Chapter 6

Vivienne's POV

The Brooklyn docks were colder than Manhattan at night, and dirtier too.

Warehouses pressed into the darkness row by row, massive shipping containers stacked into silent steel walls, trucks parked not far off with exhaust pipes still spitting white vapor into the air.

Patrolling men with rifles slung over their shoulders walked back and forth, their boots crunching over frozen ground with dull, heavy sounds.

This was Dmitri's territory.

He had already moved ahead, and I followed behind wrapped in his black coat, while Alexei maintained his position half a step behind us.

Autumn had been taken elsewhere by another Russian.

We crossed the tarmac, heading deeper into the warehouse district.

All along the way, everyone stopped what they were doing.

The cargo loaders, the inventory checkers, the guards at the doors, even the men smoking by the trucks, and the two men inspecting firearms in the distance—all of them immediately straightened, lowered their heads, their voices dropping to barely audible levels.

"Boss."

"Boss."

"Boss."

Not a single one dared to look at me.

That kind of discipline sent a chill down my spine. And Dmitri was the discipline here.

A steel staircase was mounted on the side of a two-story warehouse, the metal steps narrow and steep, their edges coated with a layer of damp frost.

Dmitri walked ahead, his black coat lifting slightly in the wind, his stride steady and deliberate. I gritted my teeth and followed, refusing to let myself appear too slow.

Halfway up, my heel suddenly caught in a gap between the steel steps. My body lurched violently forward, and I pitched toward the ground.

In the next second, a hand shot back from ahead and clamped around my wrist with tremendous force.

Before I could make a sound, that strength yanked me back hard, and I crashed directly into a scorching, solid chest. The heat from his body seeped through his shirt along with the wind and snow, carrying the scent of tobacco and blood, making my heart slam violently against my ribs.

Dmitri held me steady with one hand, and the moment I regained my balance, he immediately let go.

"Don't fall behind," he said coldly.

His tone held not a trace of comfort, as if that moment had been nothing more than casually preventing a piece of cargo from breaking.

I pulled my foot free from the gap and lifted my chin. "Don't worry, I'm not so fragile I can't manage a flight of stairs."

He turned his face to glance at me. His pale gray eyes looked even lighter under the cold dock lights.

"Better not be." With that, he continued upward.

I stood there for half a second before resuming my steps. The heat from his palm still lingered on my wrist, but my heartbeat was wildly erratic.

A woman was already waiting at the end of the second-floor corridor.

She wasn't particularly old, with Russian features and a calm expression, dressed in a dark long skirt and sweater, her entire appearance clean and efficient.

She first gave Dmitri a slight nod. "Boss."

Dmitri didn't break stride, simply tossing out, "Take her to rest."

"Understood."

He didn't even look at me again before heading deeper inside. Alexei quickly followed.

I stood in place, looking at the woman before me.

"I'm Nadia." Her tone was even. "Hot water is ready, the room has been prepared. A doctor is on standby, and clean clothes will be brought to you. Boss wants you to rest first."

She offered no unnecessary small talk or scrutiny.

I nodded slowly. "What about Autumn?"

"Someone will see to her placement," Nadia said. "Take care of yourself first."

She led me through a long corridor. The interior here was much tidier than the outside suggested, the floor covered with old wooden boards, heaters mounted on the walls, and occasionally armed guards visible standing at corners.

When they saw Nadia and me, they would immediately step aside, lower their heads, but never look too long.

The room was better than I'd expected. The bed was clean, a fire burned in the fireplace, and a lit lamp sat on the table. Steam filled the bathroom, where the tub had already been filled with hot water, clean towels folded neatly to the side.

"The doctor is just outside," Nadia said. "If you need—"

"I don't need anything," I cut her off.

She showed no displeasure, only nodded. "The clothes will be placed on the bed."

After she left, I leaned against the door for a while before finally removing that black coat from my shoulders.

It still carried his scent. I stared at it for several seconds before forcing my gaze away and walking into the bathroom.

When the hot water touched my skin, I realized my entire body ached. My arms, knees, ankles, even the area below my collarbone throbbed with a dull, swelling pain.

As the warm water flowed over my shoulders and neck, I clenched my teeth to keep from making a sound.

By the time I finished bathing and emerged, clean clothes had been delivered. A soft dark dress and an off-white shirt, the sizes surprisingly appropriate.

I dried my hair and changed into the clothes, only then noticing that black coat still draped over the chair back.

Have someone return it? Or just leave it here?

In the end, I pulled it back into my arms.

I told myself it was simply because I didn't want to keep his clothing overnight.

The corridor was very quiet, the lighting dim and yellow. I asked the guard stationed outside my door where Dmitri was now, and he merely raised his hand to point in a direction, not daring to speak a single unnecessary word.

I walked that way holding the coat, and the closer I got, the heavier that indescribable sense of oppression became in my chest.

The study door wasn't fully closed. Low voices drifted out from inside.

"The bullet grazed you, it's not deep, but if you keep putting this off and it gets infected, there's no one to take your place." It was a man's voice, tinged with impatience.

