Page 26 of Monstrosity
He's quiet for a moment, thinking. "Now we open that second bottle of wine, and you let me tell you exactly how this is going to go."
Twenty minutes later, we're back at the kitchen table with fresh glasses and the weight of reality between us.
Rio's explained the security measures—brothers rotating shifts outside, panic buttons being installed tomorrow, new protocols for my daily routines.
"I hate this," I admit. "Not the danger—I mean, I hate that too—but the idea of living in fear. Of letting them dictate how we live our lives."
"It's temporary," he assures me. "Just until we handle the situation."
"Handle it how?"
He's quiet for a long moment. "You don't want to know the specifics."
He's right. I don't. But I need to understand what I'm signing up for. "Will you have to kill people?"
"Probably."
The casual certainty should horrify me.
Instead, I find myself grateful for his honesty. "To protect us?"
"I'd burn the whole world down to protect you and the girls," he says simply. "That's not a metaphor, Dasha. That's a promise."
I take a sip of wine, processing this. "I should probably be more bothered by that."
"Why aren't you?"
"Because I know you." I meet his eyes. "I know you're a good man who does bad things to protect good people. I know you'd never hurt anyone who didn't deserve it. And I know that underneath all that violence, you're just a dad who wants his family safe."
"You see too much good in me."
"No," I correct. "I see exactly who you are. And I love all of it."
The words hang between us, heavy with meaning.
His expression shifts through several emotions—surprise, fear, hope, and finally something that looks like awe.
"Dasha—"
"I love you," I repeat, stronger this time. "I've loved you for years, maybe longer. And I know the timing is terrible and the situation is complicated, but I'm tired of pretending otherwise."
He's out of his chair before I can blink, pulling me up and into his arms. "Say it again."
"I love you, Rio."
He kisses me like he's trying to breathe me in, desperate and claiming.
When we break apart, we're both panting.
"I love you too," he says roughly. "God help me, I love you so much it terrifies me."
"Good." I smile, feeling lighter despite everything. "Now what are we going to do about it?"
His answer is to kiss me again, backing me against the wall.
This time there's intent behind it, promise and heat and two years or possibly more of pent-up desire.
His hands skim my sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts through my thin shirt, and I arch into him with a gasp.
