Page 21 of Lobanov Bratva Obsession
When it was over, the fire in the hearth had died down to glowing embers. The room was cold, but the bed was a sanctuary of sweat and tangled sheets.
I pulled out but didn’t pull away immediately. I stayed draped over her, my face buried in the crook of her neck. My hand, usually curled into a fist or wrapped around a grip, rested gently over her heart. I could feel it beating—steady, strong, and alive.
The shift was subtle, but I felt it in my marrow. The possessiveness—the “this is mine” of a predator—had evolved into something seismic. It was protective. I didn’t just want to keep her because she was a variable I needed to control; I wanted to shield her because the thought of her light going out was a darkness I couldn’t survive.
Elena lay still, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. Her hand moved, almost of its own accord, and rested on the back of my head, her fingers skating through my hair.
“The next time we do this, it'll be as husband and wife,” I disclosed.
“I haven’t said yes, Damian,” she whispered, her voice a ghost of the fury she’d held earlier.
“You haven’t said no, either.”
I raised my head to look at her. The ice was gone from her eyes, replaced by a weary, heavy clarity. She knew what was coming. She knew that in a few hours, the doors to this roomwould open, and the machinery of the Bratva would swallow us both. She was a lawyer; she knew when a contract was unavoidable.
I didn’t push for a verbal vow. I didn’t need one. The way she held onto me in the dark was a vow more binding than anything spoken at an altar. Or, it could be a spur-of-the-moment. Either way, I’d take it.
“You should sleep,” I urged, turning us over so her body was splayed over mine, my hand around her shoulders. I pulled the covers over us.
I left her room before the first hint of dawn touched the Westchester tree line. The hallways were silent, though I knew the kitchen staff was already awake, catering for the several people pouring in as the hours passed.
I stood in my shower, the cold water washing away the scent of her, though I knew it was a futile effort. She was in my skin now. She was part of the Ghost. Not that I’d want it any other way.
By the time I dressed in my formal black suit, the estate was alive. I could hear the arrival of cars—the heavy, armored SUVs of the Lobanov allies.
The war would start and then end soon. I could feel the net closing around the traitor. I could see the end of them, whoever they were. But more importantly, I knew one thing with absolute, terrifying certainty: Elena would survive this.
I had been the one to drag her into the shadows, but she was the one who had learned to walk in them. She wouldn’t be a trophy wife, and she wouldn’t be a silent partner. She would be the woman who stood beside me when the world burned.
Chapter Nine
Elena’s POV
The silence I woke up to was heavy, anchored by the weight of centuries-old power and the presence of men who didn’t need to shout to be feared. I lay still for a long moment, staring at the intricate crown molding above the bed. The disorientation was physical, a dizzying sense of being unmoored. I was no longer a visitor, yet I was not quite a wife. I was a prisoner who had been given the keys to the garden, a lawyer whose best defense had been stripped away and replaced with a gold band I hadn’t yet agreed to wear.
I sat up, the silk sheets sliding against my skin. Refusing to think of the previous night or the man I’d spent it with, I went straight to the bathroom to freshen up. Now dressed in a simple black, long-sleeved woolen dress that stopped below my knees, I pulled my hair into an uncharacteristic ponytail.
I turned the knob of the door and, surprisingly, it opened.
Just as I walked past the door, a guard came towards me, tray in hand.
“Good morning, ma. I was asked to bring your breakfast,” he disclosed, bowing his head as he greeted.
“Oh, I was going to find my way to the study and just spend some time there. I’m not hungry.”
“I'll take you to the study after you’ve had your food,” he answered, his eyes flicking to the door I had just walked out of.
Of course, his ‘suggestion’ was another way of saying, “My boss will have my head if he finds out I took the food back. Please, don’t be the cause of my death.”
I sighed. “Okay.”
“Thank you, ma,” he whispered as I led the way into my room.
He stood by the door as I ate, reminding me of when Damian had done the same just days ago.
“Thanks,” I told him as he lifted the now almost-empty tray.
“You’re welcome, ma,” he answered. “Do you want to go to the study now, or should I come back later to take you?”
