my explicit permission.”
Her scream echoes so loudly through the phone that I can almost see her face flushed with rage, eyes burning with the fire I've come to know so well. “I won't be your prisoner!”
“It's better than being dead!” I roar back, my control finally snapping completely.
The silence that follows feels jagged and sharp enough to draw blood. Then the line clicks dead, leaving me staring at the phone in my hand like it's a foreign object.
I stand there in my office, chest heaving, rage and fear twisting together in my gut until I can't tell them apart. All I know with absolute certainty is that if Viktor takes her from me, if hesucceeds in whatever game he's playing, there will be nothing left of me. Nothing but blood and vengeance.
The next day stretches before me like a punishment I've designed for myself. Naomi doesn't speak to me. Not a single word passes between us. She doesn't storm through the halls or seek me out to continue our argument. Instead, she simply avoids me, moving through the mansion like I am nothing more than another locked door she needs to navigate around.
It grates me in ways I didn't expect. More than her anger would. More than her accusations did. Silence is her weapon of choice now, and she knows exactly how to wield it for maximum damage. Every room she enters and exits without acknowledging my presence is another small death.
I watch her from a distance, noting the way she holds herself with rigid dignity while treating me like I don't exist. She's punishing me, and it's working better than any torture could.
By late afternoon, I can't stand it anymore. The silence has become unbearable. I order the kitchen to prepare something elegant that might at least make her stop long enough to look at me directly. A private dinner, just the two of us. No guards hovering nearby, no Bratva business to interrupt us. Just her and me and the chasm that's opened between us.
When she arrives in the dining room, her chin is lifted like a queen refusing to bow to a conquering army. She takes her seat across from me without a word. She cuts into her food silently. I watch her eat, refusing to meet my eyes, and feel something crumble inside me.
“I ruined your night,” I manage, the words tasting like rust and regret.
Her eyes slide to mine for just a moment. “Yes. You did.”
The simple truth of it twists in me like a knife, but I don't look away. I force myself to hold her stare and accept the judgment I see there. “I wanted to protect you. And in trying to do that, I failed you completely.”
She doesn't answer, but something in her eyes wavers, like ice beginning to crack under pressure.
I lean forward, dropping my voice to a whisper. “Naomi, listen to me. I've buried more people than you know. I've shut every door in this mansion and in myself because grief was easier than feeling anything real. But you—” I break off, the words sticking in my throat. “I'm falling for you harder than I've ever fallen for anyone. Not even Sasha.”
The confession burns my throat raw, leaving me feeling exposed in ways I haven't experienced in years. Her breath catches audibly, and I watch the frost in her stare begin to soften around the edges.
“Don't mistake this for weakness,” I add, my voice thick with emotion I can't hide anymore. “It's the opposite. You make me want to fight harder than I ever have. You're not a replacement for anyone. You're the one I cannot afford to lose.”
Her knife lowers slowly to her plate. She studies me across the table, her eyes searching my face for lies, manipulation, or anything other than the raw truth I've just laid bare. The silence feels like a verdict being deliberated. Then, slowly, she rises from her chair.
When she comes to me, I stand too quickly, my chair scraping against the floor. I reach for her hand, afraid she might disappear if I don't bind her to me somehow. The anger that'sbeen burning between us doesn't disappear. It transforms, winding tight and hot in my gut.
She doesn't resist when I pull her against me. Her lips part beneath mine, and all the anger between us turns into fire that threatens to consume us both. The kiss is rough and desperate, the type that strips away every defense we've built, and every wall we've constructed between ourselves and the truth.
By the time I lift her into my arms, her earlier coldness has melted away completely. What remains is molten need, hunger that matches my own, and the same beautiful madness that's been driving us both since the moment we met. This is what I've been fighting for. This is what Viktor wants to take from me.
Her lips part beneath mine, and I taste her anger, her hurt, and need dissolving. The kiss is fierce and desperate, but the way she melts against me sets fire to my veins. I carry her to my bedroom, the one place in this house that has never belonged to anyone but me. The door slams shut behind us, and I press her against it, my mouth devouring hers. Her nails scrape down my back, urging me closer, dragging a growl out of my chest.
“You’re mine,” I rasp against her throat. “Do you hear me, Naomi? No one touches you. No one threatens you. Not Viktor. Not anyone.”
Her breath shudders against my ear. “You don’t get to lock me away, Daniil.”
I grip her wrists and pin them above her head, my body pressing her into the door until she can feel exactly what she does to me. “I’m not locking you away. I’m keeping you alive. Because if I lose you…” My mouth crashes over hers again, punishingand hungry. “If I lose you, I lose the last piece of myself that’s human.”
Her eyes flash fiercely, matching the storm raging in me. “Then stop treating me like I’m breakable.”
The challenge in her tone snaps the last tether of restraint. I tear her dress down the middle, the sound of fabric ripping loud in the silence. She gasps, half outrage, half arousal, and it makes me rock hard. I palm her breast, my thumb dragging across her nipple, watching her squirm.
