Page 101 of Ruthless Serenade
I draw in a deep breath, bracing myself. I’m about to drop a fucking bomb and I’m not sure she’s going to like it. Whatever her reaction, I can’t blame her. It’s my own stupidity that kept us apart all this time. This mess is on me.
My eyes lock onto hers, unflinching. "I had Pavel do some digging, Mindy. I know you had nothing to do with exposing Tramoxine. And I know you were only trying to help Maurice." I pause, letting the words hang between us. My voice may have been steady, but my gut is twisting itself into knots.
She just stares at me, shock written across her face. I wait for her to explode, to slap me, kick me in the balls, and curse me for the years I stole. But she remains silent, frozen.
"I’ve been a fucking idiot," I continue, the confession burning my throat. "Blinded by my own pride, looking for excuses to push you away because... because I was terrified of how much I needed you. But I’m done running."
"Maron," my name catches in her throat. "You mean... all these years..." She shakes her head, words failing her as seven years of pain and misunderstanding crash down around us.
I brace myself for the fury I deserve. She should fucking castrate me for this - for condemning her without a trial, for letting my paranoid assumptions poison everything we had. But ever since she came back into my life, I’ve been fucked in the head. I’ve been jerking off to her memory every fucking day, and it still didn’t ease my yearning for her.
So, I finally made the call. Ordered Pavel to dig up everything about her, about the events seven years ago - every detail, every shadow, every fucking breadcrumb. And as always, Pavel delivered. Last night, just hours before Mindy burst into my office with news about Sharon.
I couldn’t believe the fool I was. Still can’t. Seven long years wasted on lies I’d fed myself. All that bullshit about her being a gold-digging traitor, working with her sister to expose me and Tramoxine to the press. The paranoid fantasy that she’d been fucking Maurice behind my back.
I’ve built an empire on reading people, on sniffing out betrayal before it can touch me. Yet I couldn’t see what was right in front of my face. Couldn’t seeher.
"I’m sorry for the years I wasted, Mindy," the words scrape raw in my throat. "I don’t want to lose another second without you and Sharon."
Her breath catches, tears glazing her eyes like crystals. She shakes her head, stunned by the weight of what I just told her.
My chest constricts, but I force myself to continue. "I know I’ve fucked up, Mindy. Royally. I don’t deserve another chance at this. But if you give me one, I swear on my life that every day, every fucking breath, I’ll work to heal what I broke."
She stares at me, her lips trembling, struggling to form words. "You don’t know how much this means to me, Maron," she whispers. Her fingers dig into my arms like she’s afraid I’ll disappear. "We’ve both screwed up. We’ve hurt each other, ran away. I don’t want to run anymore." She pauses, her eyes searching mine.
Her words feel like they could melt an iceberg. It’s not forgiveness, not yet. But it’s a chance. A fucking chance I don’t deserve, but still got.
I lock eyes with her, letting her see everything I’ve kept hidden. "I love you, Mindy." The words feel strange and perfect on my tongue. Like a prayer I’ve always known but never spoke. "I always have."
She leans forward until our foreheads touch. "I love you too, you stubborn, infuriating dickhead."
A laugh rumbles in my chest as I press closer, breathing her in like a man surfacing from drowning. Her breath hitches, pupils blown wide, lips parting on instinct. The electricity between us builds until the air itself feels ready to ignite.
"Sharon’s probably not waking up for another hour," Mindy murmurs.
I smirk, my hand sliding to cradle her neck. "I’m sure we can find something to do in the meantime."
Chapter Forty-Eight
Mindy
Maron’s hand rests on the small of my back, the gentle pressure guiding me into his bedroom.
The familiar scent of his cologne envelops me as we cross the threshold, stirring a whirlwind of memories - tender caresses, heated moments, whispered promises. My eyes drift over the masculine space, drinking in details that have haunted my dreams for years: the oversized bed with its crisp dark sheets, the gleaming wood furniture, the subtle hints of opulence that speak of power carefully restrained. It’s exactly as I remember, yet everything feels different now, charged with new meaning.
The soft click of the door closing shifts the air around us, as if the room itself is holding its breath. The anticipation that’s been building since we left his mother’s room crystallizes into something more intense, more primal. We’re truly alone now, cocooned from the rest of the world and its demands. It’s just Maron, me, and all the unspoken things that pulse between us like a living heartbeat.
I trail my fingers over the smooth surface of the bedsheets, buying myself a moment as emotions surge through me. So much has happened. So much has changed. Yet being here, in this room that holds the echoes of our shared past, makes time fold in on itself until I can almost believe we never parted.
My hand drifts to the top of the bed, fingertips grazing the silken fabric. Memories crash over me like waves - nights of raw passion, mornings filled with lazy kisses, precious moments of vulnerability that neither of us expected to share... before it all slipped through our fingers. I close my eyes, nearly staggering under the weight of it all.
The solid warmth of Maron’s body behind me anchors me to the present. His hand on my shoulder sparks something primal and familiar, an electric current that runs straight to my core. I lean back into him instinctively, craving more of his touch. He doesn’t disappoint - his powerful arms wrap around me, pulling me flush against the hard plane of his chest, making me feel small and protected in the best possible way.
"Lisichka," he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. His accent, thicker now with emotion, sends a delicious shiver through my body.
I turn in his arms, needing to see his face. Our eyes meet and lock, and for a moment, the world stops spinning. The raw intensity in his gaze steals the breath from my lungs. I’ve seen this man strike terror into his enemies without batting an eye, yet now he’s looking at me like I’m sacred and precious. Like I’m everything he’s ever wanted but never dared to claim.
His hand comes up to cup my cheek, and I’m struck by the gentleness in those lethal fingers. His thumb traces the curve of my cheekbone, and I press into his touch, savoring the contrast between his calloused palm and the tender way he holds me. We stand there, suspended in time, just looking at each other.
