ログインDominic’s POVI pushed inside her—slow, inch by inch, feeling her stretch around me. Her mouth fell open. A sound came out, something between a gasp and a moan, and her nails dug into my shoulders hard enough to draw blood."Fuck," she whispered. "Dominic… you're so…""Am I hurting you?""No. God, no. Don't stop. Please don't stop."I bottomed out inside her, and we both stilled for a moment, breathing each other's air, foreheads pressed together. Her walls fluttered around me, adjusting to my size. She was so tight. So warm. So perfect."You okay?" I asked."More than okay." She kissed me, soft and sweet. "Move. Please."I did.I pulled out slow, then pushed back in, setting a rhythm that was deep and deliberate. Each thrust made her gasp. Each withdrawal made her whimper. Her legs tightened around my waist, pulling me deeper, and I groaned against her neck."Like that?" I asked.
Dominic’s POVChloe had been staying at my loft for two days, and I was losing my mind.Not because she was difficult or demanding. Because she was there—in my space, wearing my clothes when she ran out of clean ones, curled up on my couch reading while I painted, making coffee in my kitchen like she belonged there.And God, I wanted her to belong there.It was past midnight on her second night. She sat on the floor near my easel, watching me work on a new piece. I’d offered her the couch, but she preferred being close.“Can you teach me?” she asked suddenly.I looked down at her. “To paint?”“Yeah. I want to try.”I shouldn’t have said yes. Painting was intimate for me—putting my trauma on canvas, processing emotions through art. Teaching someone meant sharing that vulnerability.But I grabbed a fresh canvas anyway.“Come here.”She stood, and I positioned her in front of the blank space. Handed her a brush.“What do I paint?” she asked.“Whatever you feel.”“I feel scared.”“Then pa
Marcus’s POVRonan called me back forty-eight hours after our last conversation.“Got your intel,” he said without preamble. “You’re not going to like it.”I was in my apartment, monitoring security feeds from Chloe’s location. Currently at Dominic’s loft, safe, sleeping based on the lack of movement.“Tell me.”“Three Vulture remnants operating in Seattle. Orion Kozlov, Dorian Volkov, and Nikolai Petrov. All former enforcers, all loyal to Iron Mike Morrison even after his imprisonment.”“Morrison. The one who killed Alina’s mother.”“The same. He blamed Alina for his life sentence, and by extension, anyone close to her. These three are looking for revenge through proxy.”“Their plan?”“From what my sources gathered, they want to grab Chloe, use her as bait to lure Alina to Seattle, then kill both of th
Chloe’s POVOne week of rotating between three apartments, and I was losing my mind.Not from the fear—though that was constant, a low hum of anxiety I couldn’t shake. But from the weirdness of living out of a suitcase, never settling, always moving.Two nights at Dominic’s loft, painting into the early hours and falling asleep on his couch.Two nights at Marcus’s apartment, learning self-defense and feeling safe in his quiet, controlled space.Two nights at Lucian’s condo, talking until dawn about everything and nothing.Each place felt like home and felt like exile simultaneously.Thursday night I was at Lucian’s, and something inside me finally cracked.I’d been holding it together all week—going through motions, pretending I was fine, forcing smiles when the men asked how I was doing. But that night, staring at Lucian’s guest room ceiling, I felt the weight of ever
Dominic’s POVThe next morning, I met Marcus and Lucian at a coffee shop two blocks from my studio.Chloe was still asleep in my loft, exhausted from days of fear and stress. I’d left her a note: *Went to get breakfast. Back soon. Doors locked. You’re safe.*Now I sat across from two men who technically were my competition, feeling territorial and aggressive and trying very hard to be professional.“Thanks for meeting,” Marcus said, pulling out a tablet. “We need to establish protocols.”“Protocols?” I repeated. “For what?”“For protecting Chloe. Coordinating our efforts. Making sure we’re not creating gaps in security.”“Or fighting over her like dogs over a bone,” Lucian added dryly.I bristled. “I’m not fighting over anyone.”“Aren’t you?” Marcus looked at me. “You offered her your
Chloe’s POVMarcus didn’t waste time.The morning after the threatening phone call, he showed up at my apartment at seven AM with coffee and a grim expression.“Pack a bag,” he said without preamble. “You’re not staying here.”I stared at him from my doorway, still in pajamas, hair a mess. “Excuse me?”“Your apartment is compromised. Ground floor, windows facing the street, no security system. You might as well hang a sign that says ‘easy target.’”“This is my home.”“This is a death trap.” He pushed past me into the apartment, already assessing. “How fast can you pack?”“Marcus, you can’t just…”“I can and I am. We talked about this last night. The threat is real and immediate. You need to be somewhere secure.”“Where? A bunker?”“Funny.&rd
Alina’s POVI reached the safe room to find the door blown open, smoke pouring out. Inside, Ghost was down but alive, clutching his leg where he’d been shot. Two Vultures stood over Chloe, who’d been knocked to the ground but was fighting back with surprising strength.I didn’t think. Didn’t hesita
Alina’s POV Tommy’s office was located on the second floor, nestled between two important rooms—one for strategy discussions and the other for storing weapons. This placement allowed him to keep an eye on operations while still having quick access to any weapons if needed. According to Ronan, who
Alina’s POVChloe was reading in bed, curled up with a thriller novel that seemed eerily fitting given everything happening around us. When I knocked, she looked up and noticed my worried expression.“Hey,” she said, setting the book aside. “Everything
Alina’s POV Eventually, we moved to the gym mats, lying side by side and talking about everything and nothing. His childhood in the cartel, the violence he’d escaped, the family he’d lost. My mother’s death, the years of searching for truth, the moment I’d realized my father was







