Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“Wow,” Ember says softly, peering around. She takes it all in—the squat hangars with peeling paint, the hulking shadows of private jets sitting idle under pools of light, the Bratva muscle standing near the jet waiting for us. They’re dressed casually—hoodies and jeans—but for the telltale bulge of firearms at their waists. One of them flicks a cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath a boot as he nods at me.
“Safe enough for you?” I ask, cocking a brow as I pull her bags from the trunk.
She hesitates, glancing at the Bratva guards. “Let me guess. TSA’s not invited to this party?”
“Not interested in their kind of scrutiny,” I say, my voice firm. “This isn’t a layover in Newark.”
She presses her lips together like she’s holding back a laugh. “And… no metal detectors, either?”
I grunt, shifting her bag over my shoulder. “That’s your takeaway from all this?”
“Well, yeah.” She waves a hand toward the guards and the jet. “It’s all very Mission Impossible.”
I pause, watching her as she scans the scene. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t balk. Just processes it like she’s ticking items off some mental checklist. The way she takes this world in stride—like it’s just another inconvenient plot twist in one of her romance novels—does something to me. I’ve seen men twice her size pale at the sight of my Bratva family. But her? She looks like she’s filing it under pragmatic life decisions and moving on.
I take a step closer, lowering my voice. “You okay?”
She snorts, running a hand through her hair. “Am I okay? Rodion, we’re about to get on a private jet because you have mafia guys hanging around like it’s your personal valet service. This is bananas.”
Her words say one thing, but her tone says another. Beneath her exasperation, there’s something else. Something raw. Her shoulders relax as she looks at me like she’s decided to let herself trust this. Trust me.
“You’re safe with me,” I say. It comes out rougher than I intended, but the truth of it leaves no room for softness. I nod toward the jet. “Now come on. The sooner we’re in the air, the sooner we’re out of reach.”
The inside of the jet is utilitarian. The leather seats are dark, sturdy, and worn just enough to feel comfortable. The overhead lights glow dimly, and the hum of the engines is steady, almost reassuring. Ember takes the seat across from me, glancing out the small window as one of my men secures the luggage and closes the hatch.
She’s quiet for a moment, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her camera bag. Then she looks at me, her eyes sharp. “You keep saying that. ‘You’re safe with me.’ But Rodion… we barely know each other.”
Her words hit harder than I expected. Because she’s right. We don’t know each other in the ways most people would call normal. I don’t know her favorite color or the name of her favorite grade school teacher. But I know her. In the ways that matter.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees as I pin her with my gaze. “I know enough.”
She raises a skeptical brow. “Oh, really? Like what?”
“I know how you take your coffee,” I say, my voice low. “Which, let’s be honest, is fucking crucial. I know you dream about a life bigger than the one you’ve settled for. I know you’re stronger than anyone gives you credit for. And I know I’ve watched every single one of your videos on repeat because I can’t fucking get enough of you. And in your videos, you’re self-deprecating but funny and witty, and I suspect part of the reason you spend more time in your book fantasy world than real life is because you fear getting close to people.”
Her lips part, but no words come out. For once, she’s caught off guard. Good. I’m not done.
“I’ve seen the way you look at the camera like it’s the only thing in the world that understands you. Like you’ve built this perfect little escape, but you’re still waiting for someone to come in and shatter it. Someone who can handle the real you. Not the version you think people want.”
Her breath catches, and for a moment, she looks so exposed that I almost regret saying it. Almost.
“Touché, sir,” she finally says in that adorable mutter. “But you don’t—"
“Don’t know the real you?” I shake my head. “I know more about you than I probably should. And if that scares you, Ember, good. Because it scares the shit out of me too.”
I lean back and smirk. “Now let’s hear what you know about me.” This ought to be good.
“Ahh, my turn.” The emerald glow of her eyes melts me a little. “You’re hot as fuck, and it’s definitely gone to your head.”
I grunt at her but don’t interrupt. I’ll remember that one next time she’s over my lap.