Ghost (Boston Underworld #3) - A. Zavarelli Page 0,46

relaxed and determined.

“I’m going to fuck you every day.”

He grabs my face and kisses me hard.

“And you won’t ever remember anything else.”

25

Talia

I expect him to leave me when he’s done with me.

Because Alexei has his own issues. He tells me he won’t love me. And I believe him. He will always keep me at arm’s length.

Fucking me and loving me are two different things.

He loved Katya. And now he will never want to love anyone else again. Because she poisoned him somehow. And I can’t fix him, just as he can’t fix me.

We really are alike.

I watch him as he rifles through my closet. Through the racks of designer clothing that I haven’t so much as touched. He’s wearing nothing but his trousers, his back muscles stretching and expanding with every movement. His tattoos on full display.

Sometimes, I don’t think they suit his personality.

I know he probably scares most. That is his intention. But I know the real Alexei. The recluse who remains in his home and plays chess and sits at his computer most of the day. The one who is quiet and reserved and honest.

He doesn’t need to put on a show to be a threat. His body is strong, but I have no doubt it is his mind that is his most dangerous weapon of all.

He returns to me with a simple black sheath dress and holds it against my pale skin before nodding his approval.

“Black suits you.”

He helps me to dress. The way he often takes care of me. I wonder why he does it. He knows I am capable. But here he is, dressing me. Stitching my wounds when I bleed. Showering me. Bringing me in from the cold.

They are little things. But nobody has ever done these things for me.

I can’t look away from him, but I know that I need to. So when he retrieves a brush and starts in on my hair, I take it from his hands.

“I can do it myself.”

He nods, but doesn’t leave.

Only once I am finished do I learn his motives for lingering.

“There is something I need you to do.”

“Okay.”

I turn towards him, and his eyes meet mine. Sometimes, I still forget that he can’t hear me. That I need to face him when I speak. But he just pretends, the way he does with everyone else.

“You won’t like it,” he adds.

“Tell me what it is.”

“You need to speak to Mack.”

“No.”

My chest is tight. And there is pressure behind my eyes. Just the mention of her name brings an enormous wave of shame and guilt over me. She can’t ever see me like this. She won’t understand. And I will only disappoint her all over again. I keep touching the star on my hand. Hoping for the comfort, but it doesn’t come. Because he’s the one who is doing this to me. Bringing this up.

“She was married today,” he tells me. “Consider it a wedding gift. Some peace of mind for a friend who is loyal to you.”

“I know she is loyal,” I snap at him. “Don’t act like you know our relationship. Like you know anything about me, or her for that matter.”

“I know enough,” he tells me. “She did come to me, after all. She is the reason you are here now. Away from Arman.”

I turn away because I don’t want him to bear witness to the tears that are now spilling down my cheeks. But I know he knows they are there. He doesn’t attempt to give me false comfort. Or come near me. Which I respect.

I know what I’m doing isn’t fair. I know it’s selfish.

But Mack won’t be able to accept this. Accept what I’ve become.

She’ll try to fix me.

Just like she’s always done.

I was bad then, but now… the damage is irreparable.

I pace towards the window and tap on the bulletproof glass, gathering my thoughts. I know what I need to do. I know what the right thing is. But it doesn’t make it any easier.

I turn and find Alexei, waiting for me to finish doing battle inside of my head.

“I’m not going back to Boston.”

“You aren’t,” he agrees. “You are my wife now, Solnyshko. Which means I am responsible for your safety. And I will never ask you to do anything that puts you in harm’s way.”

His tone is low and serious. As if protecting me is more important to him than anything else. But it doesn’t make sense. For a man who considers himself incapable of love. For the husband