“And I want the woman I love to really see me.”
She clasps her heart. “You love me?”
“I’m not sure I fully comprehend what love is, but I’m assuming that’s what this is. You’re my breath, Bree. The idea of being without you is enough to stop my black and broken heart. You’re the moon in my perpetual darkness, the beacon of light that gives me hope.”
I shift on the couch, pulling her onto my lap. “Do you know what a death rattle is? It’s the last sound someone makes before dying. A futile attempt to swallow, cough, or clear saliva from one’s throat. I have been running to and from the sound my entire life, living as a ghost so the sound could never touch me. Now I’d welcome that same nightmare with open arms as long as you’re safe from it. I was dead before you, Bree. You gave me life, and I’ll fucking burn the earth before I’d let anything ever happen to you. I love you, Bree, because that’s the only word that makes sense now, my heart only beats for you. I love you so fucking much, I can’t see straight.”
Bree
My heart soars. They didn’t make that up. Hearing those words from Mikhail is like winning the jackpot in the biggest lotto the world has ever known.
I brush my hand along his cheek. The man is beautiful without the damn mask. Not that I mind the mask. It’s hot, and I’ll be asking him to wear it sometimes. But sitting here, staring at his face—a face he only shows me—does something to me I didn’t think was possible. “I love you, too.”
“You might not love me once you hear the whole story.”
“I’ll love you,” I reassure him.
“My father killed my father when I was ten.”
My hand flies to my mouth to conceal the gasp trying to escape my lips.
“I had no idea he was my father at the time. My stepfather, I guess, raised me. He was a good man. Maybe under him, I could have been something better. We were living in America at the time. We’d fled Russia. It was hard starting over. People rarely understand how hard it is for immigrants and their children. Children usually adapt, but the parents suffer. There’s always this sense of not belonging, no matter what you do. A notion that you’re never home, just a permanent tourist. It’s even harder when you don’t have money. We were poor. We always had the basics—food, clothes, and shelter—but there was no money for anything else. But I had a lot of love. My parents were kind, honest people who truly cared for me.” He waves his hand around the room. “I’d give up all this just to see my mother’s smile again.”
I place my head on his chest, sensing it will probably be easier on him to speak if he isn’t forced to stare at me.
“We were setting up for a movie night, a small indulgence my parents allowed us to have. Nothing grand by any means, but it was something I always looked forward to. That was when my mother rushed me into a closet to hide me, and they killed both my parents, brutally, without mercy, and took me. I was taken back to Russia. Back to a man who murdered my mother because she took something that belonged to him. He didn’t want me because I held value for him. He wanted me because it boosted his ego. So, for the next twenty-ish years, I worked for a man who was my biological father but treated me as a trained mercenary. A cold, heartless killer who murdered on his demand.”
Hearts must break because I feel mine shatter into a million pieces for Mikhail. I cry for the little boy he was and the horrors he’s had to endure. My heart breaks that he’s sharing something so traumatic with me because he cares about me. He’s enduring pain because he wants me to have what I want—to understand him, the real him, all of him.
“I have two brothers who think I’m their best friend.”
“What? Have you met them?’
“Yes. They’re my two best friends.”
I push off him, my hands on his firm chest. “Wait, you’ve gone all these years without telling your family that they’re your family.”
“Blood doesn’t make family. They have my back, and I’ve got theirs.”
“You don’t want to tell them the truth?”
Mikhail grabs my legs, moving one on each side of his thighs. “No. I don’t. They are my brothers in every way that matters. There’s no point bringing up the past. Besides, Sergei was someone I never wanted to claim as a father.” His hands brush my hair off my shoulders, and he kisses the side of my neck. “I think I’m done talking. I think it’s time I vent my frustrations on your perfect little cunt.”
I wrap my hands around his neck and giggle. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Little Mouse.”
Epilogue
Bree
Usually, Mikhail picks me up from work, but he texted earlier and told me he had some business come up and couldn’t make it. So, I grabbed some Chinese food, and now I’m going to sit at home in front of the television and watch some sappy chick flick.
I walk into the apartment and turn the lock when a hand covers my mouth and drags me backward. The intruder moves back when I kick him in the shin, and I dive into the bedroom where Mikhail installed a safe room. But right before I get to the door, the guy pulls me by my leg and shoves a gun in my face.
“Open your mouth, or I’ll blow your head off.” His voice is barely audible.
“My husband will cut tiny pieces off you and make you eat it before it puts you six feet under.”