“What?”

  “Nothing. I just… I want to make you feel good.” Resting my palms on his thick thighs, I lower myself to my knees. “I want to be good for you.” He goes still, but his cock lifts, hardening as I nuzzle it. “Jonah. Fuck, krasavchik.”

  I feel his eyes on me as I kiss his tip. I lick him. Short strokes of my tongue that make his abs tighten. I open my mouth and take him in, inch by inch, until my mouth is full. His hand in my hair tightens. It stings. Tears spring up as he rolls his lower body and I choke. The water is pounding against my back, the heat of it a sharp contrast to the cold tiles under my shins.

  “That’s it. Take all of it.”

  I grip his shaft and set a steady rhythm. I love the way Viktor starts to break with those low sounds and Russian words of praise. My free hand cups his balls and the way he moans tells me he's close. His dick is so big it makes my jaw ache, but it doesn't stop me from bobbing my head and trying to give him my best.

  “F—fuck…” He moans. He pulls my head back. “Let me see. You look perfect with my cock in your mouth. You want to drink from me?”

  I nod. I'm dizzy with need. I was so scared he wouldn't be okay. Now all I want is to take care of him. My body hums with it. His hand fists in my hair. The pull bites at my scalp and forces my head back. I look up at him through the spray, the pain sharp enough to keep me still.

  “Take your own cock in hand, krasavchik. Make yourself feel good.”

  I blink. My hand closes around my hard-on.

  “Good boy. Stroke it.”

  I nod, but that's all the time I get. His hand drives me deeper onto him. I gag. Tears spring up. I love it. Love his hand on my head, love how he uses me. I'm so close.

  “I'm gonna come, malysh. Fuck.” Viktor shudders. Every muscle in his stomach and thighs jumps. “Keep it in your mouth, krasavchik.”

  I'm caught off guard by my own climax. It tears through me and I spill onto the shower floor, gasping. I hang there for a second, shaking. Hot cum fills my mouth. It's hot and bitter on my tongue. His fingers swipe my cheek, then lift my chin. “Open your mouth. Show me.”

  I do as he says. Viktor's eyes flash. “Fuck. You look good like that. Kneeling there with my cum in your mouth.”

  The taste spreads over my tongue. It's sharp at the back of my throat, enough to steal my breath.

  “Swallow.”

  CHAPTER

  TWELVE

  VIKTOR

  Fuck, does he look pretty like that. With his mouth filled with my cum and those tear-struck eyes lifted to me, wide and unguarded, he feels like mine. That thought should scare the shit out of me. I've never wanted to claim another person. Never wanted to be exclusive. But then I never met a person who didn't know who I was before they tried to impress me. With their money, their status. With their body.

  Tracing the line of Jonah's throat, I feel the hitch when he swallows.

  “So delicate, krasavchik. So pretty. You're so good to me.” My thumb presses lightly beneath his jaw. “Do I taste good?”

  His cheeks flush. He nods, barely. The submission hits harder than it should. Hauling him up, I take his mouth in a bruising kiss, groaning when I drag myself across his lips.

  “All the bad things I want to do to you,” I breathe against his skin.

  “Not now, Viktor.” His voice shakes, but he tightens his grip on my arm. He's pulling me in and pushing me away at the same time. Jonah's fingers spread as if to feel my heartbeat. “Your legs are shaking. Let me get you back to bed. Please.”

  Reaching past me, he turns the water off. He might be right, but my dick doesn't agree. Despite the mind-blowing orgasm he just gave me, I'm definitely up for another round.

  “I could fuck you against the tiles,” I propose. His breathy chuckle is both infuriating and cute.

  “Later.” Grabbing towels, he presses one into my palms. “If you faint in the shower, I have a bigger problem. Please.”

  Fuck me. I'm a goner for his pleas. I want to hear them all the time while I have him on his knees, crying, begging me for more. But I stumble when I step out of the shower. He's right. My knees wobble, and my vision blacks out for a beat. Jonah sits me on the edge of the toilet, facing me. His fingertips trace my jaw.

  “Your pupils are blown. Did they sedate you again?”

