Victor
Her words sting more than I wanted to admit.
"I'm done, Victor."
Done with me? No. She doesn't get to be done. Not when I've bled for her. Killed for her. Watched her sleep with a gun in my hand more nights than I can count.
I stared at her, chest rising and falling like I just ran a damn marathon. Her eyes—so fucking big and glassy—are filled with something between heartbreak and fury. She's trembling, but she holds her chin up like a goddamn queen.
Zara doesn't understand. She never fucking has. Not really. She thinks I do this shit because I like power or control? No. No, it's because I know what it's like to lose someone in the blink of a second.
And it's that moment that my brain drags me backward into the past like a goddamn undertow.
Five Years Ago
I was twenty-two, cocky, too quick to pull the trigger, and just stupid enough to think I was invincible.
We were in Budapest for a negotiation with a Chechen crew. The deal was supposed to be simple: they sell us land we needed, we paid them double the market price, and everyone walks away happy.
It was the first time I brought Zara with me. She was eighteen and begged me for weeks to let her come. Said she was tired of being locked up like a little bird in a cage.
"Let me breathe, Victor," she whispered that night in my office. "Just one trip."
I finally caved.
She was so happy to be with me. She wore this oversized coat that made her look even smaller than she already was. Her hair tucked in a knit cap, and she refused to leave my side.
But the plan went south fast.
One of the Chechens — some arrogant fuck named Lorenzo — decided he liked her too much. Said some shit in Hungarian he didn't think I'd catch.
"Bet she's tight. That mouth probably tastes like heaven."
I shot him in the foot before he finished the sentence and that's when the gunfire started. Chaos. Screaming. My ears rang. I remember pushing her under a fucking table, blood on my hands already, my pistol drawn, yelling at Nico to cover the exits.
"Stay down! You hear me," I yelled. "Don't fucking move!"
"I'm scared, Victor!" she cried.
"Don't you dare die on me!" I yelled back, firing over the table as another Chechen charged in.
By the time it ended, four of their men were dead, two of mine were bleeding out, and Zara was still under the table, shaking, hands over her ears, her body curled up like a child. I held her for hours that night. She didn't sleep. Neither could I.
The next morning, I called in five extra guards, changed all the locks, and swore to myself I'd never let anything happen to her again.
Ever.
Back to Present
Blinking as the memory faded, I followed after her until I was staring at her now. All these years ever since that day, I realized I've never told her about that day from my perspective. How close I came to losing her. How that single night rewired every bone in my body when it came to her safety.
"You wanna know why I act like this?" I asked slowly, releasing her wrists gently but not moving back.
She didn't respond.
I leaned in, just enough so she hears me over her own shallow breaths.
"Because the last time I let you breathe on your own, someone almost took you from me."
Her brows furrow. Confusion flickering behind her lashes.
"You remember Budapest?"
"Of course."
"I remember it more," I said, my voice rough now. "I remembered how you looked under that fucking table. I remembered the sound of you screaming. I remembered thinking I might have to kill everyone in that room to make sure you walked out alive."
Zara blinked rapidly, her hands falling to her sides.
"That's why I do this shit, Zara. That's why I don't let you walk around in dresses that make you a target. That's why I have guards on your ass like shadows." I said, shaking my head, dragging a hand down my face. "You think I'm controlling? Fine. Call it whatever you want, but I've seen what happens when you think you're safe and you're fucking not."
Still, she doesn't speak.
"You want to hate me? Go ahead," I said, taking a step back, running a hand through my hair. "But you're not walking out of my life."
"Victor," she said, her voice small now. "I didn't know."
"Because I didn't tell you. Because every time I look at you, I don't want to see that version of you again. Scared, crying, hiding," I swallow hard. "I want you safe. I want you loud. I want you stubborn. I just want you alive."
Silence stretches. The kind that's loud as a gunshot.
Then she finally walked toward me. This time slower. Her hand brushes against my chest, over my heart.
"You really thought you'd lose me that day?"
"I still think it," I whispered. "Every goddamn day."
She exhales sharply, tears threatening again, but this time, her expression softens.
"You're still a controlling asshole," she mutters, voice cracking.
I huffed a laugh, lips twitching.
"And you're still a bratty little hurricane who doesn't listen."
"But you love me." she said, looking up at me.
"I was literally born to."