Page 93 of Impenitent Claim

Ilya leaned forward, caging me against the furniture. “What I am, Izzy, is a man consumed by the thought of you. I will raze this city to the ground to have you, destroy any threat to your freedom.”

That declaration brought a rush of heat and a blast of cold at the same time. “While I want to be with you, I can’t have you slaughtering my father’s men.”

The muscle in his jaw feathered.

I reached out, brushing the tips of my fingers across it, smoothing the skin and forcing the muscles to relax.

“Every man I killed had his death warrant signed,” he growled. “I was just the delivery man.”

I nodded. “Fine, but there are those who don’t deserve to die.”

He huffed, nostrils flaring. It reminded me of a great bull or bear snuffling about. “You’ve already begged for the life of your precious fiancé.”

I hummed. “I’m talking about the common soldiers. They’ve been brought into this life of crime, it’s all they know. They shouldn’t die because their leadership can’t protect them from a threat.” I tapped his cheek. “Don’t slaughter the whole mob to set me free.”

The curl of his lips was nothing short of lethal. “The foundation, then.”

Were we really bargaining over the lives of the men downstairs? Was their fate a simple discussion in the quiet of my cottagecore bedroom? That seemed…farfetched.

“Who will you kill?” I demanded.

“The captains—”

“Capos,” I corrected.

He rewarded my interruption with a dark look. Heat tingled between my legs. As it happened, I liked contradicting him.

“Thecapos,” he snarled, “the underboss, and the don.”

“I want the underboss’s son dead too,” I said. “Like I told you, I think he was behind the assassination that night we were at the docks. Either way, I don’t want him alive to influence my brother.”

Ilya nodded once. “I only killed the sons of the last capo because I found correspondences on their father’s phone of a coup. They wanted to assassinate your family and make those boys the next captains—I mean capos.”

Sadness invaded my heart. My limbs shook, as an overwhelming sense of despair rocked me. I knew there was treachery in the mob. It was right there, staring me in the face every day. But hearing about the betrayal? That made the ghostly premonition real.

“Thank you,” I breathed. “It’s hard to believe the oldest capo, the one who’s been around since my father became don, would do something like that.”

Ilya picked me up and set me on the dresser. His hands drug down my hips, pressing into the flesh of my thighs. “They have to come through me, Izzy. I won’t let them hurt you.”

Could I do this? Could I put myself in his hands completely? I reached out, brushing my hands through his hair. The soft texture was surprising given how short it was. “What’s your favorite sports team?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “The Chicago Blackbirds.”

I tipped my head to the side.

“Hockey,” he clarified.

“Do you skate?” I began to massage his scalp. He leaned his head into my touch, eyes fluttering closed.

“Mhmm,” he murmured. “Not much else to do in Russia in the winter.”

My fingers faltered. “You grew up there? You don’t have any accent!”

His eyes narrowed to slits. Slowly, a long string of foreign words tumbled from his lips. I might not understand the translation, but the meaning was pretty damn clear. Through the rough, clipped cadence flowed a volley of passion. A damp spot formed between my legs.

But the monster left no room for doubt.

He tugged the sleeper shorts. “I didn’t have time to take a proper taste of this the other night.”

---