  I shrug.

  “Tell me what happened.” His thumb stills beneath my cheekbone. “I can take it.”

  “I can take it,” I scoff. I feel both annoyed and touched by his genuine concern.

  “Yes.” Jonah's eyes are still wide. His lashes are damp. His face is all soft curves and concern.

  “You do realize that if I tell you what's really going on here, your chances of surviving drop to almost nothing?”

  “Um—yes?”

  “Okay. If you insist.” I let out a slow breath. I shouldn't tell him. The more he knows, the more fragile his position becomes. But then I could save him. Again. And again. And again. He's becoming a habit I don't want to break.

  “Sergei brought me to the basement for a meeting. Meaning, he shot me full of drugs, then invited the men who served my father. Men who are supposed to serve me as his rightful Pakhan.” My mouth twists. “Only that piece of shit has been sitting on my throne for far too long. He told them he wanted an assessment. Said he was worried about my recovery. Worried I might be impulsive. Unstable.”

  Jonah follows me into the bedroom. “Assessment? What kind of assessment?”

  “You know how these things go.” Pulling back the sheets, I gesture for him to climb into bed first without arguing.

  “No, I don't.” He watches my face, fingers worrying the sheet. “But I want to. So he drugged you before the meeting, then made you defend yourself?”

  “Da.” My jaw tightens. “And I couldn't get the fucking words to leave my mouth.”

  “What did your uncle do?”

  A humorless laugh slips out of me. “What he always does. Spoke for me. Smoothed it over. Said I was weak from the hospital, that he'd handle things until I was ready, that the family couldn't afford another misstep.”

  Jonah's motion stills on the towel. “He wanted to make you look… sick?”

  “He wanted them to doubt my sanity,” I say flatly, “so their loyalty cracks.”

  The realization sits in my gut. Sergei didn't just steal the throne. He's trying to make me forget who I was before he touched me.

  “Did any of them speak up?”

  “No.”

  He rolls himself on his side, leaning on an elbow as he takes me in. “They didn't lay a hand on you?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “Good.” It comes out soft. I trace a finger over his forearm, watching the way he shivers as goosebumps rise. He's so responsive. So easy to read. “You know I'm not a good man, do you? Hm?”

  “I… I guess so.”

  Curling a palm around his throat, I think of how he let me fuck his mouth earlier, how he let me hurt him just enough. Even now, Jonah doesn't pull back. He keeps his eyes lingering on mine, his body pliant to my touch. “You know I'll take back what's mine and kill those who stood in the way?”

  He gives a jerk of his chin. “What will happen now?”

  “Now we sleep.”

  “Viktor—”

  “Patience, krasavchik. Now I let Sergei think this will work. Let him think he knows me.” Leaning forward, I brace my elbows as tension pulls tight through my shoulders. “He wants me to slip up, but really he's the one who'll end with a dagger through his heart. Mark my words.”

  This time Jonah visibly shudders. He must realize the same thing as I do.

  “Now you know.” I hold his face. The weight of the secret is a collar around his neck, and I'm the one holding the chain. “And knowing has a cost.”

  “I—I didn't mean to…” Jonah mumbles.

  “I know you didn't.” Pressing a kiss to his forehead, I nudge him until the back of his head hits the pillow. “But that doesn't change the outcome.”

  My mouth traces from his nose to his lips, and I take them. He gasps into me, the rest of his sounds lost when I pull him into a hard kiss. Fuck, he's precious. Soft in my hands, but not weak. He has shown me more care than most people ever have, unless I pay them. That shouldn't turn me on, but it does.

  I’m addicted to the way he looks at me without seeing a monster. It’s a clean, unblemished kind of innocence that Sergei hasn't had the chance to rot yet. I’ll keep it that way, because owning something this pure is the only way I'll remember what it feels like to have power that isn't bought with blood.

  It drives me feral with a need to claim and protect. I want to burn the world down just to keep him in the embers. “Come on now, krasavchik. Sleep.”

  The first thing I register is Jonah's body against mine. He's pressed close, one leg thrown over my thigh, his arm laid across my stomach. His cheek rests on my chest. His breath is warm against my skin.

