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I hug my arms to my chest and hop up the three short steps onto the back porch. Still, he says he took me to the beach to help me drown out all the noise . . . and I guess, in a way, that’s sweet. But my heart has no business melting a little because of it. Stalker men with guns, no matter how rich and handsome, are still dangerous.
He chased me through the house. I hit him with a lamp.
Nothing about that screams romance.
And yet. My heart skips a beat as I resist the urge to sneak another peek at him. He didn’t have to do any of those things for me today. He could have kept me locked up in my room and forced me to play dress up while he sat there and told me to spin around for him to get the full picture.
My heart flutters in my chest. If I played along and tried on all those outfits for him, would he like what he sees?
As I reach the door, I’m lost in thought about how praise might sound on Mikhail’s lips. I don’t notice a figure emerging from the shadows until he speaks.
“Did you enjoy your evening, Valentina?”
I scream.
Andrei folds his arms over his chest and frowns at me, like a disappointed parent catching their teenager sneaking out of the house. It gets worse as his eyes graze my body and he spots the stains on my pants. Particularly, the two circular ones hovering right over my kneecaps. “Why are you covered in dirt?” His eyes narrow before flicking up to Mikhail. “What did you make her do?”
“Nothing,” Mikhail replies breezily. Even without facing him, I can picture the smirk plastered across his face. “She asked me for something, and I delivered. She was so grateful for it too. Isn’t that right, malyshka?”
The innuendo sends a rush of desire rolling through my veins. If I’d gotten on my knees for him, would he have called me a good girl? I suck in a breath and channel all the horny energy into something else: annoyance. I can’t let these men get to me so easily.
“Don’t call me that.” I don’t know what malyshka means, and I’m suddenly very agitated about it. “He took me to my father’s grave,” I snap, glaring at Andrei like this is all his fault.
It kind of is, since he’s the one who decided to keep me here in the first place. If he had let me go, maybe I wouldn’t be having all these fantasies about dark and delicious Russian men. I could be normal again, fantasizing about a cute barista writing his phone number on my to-go cup or the handsome mailman bringing me a special delivery.
Instead, I’m left wondering how Ezra’s tattoos feel under my palms, how Mikhail’s praise might taste against my lips, and how rough Andrei might fuck me now that he hates me.
Desire burns through me just as hot as my anger. Maybe hotter. I have to fight to stay focused.
Andrei stares at the dirt stains over my knees. “I would have taken you to see him.”
My nostrils flare. “I don’t want to be anywhere near you.” I storm past Andrei and into the house, both men following me inside.
“Valentina—”
“I’m going to my room.”
Goodbye, bitches.
As I turn a corner, annoyingly, I find that both of them are still following me. “Alone,” I huff. “I’m going to my room alone. Neither of you are invited. Go away, now.”
One second I’m walking down the hallway, and the next I’ve got my back to the wall with an angry mafia man holding me there. His hands on my hips burn white hot. “You don’t get to give orders. You take them.”
This is the moment all mafia princesses are trained to avoid, or in instances like this when it’s too late, when we beg for forgiveness. We’re supposed to look down at our feet. Apologize for our error. Maybe offer to suck a cock as penitence. But fuck that. I’m not their princess anymore.
I won’t take orders from anyone.
“Get off of me, Andrei. I mean it.”
He exhales across my face. “Go change and meet me in the dining room.”
I sputter. “I’m sorry?”
“Go change,” he repeats, his grip on my hips tightening, “before I come undress you myself.”
“You get off on that, don’t you?” I can’t help but egg him on now that I’ve got a backbone. I have no doubt it’ll get me in trouble, but my heart hammers in my chest, pumping adrenaline through my veins. This is new. This is exciting.
I’m not the same girl I was five years ago. I’m not afraid to break the rules if they don’t serve me. And the rule about doing what you’re told is stupid.
