“Understand this, Lia. I would kill for you over and over again if I have to, and you will never, ever question that.” His thrusts are longer, harsher, as if he’s driving the point home with them.

I don’t last. I can’t. With the double assault on my ass and clit, I come apart with a hoarse cry, calling his name like a sacred chant.

Shit.

Maybe I am as defective as he is, because I’m orgasming while he’s promising to kill for me in the future. That he’ll never stop killing for me.

That he’s indeed a monster.

My monster.

16

Adrian

If the therapist hated me before, she must loathe me now.

It’s evident from the way she keeps staring at me from beneath her gold-rimmed glasses whenever I accompany Lia to her sessions.

She’s been having extensive therapy since I found her at the park. And because I don’t trust anyone else to keep my wife safe, I’ve been driving her to the shrink’s office and then I wait until she’s finished.

Today, however, Dr. Taylor is standing in the doorway of her office and buttons her suit jacket as we approach. “Would you like to join us today, Mr. Volkov?”

“Why would I?”

Lia stares at me with a hopeful expression. She’s wearing a flowery dress and has gathered her hair in a ponytail, which highlights her soft complexion. Even her rose scent is stronger than usual today. “I…asked for this. You can be with me when I talk. Dr. Taylor says it can help since you play a big role in my life.”

“Let’s go then.” I intertwine my fingers with hers and we step inside. What? I’m not going to miss a chance of witnessing Lia talk about everything that’s happened.

I’m well aware that Dr. Taylor is helping her. Not only has Lia slowly emerged from her cocoon, but she also hasn’t had any hallucinations or any of those visceral nightmares lately.

After she found out about Ryan’s death a few days ago, I thought she’d direct her disapproval inward and let it rot inside her, but she spoke her mind. And that night, she didn’t have any nightmares.

Lia and I sit on the brown leather sofa across from the therapist’s chair. Her office is entirely white, from the walls, to the desk, to the frames of the few nature paintings. The only break in color is the brown of the sofa and Dr. Taylor’s chair. The scent of vanilla fills the space, but that might be coming from the therapist herself.

After she grabs a notepad, she starts asking Lia about her week, and my wife is surprisingly responsive. I focus on the joyous inflections in her voice as she talks about Jeremy learning new words and how we went shopping a few days ago.

She pauses for a few seconds, her expression falling and so does her voice. “Dr. Taylor, if I learn that my husband did something bad for my sake, how am I supposed to react?”

The therapist’s expression remains calm as she asks in a soothing tone, “How does it make you feel?”

“Bad. I don’t want him to have done it. But at the same, I understand why he did. Or more specifically, I know that his nature is different from mine and his brain isn’t wired like the rest of us, so for him, that decision was logical.”

I stare at her, then at how her hand trembles in mine. It took courage for her to admit to the fact that, in a way, she empathizes with me. Even if it goes against her core principles.

The therapist jots a few notes on her pad and clears her throat as she slides her attention to me. “What do you think of what Lia said, Mr. Volkov?”

I face Lia as I speak. “I think you’re brave for seeing my side, even if you didn’t have to.”

“But we’re husband and wife. I’m supposed to see your side…just like you’re supposed to see mine, Adrian.”

I know what she’s getting at. Lia wants me to see how much she loathes the mafia part of my life. The hunting, killing, and torturing. And while I do understand her hate, there’s no escaping the reality of our lives.

If anything, leaving the Bratva would mean I’d lose its protection. We’d be vulnerable and on the run. And that’s not a fate I’d inflict on her and our son.

But in order to keep her and shield her mind, I need to stop being forceful with her fragile mentality. I’ll wait until she rebuilds herself and stand with her every step of the way.

One day, she’ll realize that the world we live in doesn’t matter.

We’re the only ones who do.

17

Lia

A week later, we go on vacation.

This isn’t the place I had in mind when I suggested a retreat. In fact, it’s probably the last location I would’ve ever thought about.

But here we are.

In Russia.

I should’ve known that Adrian’s unpredictable nature would strike again.

He took us on a private flight to a house with a redbrick roof in the countryside with a smaller cottage situated beside it. It’s surrounded by miles of land, covered by snow that’s formed layer upon layer over other layers. Trees line the property, casting a cozy feel on the driveway that leads to the house. When Kolya drove us here, we barely saw any other houses on the way.

It’s not a surprise that Adrian wouldn’t take us to a place full of people. He’s too paranoid about security to ever do that, and in a way, I prefer less crowded areas, too. I never liked the outside world too much, even before I married him.

If I thought New York was cold, Russia is fucking freezing. We’re talking temperatures below zero. The only way I’m able to cross the distance from the car to the house is because Adrian carries an excited Jeremy with one arm and holds me close with the other.

Yan, Boris, Kolya, and two other guards escorted us. Yan insisted on coming, saying his injury is completely fine, and even though Kolya was against it, Adrian surprisingly allowed it. My friend said it’s because his boss wants to keep a closer eye on him.

As soon as we’re inside, I release a relieved breath. Warmth instantly seeps into my bones and chases away the merciless cold from outside. I honestly have great respect for people who survive such harsh winters year in and year out.

The place is fully heated and seems to have been already prepared for us. It’s small, cozy, and has a cottage-like feel to it. The dark wood flooring seems to be heated as well. A living area with large, mismatched sofas is just inside the entrance and across from what I assume is the kitchen. There are narrow wood stairs that lead to the second floor, where I’m guessing the bedrooms are located.

Adrian puts Jeremy down and our son sprints in different directions before he gawks at the snow from the glass door that opens up to the balcony. “Mommy! Can we make a snowman?”

The mere thought of going back into that cold makes me shudder.

“Not now, Malysh.” Adrian smiles at him. “There’s a storm coming tonight.”

“Then tomorrow?” Jer asks hopefully.

“Yes.”

“And you’ll join us, Papa?”

“I will.”

“Yay!” He jumps up and down, then runs straight to Adrian’s leg.

Kolya and Boris bring our bags inside and nod as they’re about to leave.