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“I will keep you safe,” he says fiercely. “You are mine. You’re still getting that ring. Still taking my name. And anyone who thinks they can come between us… They’ll learn what Sasha Ozerov does to threats.”
“You want to breathe,” he says. “I get that. But the answer is this: Trust me. Let me strangle everything that suffocates you. Let me be the knife in your shadow. The wolf at your door.” His forehead presses to mine. “I don’t ask you to love this life, Ariel. Only to let me love you through it.”
Then he shrugs off his coat and settles it around my shoulders. The wool swallows me whole, rich with his mint-and-cedar scent. “Keep that,” he orders. “So you don’t forget whose heat keeps you safe.”
Then the door slams. Tires scream. The cars disappear once more. And I’m left to stand there in the middle of the sidewalk as snow falls around me in flurries, grinning like an idiot, wondering when hell froze over enough for me to fall in love with the devil.
“Integrity isn’t a location, Ariel. It’s not a byline or a business card.” He steps closer, until our breaths tangle. “You think I don’t see it? The fire in you? The need to rip the world open and make it account for itself?” His palm slides down to press over my racing heart. “That’s not the Gazette. That’s you. And I’d take a crowbar to every printing press in this city before I let them extinguish that flame.”
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. “You’ll rage. You’ll fight. You’ll drag truth kicking and screaming into the light. And when the world pushes?” His hand slides into my hair, tilting my gaze up. “We’ll push back harder.”
He chuckles, eyes flashing with mischief. “Careful what you wish for, Mrs. Ozerova. I’ll have you on your knees by the end of the night.”
“Nyet, child. Nothing is truly dead until you give up on it. Do you think your mamochka is dead? Or is she here?” When I look up, I see Zoya spreading her arms wide to encompass the whole kitchen, the restaurant. “She’s right here with us. In me. In you. And this Ariel… What you have with her is not dead unless you choose to let it die. Go to her. Beg. Grovel. Live.” A guttural noise escapes me—part growl, part sob. “She’ll shoot me on sight.” Zoya’s smile curves like her cleaver. “So be ready to duck.”
