Bound by the Blood

MORNING COMES

POV: Marco

---

I woke to sunlight and the smell of coffee.

For a moment, I didn't remember. The bed was warm. There was weight beside me, soft breathing, a hand resting on my chest. I turned my head.

Sasha.

She was still asleep, her dark blonde hair spread across the pillow, her face peaceful in a way I'd never seen. No masks. No walls. Just her.

I watched her for a long time.

Last night had been… different. Not just the s*x – though that had been something else entirely. But the way she'd looked at me. The way she'd touched me. Like I wasn't a weapon. Like I was just a man.

I hadn't felt that in eighteen years.

She stirred. Her eyes opened – gray, sharp, immediately aware.

"You're staring," she said.

"You're worth staring at."

She almost smiled. "That line is older than you."

"It worked, didn't it?"

She sat up, pulling the sheet with her. Her back was to the window, morning light outlining her silhouette. She looked like something from a dream. Or a warning.

"I should go," she said.

"You should stay."

"Marco—"

"I made coffee." I nodded toward the kitchen. "And breakfast. Well, I ordered breakfast. It's in the oven."

She stared at me. "You ordered breakfast while I was sleeping?"

"I didn't want to wake you."

"Why?"

"Because you looked peaceful. Because I didn't want to ruin it."

She was quiet for a moment. Then she leaned over and kissed me – soft, quick, almost shy.

"One cup," she said. "Then I go."

"Deal."

---

We sat at his kitchen island, coffee mugs in hand, morning light flooding the room. He'd ordered pastries, fruit, something that smelled like eggs and herbs. It was more food than I'd eaten in a week.

"You're staring now," he said.

"I'm admiring."

"Same thing."

I laughed – actually laughed – and the sound surprised me. I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed like that.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked.

"Doing what?"

"This. Breakfast. Being… kind."

He set down his mug. "Because I want to know you, Sasha. The real you. Not the widow. Not the fighter. You."

"What if the real me isn't someone you want to know?"

"Then I'll find out for myself."

He reached across the counter, took my hand. His fingers were warm. Rough. Steady.

"Last night," he said. "You said you don't know how to love anymore."

"I remember."

"I don't either." He held my eyes. "But I'd like to try. With you."

My heart stopped. Then started again, faster.

"You don't know me," I whispered.

"Then let me learn."

This was the moment. I could tell him the truth. I could say, I'm not a widow. My name isn't really Sasha Volkov. I came here to destroy your family, and I've already failed because I fell in love with you.

But the words wouldn't come.

Instead, I squeezed his hand.

"One day at a time," I said.

"That's all I need."

I stayed for two more cups of coffee. Three.

I left at noon.

And I was already counting the hours until I'd see him again.