  I don't move. Light from the window reaches the ceiling. I watch it for a moment before I look back down at him. Someone gave me back my dagger. That means someone here, in this house I used to call mine, is on my side.

  In the basement, Sergei openly made a fool of me. He smiled at men who were Father's allies while he had me restrained. Like a goddamn animal. He talked like this was business, like pain was just a step in a process. I remember the weight of him watching. I remember the moment he thought I was finished. I curl my fingers once, feeling the shape of the hilt in my palm again. Sergei's making a mistake. He assumes I'll crack at some point. I won't.

  I don't need to rush it. I just need time and the right moment to remind him whose throne he's sitting on.

  Jonah's fingers twitch against my ribs. I slide my palm to the back of his neck and feel his warm skin, his hair, and the rhythm of his pulse. He melts into it instinctively, shifting even closer. Dangerous. All of this. But I don't pull away.

  Jonah stirs slowly, blinking up at me. “Morning.”

  “Hi.”

  He gives me a small smile. “I don't know why, but I thought you'd have left last night after everything that happened. Escaped through the windows and jumped the fence.”

  “Trust me, I know those gardens. We used to play in them as kids. They were guarded even then. Sergei will've doubled it by now.”

  Jonah looks around him. “I can't imagine what it's like to grow up in a place like this.”

  “Busy. Father used to hold large meetings. There's lots of money. Lots of drugs. There are many secrets.” I grin when Jonah looks up at me with his big, blue eyes. He's the sexiest thing I've ever had in my bed, and the most fragile.

  He breathes it instead of saying it. “Mafia.”

  “Such a dirty word, krasavchik.” But he's got me grinning. Mafia is such an underrated term. It doesn't include the danger, or the power that comes with it. I better not tell him that.

  Trailing a finger over his face, I catch a strand of blond hair and curl it around my finger. Moving him how I want him, I slowly rock our hips together. Jonah shakes his head, but I don't miss how his face flushes.

  “What’s it?”

  “I…” His voice breaks. “I—I need you. I don't understand it. I've never… I shouldn't want you like this.”

  “Yet you do.”

  He nods. “I do.”

  His words bring a dirty satisfaction I can't name. “And you're not scared.”

  He shakes his head. “Not of you. I don't know if that makes me brave or stupid.”

  I lower my mouth to his throat, kissing him slow first, then harder. His fingers grip my back. His hips lift. I kiss him until he's shaking, until he makes small sounds into my mouth that I keep. Trailing my mouth to the purple marks I left, I admire my handiwork before licking the bruises. I like him marked. I want everyone who looks at him to know he belongs to a monster.

  “You're too sweet to be stupid.”

  “That doesn't mean anything,” he giggles, but lets himself be rolled onto his stomach, face against the pillow.

  I grin. “It does when I say it.”

  He snorts, but his body arches into my touch. Slicking my cock with lube, I work slow, feeling the heat in my spine build even before I touch him. I settle between his legs and guide the head along the line of his taint. I stall there for a heartbeat. I should stop. I should let him breathe. But the way his body already curves into mine, moving toward the pressure instead of away, decides it. I want the way he gives without asking. I don't think about later. I only think about the weight of him under me.

  I press my aching cock between the heat of his ass cheeks. I don't go inside. Instead, I grind against him, letting the wet friction build. The sensation is raw, cutting past my injuries. His hips jerk. “Oh, fuck,” he murmurs.

  “That’s it, krasavchik. Take the weight of it. Feel how hard you make me just by moving like that,” I growl, my voice vibrating against his spine. “You're so tight, and I'm not even inside you yet. You're already shaking for me.”

  I change my angle, dragging along the cleft for a while, then sliding back between his legs again, letting us feel every scrape and glide. After a moment, I pull away and reach down, curling my palm around his cock and drawing it toward me. “Feel good?”

  “More, Viktor. Please.”

  “Fuck. You're a treasure, krasavchik.” He doesn't know what I want yet, so I guide him with my voice. “Lie flat. Open those legs and show me how much you want to be ruined.”

