Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 47961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
I let the question sit between us for a second because it deserved that. “I’m no different in most ways, but I don’t fucking kill or hurt the innocent,” I said finally, low and flat. “I’ve killed for money, and on orders. The mafia isn’t a club with a code; it’s a machine. And I’ve been one of the gears turning it for a long time.”
Her brow creased, not in judgment, just trying to understand.
“The difference,” I continued, leaning closer so she could see every line on my face, “is I don’t pretend it’s clean. I don’t hide behind business or family or any of that bullshit. I know what I am. And I’ve spent years waiting for the moment I could turn the machine against itself. Destroy the parts that deserve to burn. Starting with men like Andrey and all the other branches on that rotting tree.” I reached out, brushed my thumb along her jaw, slow and deliberate. “I’m not a hero, Zoya. Never will be. But I’m the weapon that’s finally pointed the right way. And if you want to stand next to me while I pull the trigger, you need to know exactly what kind of monster you’re choosing.”
She held my gaze, unflinching. “I already know.” Then she leaned in and kissed me. It was soft at first, then harder, like she was sealing something between us.
I pulled her onto my lap, hands sliding under the sweatshirt, skin warm against skin. “Then we do this together. No illusions. No mercy.”
She nodded against my mouth. “So the whole thing survives because everyone only sees their small part,” she said. “No one looks at the whole picture.”
“Exactly.”
“And the people who could stop it… they’re already complicit. They’re pulling strings or scared, paid off, or just don’t give a shit.”
“Da.”
She gave me one more kiss before settling further on my lap. I noticed her gaze became distant for a moment, as if she were replaying every memory she had of her life spent with Andrey. Then she looked at me again. Clear and focused.
“I know you think I’ll change my mind, but I’m not going to. I want to help you end it,” she said. “I don’t want to just hide from it. I want to end it and men that control and take part in hurting people and call it business.”
Something dark and vicious twisted in my chest. It was sharp and possessive, the kind of pride that comes from knowing I’d finally found something worth killing for, and it had nothing to do with revenge.
“Then we do it together,” I said, voice low and edged, the words scraping out like gravel. “But you learn first. You get strong so you stay fucking alive. Because if anyone tries to take you from me now, I’ll paint the walls with their blood before they can blink.”
Her gaze met mine, steady and unflinching. “I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.
I leaned in closer, thumb brushing the inside of her wrist where her pulse hammered. “Good. Because I’d burn this entire world down to keep you right here.”
Although I’d never put her in harm’s way—never let her anywhere near a fight—I’d still teach her what she needed to know if things ever went wrong. I’d be the one dropping bodies, standing between her and danger. But I wasn’t leaving her helpless.
When the time was right and things settled, I’d show her the basics. How to hold a gun right with a solid grip, thumbs forward, and not squeezing too hard. I’d show her how to keep her feet apart, knees bent, and weight forward so she could move quickly. I’d teach her how to breathe correctly… in through the nose, and out steady when she pulled the trigger.
Nothing fancy. Just the real stuff that keeps you alive.
She’d learn to clear jams, reload fast, and move without tripping. I’d drill her until the gun felt natural, until she could draw and fire without thinking. Not because I wanted her fighting. Fuck no. But if someone ever got past me, if I got slowed down, Zoya would have what she needed to stay breathing long enough for me to get back to her.
That’s all it would be. Survival. Not turning her into me. I’d make sure no one could touch her without paying in blood first.
“This doesn’t make you one of us,” I told her quietly. “It gives you a chance to survive us.”
She nodded. “And that’s all I want. That’s enough.”
After that, I took her to the kitchen first, wanting her to be fed and full and comfortable. I set her on the counter, and she sat there silently watching me as I prepared dinner for her. After I was done, I cut it into small pieces and picked up a piece of food. “Open for me,” I murmured.