Chapter 13 - The Nightmare
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The trauma of the warehouse did not simply vanish with luxurious surroundings.
It was 3:00 AM when the nightmare hit.
Hannah was thrashing in the heavy silk sheets, trapped in a vivid, terrifying dream. She was back on the cold concrete floor. Gregory was standing over her, the cold barrel of the pistol pressing directly against her forehead. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't scream.
“No!” Hannah gasped, shooting upright in bed, her body drenched in cold sweat.
The door to the adjoining suite burst open.
Victor ran into the room, shirtless, wearing only a pair of dark sweatpants, his gun drawn and sweeping the corners. When he realized the room was empty of threats, he lowered the weapon and rushed to the bed.
“Hannah,” he breathed, dropping the gun onto the nightstand and pulling her into his arms.
She clung to him, burying her face in his bare chest, sobbing uncontrollably as the remnants of the nightmare slowly faded. His skin was warm, his muscles tight and protective beneath her hands.
“He had the gun... he was going to kill me,” she wept, the fear making her violently shake.
“He is dead,” Victor murmured fiercely, rocking her gently. “I put a bullet in his chest. He can never hurt you again. You are safe. I have you.”
He held her until the tears stopped, until her breathing slowed and matched the steady, powerful rhythm of his heartbeat.
She pulled back slightly, looking up into his face. In the dim moonlight streaming through the window, he looked devastatingly handsome. His dark hair was messy, his eyes soft with a profound, undeniable affection.
“I’m sorry for waking you,” she whispered.
“Never apologize for needing me,” Victor replied, his voice a low, raspy rumble.
He didn't pull away. He reached up, his thumb gently wiping a stray tear from her cheek. His gaze dropped to her lips. The air in the room suddenly pulled tight, heavy with a magnetic, overwhelming tension that had been building for weeks.
Victor leaned down slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull away. She didn't. She tilted her chin up, surrendering to the pull.
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Their lips met. It was a gentle, testing kiss at first, but it quickly deepened into a fierce, desperate claim. All the fear, the violence, and the unspoken longing poured into the kiss. Victor’s massive hands tangled in her hair, pulling her flush against his body.
For the first time in twelve years, the mafia king remembered what it felt like to be alive.
