The Russian Bratva Boss Told Her “Leave.” She Did. He Spent 8 Months Finding Her.

The morning sun broke over Lake Michigan with a brilliant, blinding gold light that flooded through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse.

The storm from the previous night had completely cleared, leaving the Chicago skyline washed clean and shimmering against the deep blue water.

Roman stood by the glass, wearing a loose gray cashmere sweater that accommodated his bandaged shoulder, holding a cup of hot black coffee in his right hand.

He wasn't looking down at the city streets anymore, nor was he monitoring the movements of his syndicate vehicles through the morning traffic.

He was listening to the soft, rhythmic sound of bare feet moving across the hardwood floor of the hallway behind him.

Sienna walked into the study, wearing one of his oversized white dress shirts that draped over her thighs, her chestnut hair falling loose around her shoulders.

She looked rested, the dark circles under her hazel eyes finally fading after her first night of secure, unbroken sleep in eight months.

She walked directly over to him, taking the coffee mug from his hand and taking a long sip before handing it back with a small, contented smile.

“How is the shoulder this morning?” she asked, reaching out to gently touch the bandaged area beneath his soft sweater.

“It doesn't hurt at all,” Roman lied smoothly, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss against the crown of her head.

“Though I think I may require your medical supervision for the next several decades just to ensure a proper recovery.”

Sienna laughed, a clear, beautiful sound that bounced off the modern art and glass walls of the room, filling the museum-like space with genuine warmth.

She turned around to face the windows, leaning her back against his sound right side while his arm slid securely around her waist to anchor her close.

“I called the landlord in Port Townsend this morning while you were in the shower,” she said, watching the sunlight dance across the lake waves.

“I told him to sell the bookstore inventory to my assistant and terminate the lease on the cottage; my books are being shipped here by next week.”

Roman tightened his grip around her waist, his cheek resting against her hair as a profound, unfamiliar sense of absolute peace settled into his chest.

“We can buy a bookstore here in Chicago if you want,” Roman murmured against her ear. “Or an art gallery, or whatever you need to be happy.”

“I don't need to buy anything, Roman,” Sienna turned her head to look up at him, her hazel eyes shining with absolute clarity and unwavering devotion.

“I just need you to remember that the next time a storm comes, we face the wind together from this room, no matter how cold it gets.”

Roman looked down into the eyes of the woman who had survived his darkness, healed his wounds, and taught him what it actually meant to love.