I stopped at the doorway, peering through the gap into the room. The study was brightly lit.

Dmitri sat on the edge of the sofa, his shirt already removed, his shoulder wrapped in a circle of not-yet-finished bandages. The wound was located near his shoulder blade, the flesh torn open, blood staining the edges of the gauze red.

Papers were scattered across the table, and his other hand was still flipping through them, as if the injured person wasn't himself at all.

A man in a doctor's coat stood behind him treating the wound, his movements practiced, but his expression clearly showing irritation.

"Alexei said you took a bullet for one of your men," the doctor said coldly. "You're the Boss, not a meat shield."

Dmitri didn't even look up. "Continue."

"You should at least let me stitch it first—"

"I said, continue."

The voice wasn't raised, but it instantly compressed the air in the room.

The doctor swore in Russian, but still bent down to retrieve the needle and thread.

I stood outside the door, my breathing suddenly catching.

This man could bleed.

The thought came abruptly and absurdly. As if only at this moment did I truly see for the first time that beneath all that coldness and oppressive force, there was also flesh torn open by bullets.

I raised my hand and knocked on the door.

Both men inside looked over simultaneously.

The doctor's eyes first landed on the coat in my arms, his eyebrows lifting slightly, as if he understood something instantly. He quickly secured the last section of bandage and gathered his tools. "Perfect timing, I just finished."

As he passed by me, he even gave me a meaningful look before tactfully withdrawing and closing the door behind him.

Only Dmitri and I remained in the study.

The air suddenly felt strange.

I placed the coat on the edge of the table, my voice dropping low. "Your coat."

He glanced at it but didn't move.

"Also," I paused, "thank you... for saving me."

Having said that, I turned to leave.

"Vivienne."

He stopped me.

I halted without turning around.

Footsteps approached from behind, carrying an unavoidable sense of pressure.

I instinctively turned, and he was already very close. His tall figure blocked most of the light, trapping me between the bookshelf and himself.

"What are you doing?" My back pressed against the edge of the bookshelf, my fingers instantly tensing.

He didn't answer, only lowered his eyes toward my collarbone, his fingertips brushing over it very lightly.

My entire body froze instantly.

The touch was too light, which made it more unsettling than roughness would have been. The man's fingers carried a slight callus and body heat, landing on that tender, aching skin, and I could even clearly hear the sound of my own heartbeat going wildly erratic.

He asked in a low voice, "Does it hurt?"

My spine tingled, his face was too close, close enough that I could see the shadow beneath his lashes, could smell the faint medicinal scent on him, the blood, and the tobacco.

My mind was in complete chaos, and I almost instinctively thought he would lean down and kiss me in the next second.

But Dmitri only frowned slightly, as if confirming something, and said quietly, "It's a bruise."

Then he withdrew his hand.

I stood frozen in place, for a moment not even knowing what expression to wear. That brief moment of disordered breathing, taut nerves, the heat that had nearly rushed to my face—all of it felt like a punch thrown into cotton.

I turned awkwardly, wanting to immediately leave this suffocating space. But the moment my ankle took weight, that already worn foot suddenly gave out.

"Ah..."

My body instantly lost balance, and I fell backward.

Dmitri's hand caught my waist, pulling me back. The momentum was too great, and I was yanked directly into his embrace, my forehead grazing his chin, and as my face turned, the corner of my lips fleetingly brushed past his mouth.

It was only a brief instant, leaving only that slightly burning sensation at my lips, scorching my ears until they felt like they would explode.

My hand was still clutching the front of his shirt, close enough that I could almost feel the steady, powerful vibration from his chest.

In the next second, I raised my hand almost on instinct—

Crack.

A slap landed hard across his face.

I froze. My palm stung and went numb, my breathing was a mess, my chest heaving violently, shame and loss of control surging up together.

The study door was pushed open at that exact moment.

Alexei stood in the doorway, his hand still on the handle. His gaze first fell on the rapidly rising handprint on Dmitri's face, then looked at my flushed appearance, his lips moved, but he didn't dare say a single word.

The study was frighteningly silent.

Only then did I belatedly realize what I had done, all the blood rushing to my face at once.

Dmitri only turned his face slightly, his tongue pressing against the struck side, his expression calm to the point of being eerie.

Then he spoke flatly, "I didn't touch her." But he was looking at me.

The heat on my face instantly burned hotter.

That moment just now—I had lost my balance and crashed into him myself. He hadn't touched me.

Alexei only froze for an instant before immediately lowering his head. "Sorry, Boss."

Having said that, he quickly withdrew, even closing the door tightly for us.

I stood in place, my palm still tingling, unable to even look at Dmitri.

"I..." I opened my mouth, but couldn't complete a single word.

Both apology and explanation would only make me look more foolish.

In the end, I said nothing, turning and fleeing the study in near-humiliation.

Back in my room, I closed my eyes, raised my hands to cover my face, but my fingertips wouldn't stop trembling.

That fleeting heat at the corner of my lips still lingered.

This was too absurd.

I had actually slapped the Bratva's Boss.

And what was worse—I simply couldn't drive that kiss from my mind.