Page 80 of Wicked Mafia Beast
Three days since I chose to stay. Three days of learning what it feels like to stop running.
My mind is always marking the time because I never had it to control. Someone else always determined where my time was spent outside of school. Here with Kon, in his world, my time is my own.
It's terrifying. It's also the happiest I've ever been, and I don't know what to do with that except let it exist alongside the terror and hope they balance each other out.
The Foundry feels different now. The exposed brick that once looked industrial and cold has warmed into a texture I associate with home. The tall windows that once felt like walls of surveillance now let in morning light that turns the concrete floors to honey. Even the hum of the ventilation system, the low mechanical heartbeat of the building, has become a comfort instead of a cage.
I catch myself doing things that would have horrified the woman who walked through these doors two and a half weeks ago.Leaving my laptop on Kon's desk because it's closer to the outlet. Stealing his t-shirts to sleep in, not because I don't have my own clothes, obviously, but because his scent is woven into the cotton. And smelling him settles the restlessness in my chest. Humming in the shower, some half-remembered melody my mother used to sing while she cooked, a song I haven't let myself think about in years.
It hits me out of nowhere. Oh my. I'm nesting. It’s mid-morning. I’m standing in his kitchen wearing his shirt, drinking coffee from a mug that has become mine. It’s a dark blue ceramic thing with a chipped handle that fits the curve of my palm perfectly. He never drinks from it anymore. He poured his coffee into a different mug three days ago and neither of us mentioned the shift.
I'm making myself at home in the Beast's lair.
He's softer with me now. Not less intense, never less intense, but the sharp edges have worn into curves. He brushes my hair from my face without thinking. Rests his hand on the small of my back when we pass in the hallway. Leaves a glass of water on the nightstand before I realize I'm thirsty.
Small things. A thousand small things that add up to a language I'm only now learning to read. Damn I never realized just how blind I am.
In my defense, it's hard to see clearly when the man fogging up your vision cooks breakfast shirtless.
Kon is in the kitchen. What’s new? He’s preparing breakfast as I whip up a fresh pot of coffee.
"I turned off the security feeds in your room." He says it while serving food, casual, sliding my plate across the counter withoutlooking up, as if he's mentioning the weather forecast and not a massive invasion of privacy. Then his dark eyes lift to mine, steady and deliberate, the faintest trace of amusement lurking at the corners. "I don't need to watch you anymore. Truth be told, I only did it once and then I ended up fucking you all night."
My fork stills halfway to my mouth. A piece of egg tumbles off the tines and lands on my plate with a soft splat. "Please don't sugarcoat anything, Kon."
He takes a slow sip of coffee, completely unbothered.
Camera in my room. There has been a camera in my room this entire time. The outrage climbs up my spine and heats the back of my neck. "What the hell, though? When were you going to tell me there was a camera?"
He shrugs, one massive shoulder rolling beneath his henley, his expression as unreadable as a brick wall. "I forgot about it. We've had other issues at hand, wouldn't you say?" He sets his mug down and holds my gaze with those bottomless dark eyes, not a shred of guilt on his face. Just the patient calm of a man who genuinely doesn't see the problem.
I open my mouth to argue. Close it. He's not wrong. Between the auction, the sex, the contract, the dossier, my mother's file, and his Volkov confession. Seamus. Yeah, a security camera ranks somewhere between forgotten and irrelevant on the list of things we've been dealing with.
"Fine. I'll give you that." I point my fork at him. "But we're circling back to the concept of boundaries at some point."
The corner of his mouth twitches. "Noted."
"When did you turn it off?"
"Three days ago."
The day I told him I wanted to stay. The playfulness fades from the air between us, replaced by a weight that settles warm and heavy in my chest.
"Why?"
His eyes hold mine across the counter, the amusement gone now, replaced by an openness that still catches me off guard every time he lets me see it. The hard jaw softens. His voice drops, the accent thickening around the edges the way it does when he's saying something that costs him.
"Because I trust you, little flame."
Those six little words rock my world. Trust is a choice and he’s giving me his. That is priceless in my book.
My throat tightens. I take a sip of coffee to hide the emotion climbing up my chest and nod once, not trusting my voice.
He goes back to his eggs. I go back to breathing.
His phone buzzes against the counter. He glances at the screen, his jaw tightening for a fraction of a second before he sets it face down.
"What is it?"
