Chapter 8 - The Crossing
The adrenaline crash hit the moment we returned to the estate. I was shaking uncontrollably, my beautiful red dress torn at the hem, my feet blistered from running in heels. Julian carried me upstairs to his private bedroom—a massive suite of dark wood and black leather I had never been allowed inside before.
He set me down on the edge of the king-sized bed and immediately went to the en-suite bathroom, returning with a warm, damp towel.
“I’m fine,” I lied through chattering teeth.
“You’re in shock,” Julian said softly. He knelt before me, gently wiping a streak of soot from my cheek. His hands, usually so deadly, were incredibly tender. He carefully unbuckled my heels, tossing them aside, and massaged my aching feet.
The contrast of this lethal mafia boss bowing at my feet broke whatever emotional dam was holding me together. I let out a choked sob, tears spilling over my eyelashes.
Julian was beside me in an instant. He pulled me into his lap, wrapping his massive arms around me, rocking me like a child while I cried into his tuxedo shirt.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered repeatedly. “I’ve got you, Clara. It’s over. Lorenzo is dead. The Bratva are scattered. You’re safe.”
“I was so afraid you were going to die,” I choked out, clutching his lapels. “When he pointed that gun at you, my heart stopped.”
Julian pulled back, framing my face with his hands. His gray eyes were dark with an emotion that was entirely raw. “You are the only good thing that has ever happened to me, Clara. Before you, my life was just survival. You brought the light back. You brought me back.”
“Julian...”
I didn't finish the sentence. He crashed his lips onto mine. It wasn't the staged, desperate kiss from the dressing room. This was a claiming. It was deep, hungry, and full of all the terror and relief of the night.
I kissed him back with everything I had. My hands tangled in his dark hair, pulling him closer. He groaned, shifting his weight until I was pressed flat against the mattress, his heavy body blanketing mine.
“Tell me to stop,” he panted, kissing down the line of my jaw. “Tell me to walk away, Clara, and I will. Because if I don't stop now, you are mine forever. There is no going back.”
I looked up at the dangerous, beautiful man who had turned my world upside down, and pulled him down by the collar.
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“I don't want to go back,” I whispered.
That night, the mafia boss and the bartender disappeared. In the darkness of the bedroom, we were just a man and a woman, shedding our armor, branding each other with touch, heat, and a love that was forged in absolute chaos.
