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I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, lowering my voice to a low rumble I know will quiet her panic. “It’s all right, Cora. I’m not angry with you. I know why you didn’t trust me with the truth about who you are.”

“You do?” she asks doubtfully.

I risk raising my hand, my large thumb brushing lightly over her chin, tilting her face up. “You reasoned I was too dangerous, and it was safer to play along with the big, scary man until you found a way to escape, right?”

Cora doesn’t pull away, but she’s as uncertain as a child, one of her bare feet toeing the other. “What happens now? You couldn’t finish the job. You didn’t get your money. I haven’t got anything to give you.”

I close the distance between us and pull her fully against me, one arm wrapping around her waist, my hand cupping the back of her head so she’s pressed firmly against my chest. I tuck her under my chin, letting my body heat engulf her until she stops shivering.

“You don’t need to give me anything.” I murmur into her hair. “You’re mine, Cora. You’ve been mine since you sank your teeth in my hand. Fuck the job. Fuck the money.”

“But why? I don’t understand. You must be so angry with me.”

“Professionally, I’m so goddamn angry with you, printsessa.” I raise her chin so she’s looking straight at me, and plant a slow, deep kiss on her lips. “Personally, I’ve never been so turned on in my life.”

My kiss makes some of the tension melt from her eyes.

Good girl.

I take out my phone and call Alexei. This kind of thing is well below his pay grade, but he knows how much Cora means to me. I’d do the same for him.

“Da?”

I glance up at the road signs. “I’m on the corner of Elm and Burnham.”

“Still don’t have your car?”

“I’m getting it, I’m getting it.” I look at Cora, and for the first time in days, everything feels right. “I have what’s important. I have Cora.” I take her hand and squeeze it, firmly enough that she’ll feel exactly how much I mean it.

“On my way.”

Alexei hangs up.

Cora is watching me with those green eyes as though she doesn’t believe what’s happening, still overwhelmed, still waiting for the floor to drop out from beneath her.

“Shh,” I whisper, sliding my thumb across her jawline to soothe the tension there. “I’ve got you. You don’t have to worry anymore, Cora. You don’t have to figure anything out. I’m handling all of it.”

I raise her hand to my lips, press a kiss to her palm, and answer the question she hasn’t asked.

“You’re never stepping foot in that shitty apartment again, and you can consider that asshole you called a husband a distant memory. You’re coming home with me.”

Not as an asset. Not as a job.

As mine, for as long as I’m breathing.

20

Cora

You’re coming home with me.

When I was seven years old, I had a very clear picture of how I was going to meet my Prince Charming. He would be youthful and golden-haired, wearing something white, and riding a white horse. He would say something like fear not, fair maiden or possibly just fall to his knees in rapture over my beauty. Then he’d carry me up onto his saddle, and we’d ride off somewhere beautiful and safe where nobody could ever hurt me again.

Instead, a six-foot-four Russian with pale, dangerous eyes has just pressed an electric kiss to my palm. He has more tattoos than bare skin and an expensive suit jacket that has absolutely no business looking that devastating on him. He just fingered me in front of my husband. He’s carrying a concealed weapon. His body count has probably reached three figures.

This is not the fairy tale I anticipated.

A black beast of an SUV sweeps around the corner, tire rubber kissing the curb as it glides to a stop. The windows are so heavily tinted they might as well be walls.