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Viktor nods. “Thanks for having my back last night—and for keeping an eye on my sister.”
“No problem.” Finishing off my coffee, I rinse the mug and put it in the dishwasher. “Catch ya later.”
The ride down in the elevator is quiet, and I’m intensely aware of the way my shirt still smells like Alina—a delicious blend of jasmine, vanilla, and something pleasant I can’t quite pin down. Though my shirt does have a bit of blood on it, my real reason for not wearing it around the house was because it kept reminding me of her, and I’m doing my best not to let my thoughts linger on Alina. That won’t lead anywhere good.
But right now, with her scent following me down the steps into the subway, that seems nearly impossible. I can’t get her smile from my mind, the coy one she gave me as she looked over her shoulder at me. I can’t stop thinking about the way her contagious laughter seems to bubble out of her, encouraging others to join in. And damn, but she can dance.
It drove me wild to feel her against me, swaying in time to the music. Even watching her was captivating. She’s so fluid, natural, so comfortable in her own skin. I have no doubt she’s never had a guy tell her no before.
From the look of betrayal she gave me after I turned her down, I might as well have slapped her across the face.
Sighing heavily as I reach the lobby of my apartment building, I make my way up the stairs. Our elevator’s been broken for the last six months, and the manager still hasn’t called anyone to fix it.
Not that this is the kind of place where the front-door security greets the residents by name. Hell, we don’t even have security beyond the lock that requires us all to carry a second key.
Tromping up to the fourth floor, I let myself into my apartment and kick off my boots, tossing my keys on the side table as I go. It’s not like Alina would want to be with me if she realized that her life and my life are worlds apart.
My eyes scan my tiny flat that looks all the smaller after spending time at Sergio’s mansion and in Viktor’s penthouse apartment. While I keep my space neat and clean, and it’s far from a dump, it’s nothing like the spacious accommodations Alina’s used to. My entire apartment is made up of two rooms, with the bedroom, kitchen, and living space sharing the main room. Only my bathroom is separated by a door, and even that holds a single tiny sink, a toilet, and a small shower.
It’s all the space I need, really. And with Sascha gone, I don’t even share it with anybody. My stomach knots as I look at the space where his bed used to be. When he died, I rearranged the entire space, gave his bed to my neighbor in 408, and packed away all his belongings because I couldn’t stand to look at them every day. Now, they sit in a cardboard box beneath the kitchen sink.
It’s amazing that at age twenty-six, my brother could have so few worldly possessions to his name. Then again, we came from humble origins, and my brother and I earned every penny to our name. So it’s not like we have Daddy’s cash to spend on a waterfront penthouse apartment.
I snort as I imagine what my father’s response would have been if I'd asked him for a single dime. He was all about teaching me and Sascha the hard lessons in life and how to survive. His version of parenting lay somewhere between tough love and unnecessary cruelty.
Which is why Sascha and I struck out on our own as soon as I was old enough to legally leave home. Sascha could have gotten out before me, but he stayed an extra two years and endured the beatings because he wouldn’t leave me to suffer on my own.
That’s my brother—was my brother.
Always looking out for me. He might not have been the perfect role model. He got me into plenty of trouble I wouldn’t have found myself, but he was also the most loyal man I’ve ever known.
And that makes me want to kill Sergio Sakharov all the more.
It’s harder than I thought, pretending to be one of them. After working for the Nezhit Bratva for so many years and being rivals of the Sakharovs, it feels strange to build camaraderie with Viktor, the man who will become their Pakhan someday. But what feels like a thousand needles sitting beneath the surface of my skin is looking Sergio in the eye, addressing him with a title of respect, and doing as he says.
My blood boils every time I’m in his presence. I can see his same cold brutality in Viktor. Sergio’s son will lead their clan exactly as his father raised him to. Without mercy.
The Sakharovs need to die, and I’m the only one who can do it.
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, I strengthen my resolve.
Alina’s scent fills my nose once again. Unbuttoning my shirt, I quickly strip it, tossing it into my hamper without bothering to scrub the blood off. My pants quickly follow, then my boxers, and I head to the shower to try and wash the beautiful young temptress from my mind.
But the harder I try to stop thinking about her, the more she seems to infiltrate my head. Standing under the warm water, I grab my bar of soap and scrub my skin clean, but the feel of Alina’s hand grasping mine still lingers in my physical memory—the way it made my heart jolt when she touched me.
She’s so unapologetically full of life, racing around her father’s house after her dog, dancing among her friends with wild abandon. She even flirts with a rare kind of bravery—like the possibility of being turned down hasn’t crossed her mind. I find her confidence unreasonably sexy. And the way she speaks her mind? Not many would dare to do that in the presence of her brother and father. Yet Alina holds her own, standing her ground like a queen.
My cock throbs as I think about her standing in the kitchen wearing nothing but a baggy white T-shirt and a pair of royal-blue lace panties. I didn’t mean to look, but I couldn’t help myself. When she was stretching for the coffee mugs, she gave me a momentary peek.
I had to grab the mugs for her before she showed me any more because the sight of her full cheeks beneath the sexy fabric turned me on. It took all my self-control to put space between us after I stood next to her. But if I didn’t make myself walk across the room, I very easily could have lost my discipline and touched her inappropriately.
Or worse, kissed her.
I’m a hypocrite, I know, beating up the drunk creep who groped Alina when I’m nearly desperate to do the same thing myself. I just can’t stop thinking about her body pressing against mine at the club, the way she danced on me.
I might have compared her to a stripper—something I don’t believe at all. But I couldn’t let it continue. Not when she was driving me crazy right there in the middle of her father’s club. Allowing her to tease me like that could easily undo all my efforts to ingratiate myself with the Sakharovs, so I removed myself from the dance floor.
So she turned her attention to that handsy jerk.
