Inked Adonis: Chapter 41

Death has its own scent.

Seven of my men discovered that yesterday in Moscow. They drew their last breaths in front of computer screens while someone carved “You will pay” into their chests.

I didn’t need the photos or the frantic calls—I could smell it on the data breach that followed, on the way the Andropovs slithered into our systems like the serpents they are.

I should be halfway to Moscow by now. Instead, I’m following Nova through our penthouse, watching her shove the dogs’ things into a suitcase that’s never leaving this building. The storm outside rattles the windows, city lights blurred by sheets of rain. A fitting backdrop for this particular shitshow.

“You can’t go back, Nova.” My voice is granite. Immovable. “It isn’t safe.”

She keeps packing, the muscles in her back tight under her thin shirt. The need to touch her, to physically stop her, pulses through my hands.

But I know better.

You don’t grab a spooked animal.

“It’ll just be while you’re away,” she calls over her shoulder, voice deliberately light. Too light. “I’d be alone here, so there’s no difference, really.”

I plant myself in the doorway, blocking her escape route. “The difference is twenty-thousand dollars per week in security.” Thunder crashes outside, punctuating my point. “The difference is that your apartment building might as well be made of fucking tissue paper for all the protection it offers.”

She spins to face me, amber eyes flashing. “I’ve lived in that apartment for years, and it’s always been⁠—”

“An unsolved murder waiting to happen? Yeah, I know. Which is why you’re staying here.”

Her chin lifts. All five-foot-three inches of her squared up against my six-four frame like David facing Goliath. Except in this version, Goliath isn’t fucking losing.

“You told me I was free,” she says.

“You are. You’re free to make choices that don’t end with your head being delivered to me on a silver fucking platter.” The image makes my fingers shake with the desire to slam her door shut and nail it closed. “I’m not letting you die for some petty point you’re trying to make about me leaving.”

“You think I’m going home just to be spiteful?”

“I think you’re already home.”

She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Just jagged edges that scrape against my chest. “Oh, sure. Cozy as could fucking be. Prison sweet prison.”

My phone buzzes. Probably my car to the airport waiting outside. I haven’t even packed yet.

“Go ahead and get that embroidered on a doily. It’ll brighten the place up.” I sweep past her into our bedroom, dumping the contents of her suitcase in one sweep and dragging it over to the dresser.

“Hey! That’s mine!” She follows me, storm-light casting shadows across her face.

“What’s mine is yours, krasavitsa.” I start throwing clothes into the suitcase—Brioni suits, Tom Ford shirts. Each one selected and purchased because a man in my position needs armor, even if it’s made of silk and wool.

“We aren’t married yet.”

That ‘yet’ catches in my chest. Dangerous word, that one. Especially now, with seven bodies cooling in Moscow and the wolves circling ever closer. My fingers still on a black tie. The one she straightened for me last week, her small hands so careful against my throat.

I shake it off, stuffing more clothes in. “There you go: wedding planning. That would give you something to do while I’m gone.”

“You haven’t proposed.” She leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “But just in case you aren’t reading the room, now would not be a good time.”

She’s right. But that doesn’t stop the image from forming: Nova in white, my ring on her finger. A claim more permanent than keeping her in this gilded cage. I should have done it weeks ago, the moment I realized this penthouse felt empty without her in it.

My phone rings this time. Third call. The driver’s patience is wearing thinner than my father’s goodwill.

I silence it, shoving more clothes in. “Maybe I’ll give it a whirl when I get back, seeing as you’ll be alive, thanks to me.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Apparently, it runs in the family.” The zipper strains against my brutal treatment.

She follows me to the closet, watching as I crumple more five-thousand-dollar suits into a too-small suitcase. “It doesn’t have to, Sam. You could be better than them.”

I kick the suitcase in frustration against the wall, whirling towards her. “I’m taking care of you, Nova. I’m keeping you safe. What else do you fucking want from me?”

This close, I can see the gold flecks in her eyes, smell the vanilla of her shampoo. She doesn’t back down. Never has. “More.” Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “I want this to be more than me warming your bed whenever you happen to be in town.”

“Sounds like you want a proposal, after all,” I snort.

“No, I want a relationship,” she spits at my back. “I want you to share your life with me, Sam.”

“I’m giving you as much as I can, Nova.”

She scowls. “That’s a lie and we both know it. You’re capable of so much more. But you’ll never get there with your family looking over your shoulder. You’ll never get there if you spend all your time seeking your father’s approval.”

Anger scorches through my veins, burning me up from the inside out.

This woman has some fucking nerve.

“Yeah,” she huffs, doubling down. “I see you, Samuil. I see it all. The only reason you want to hold on to the family business is to prove your dad wrong. But you could prove them all wrong by⁠—”

“By what?” I abandon the suitcase, stalking toward her. “By running away with you? You and I would ride off into the sunset together, chasing after some intangible happily fucking after, and then I would finally be the man you want me to be?”

Nova stops, stunned, as tears wink at the corners of her eyes. “This isn’t about me.”

“Of course it is, Nova.” Every step I take forward, she holds her ground. “This is about you treating me like one of your clients. But I’m not some rescue dog you can train up with treats and cuddles. My past can’t be erased that easily. Scars don’t go away at the snap of your fingers.”

“That’s not⁠—”

“Just like moving out and leaving your family behind didn’t change how completely fucked you are.”

I hear my own words and I fucking hate it. I can feel myself going too far. Giving her scars that won’t go away at the snap of my fingers.

But fucking hell, what am I supposed to do? Does she think the wolves at the door will slink off just because I ask nicely? I’m the fucking pakhan, goddammit! I am Samuil fucking Litvinov and there are things I must do because there is no one else in this world who can do them.

I have the bloody remains of my employees in Moscow flashing in my head. When I close my eyes, I see Nova’s front door being kicked in. I see the devastation my enemies would rain down on her, and I can’t pull myself back from the ledge.

Not when her life is on the line.

Tears pour down her cheeks, but her expression is steely. Determined.

She’s not backing down, and I need her to. I need to know she’ll be safe.

So if cruelty is what’s required, then I can do that. I will hurt her to keep her from harm. I will ruin her to save her.

“You ran from your demons, Nova, and it got you nowhere. But I’m no coward.” I jab the button for the elevator. My phone is vibrating yet again. I have to go.

“Are you saying I am?” Her voice is thick, her face damp.

Fuck, this isn’t how I wanted to leave.

I wanted one more hour. One more chance to press her into our sheets, to map every inch of her skin with my hands, my mouth. To make her understand with touch what I can’t say with words.

I wanted to leave her limp and sated, already desperate for the next time.

But there isn’t time.

There’s never enough time.

“I’m saying you have a habit of being mowed over by powerful men.” I hurl my suitcase into the elevator and turn to face her. “At least while you’re warming my bed and sucking my cock, you get something out of it. At least I’ll keep you alive. Quid pro fucking quo.”

I push the “Ground Floor” button and hold her watery gaze. “If you go back to your apartment, Myles will drag you back. Stay here. Stay safe.”

Say something else, you cruel fucking bastard, I tell myself. Don’t leave things like this.

But her shoulders slouch, and I know she’s going to stay. I know Nova will be safe while I’m gone.

If she’s alive and hates me, that’s a price I’m willing to pay.