Page 45 of Innocent Prey of the Bratva
I don’t answer right away. Just lean back and say, “Because you’re real. And most things in my life aren’t.”
She blinks, stunned by the softness in my tone. She turns away again, and this time, I just let her be.
Maxim finally pulls the car to a smooth stop in front of a sleek, dark high-rise. The building towers above us—glass, steel, and silence. No tenants. No staff. Not even a sign on thefront. Just one of many places with my name hidden deep in its paperwork.
Violet leans forward slightly, eyes scanning the building with curiosity. “Where are we?”
“Just a place I own,” I say. “Come.”
We step out, and I guide her past the hollow lobby and into a private elevator tucked in the back. I swipe a keycard and press the button for the rooftop. She says nothing, but I can feel her pulse shift as we rise.
The doors slide open into a world of open sky and endless horizon.
She steps out first, breath catching.
It’s all here—the full sprawl of the city below us. The river carving through it like a knife. The sun glinting off rooftops and towers. The constant hum of motion far beneath our feet. But up here, everything is still.
“You like it?” I ask.
Violet nods slowly, walking toward the edge where a glass railing encases the rooftop. She presses her fingers against it, wind in her hair. “It’s beautiful.”
I join her, standing just a few feet away. Close enough to feel her heat.
“I come here when I need to remember something,” I say.
She glances over at me. “What?”
“That everything below us?” I nod toward the chaos of the city. “It eventually burns.”
She stares at me, unsure if she’s supposed to be afraid or intrigued.
I take a step closer. Her breath hitches.
“But not you,” I murmur. “Whatever tried to touch you back there in my house—whoever sent the knife and the message and the fear—they’re below us now. And I’m telling you right here, none of them will ever get close to you again.”
She doesn’t say anything.
Her eyes are still locked on mine, wide and unreadable. Her lips part like she wants to argue or question me or push me away again—but for once, she doesn’t.
And somehow, that silence means everything.
I’m about to turn away when she shivers.
It’s subtle—barely a tremble—but I catch it. The rooftop wind wraps around her like ice. The dress she’s wearing, all satin and softness, was never meant for heights like this.
Without a word, I shrug off my jacket and step in close behind her, draping it around her shoulders. She stiffens slightly at my touch, but she doesn’t pull away.
I lean in.
Just one kiss—light, slow, burning with restraint—pressed to the back of her neck where her skin is warm against the wind. Her breath catches. I feel her sway, just slightly, like her body doesn’t know whether to lean into me or run.
Then she turns.
Eyes lifted. Lips parted. Face tipped up toward mine.
Her voice is almost a whisper. “You’re going to ruin me.”
I don’t smile. Not fully. Just a quiet, knowing breath that feels like a laugh. I trace the edge of her jaw with my thumb and look straight into those stormy eyes of hers.