  I savor his small whines as he obeys. Pressing myself between his ass cheeks, I drive down. He bucks and twists as I grind against his taint, teasing his hole with my crown while my hand works both our cocks at the same time.

  “Look at you, making a mess of the sheets. You're so fucking needy for me, aren't you? Cry for me, Jonah. Let me hear how much you need this.”

  He cries out as he comes. Pressing my tip against him, I catch the heat, feeling the way his cock jerks and spills.

  “Yes, take it all. Good boy,” I rasp. My words catch in my throat.

  A growl tears out of me as I break, teeth clenched while release rolls through me in hard waves. I didn't expect that to finish me, but it does. I empty myself over his lower back and the sheets between us, shuddering until the last tremor fades.

  We drift there for a while, suspended in the aftermath, before I ease back and start tidying. The blankets need washing, so I shift the fabric aside. When Jonah tries to push himself up to help, I lift a hand, stopping him with a look.

  He watches my hands. “You're in pain.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Jonah moves closer, settling between my legs. “Food. We need to eat. And then I'll look at your injuries again.”

  We share the tray. Cold eggs, beef, fruit. I don't know when the guards brought it in, but it's enough to keep us both fed. Jonah eats leaning into me, his shoulder pressed to my chest like he belongs there. When we're done, his gaze drifts across the room.

  “That’s the first thing I noticed when they brought me here.” I follow his look to the piano near the window. Jonah gives me a sheepish grin. “That, and the daggers. Do you play?”

  “A little. My mother played. When I was born, she had it made for me. It was crafted by someone from her home village and sent from Moscow to the US.”

  His eyebrows lift. “I didn't expect that.”

  “Which part? That my mother played or that the piano comes from Russia?”

  He hesitates, like he's checking whether it's allowed. “It's just that the piano is such a romantic instrument.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “And I'm not a romantic?”

  He flushes. “That isn't what I meant. Is it okay if I⁠—”

  “Yes.” I cut him off.

  That seems to catch him off guard. Jonah crosses the room slowly and lifts the lid. He presses a key. “It's tuned?”

  “Of course it is.”

  He turns back to it, unsure.

  “You don't play?”

  “No.”

  I don't know why that surprises me, but it does.

  He presses another key. “My mom did.” Another key. “Before she got sick.” Another key. “And then she died.”

  I don't respond. I don't know what response he expects to that. I know what it's like to lose a mother. He plays a few more notes, softer this time. I watch his hands, the way his fingers pause between keys.

  They hover over the keys. “I've always wanted to have a piano. To keep her close. But she's gone, and if I don't pay attention I'll soon be gone too.”

  He stops and looks back at me. “Maybe that should terrify me, but it doesn't. I've always believed she's somewhere up there, waiting.”

  I watch his fingers curl into a fist on the lid. The knuckles go pale. He says it like it's simple, but the belief sits in the room like a ghost. It's a softness I don't know how to touch, a kind of open that makes my hands drift toward the daggers on the wall. He's reaching for heaven, but he's stuck here in the dark with me. For the first time, I want to be the kind of man who can keep him.

  “I won't let them kill you, Jonah.”

  He dips his head, blond hair falling forward, then lets the lid drop with a heavy thunk. “Let me take a look at your injuries.”

  Later, when he curls back into me, I think about the piano again. About his dead mother. About the piece of shit father who sold him to our family. I'm getting him out of here. Then I'll take this house apart from the inside. I think of Sergei in my father's chair. I think of the look he gave me in the basement.

  He made a mistake letting me live long enough to remember who I am. He'll pay for it. Then I'll find the man who sold Jonah, and I'll make sure Jonah never has to remember his name again.

  I lower my mouth to Jonah's hair. Mine. And I don't lose what I claim.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  JONAH

  Ever since I touched the piano, Viktor lets me play it whenever I want. The music book lies open on the stand, the pages bent at the corners from years of use. I keep playing because the music is the only thing that still sounds like the person I was before I entered this house. Every note is a thin thread connecting me back to a life that feels more like a dream every day.