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He smiles but it’s not friendly. It’s predatory. He’s taking way too much enjoyment in this little game. “I don’t want to take a chance.”
My eyes flick to the window, and I notice Mikhail has turned around so his back is now towards me. And in that moment of distraction, something thin and hard trails the length of my neck down towards my collarbone, then over the swell of my left breast.
I whip around and watch as his stupid card travels lower, headed for the spot between my legs. “C’mon, printsessa, somewhere safe?”
A shiver in my lower belly quiets the usual urge I have to sass him. “Alright,” I challenge him. “I have the perfect spot.” My fingertips find the hem of my skirt, and I slowly hike it up around my hips. His gaze falls to the space between my spread thighs, zeroing in on the strip of my red lace thong that’s barely visible. He bites out a raspy curse. His tone is so crude, so feral it sends a spike of pleasure to my clit.
“Right here.” I finger the lace thigh-high encircling my upper leg. I’m enjoying the sight of his tight jaw and rigid shoulders way too much. “Are you going to give me the card now so I can get on with my day?”
He swallows hard as one thick finger dips below the clip connecting my stocking and garter belt, and with a clean snap, the black plastic card is pressed against the skin of my thigh.
As if he wasn’t just staring hungrily at my bare skin for the last minute, he pulls the newspaper open again, wordlessly dismissing me.
I step out of the car, a smile of victory playing on my lips. It doesn’t falter as I breeze through the building’s lavish foyer and step into the elevator, Mikhail trailing me the entire time. It doesn’t even fall as I step into the penthouse that will serve as my new home and cage until I can bring not one but two criminal empires down single-handedly.
CHAPTERELEVEN
DANIIL
My footsteps echooff the marble foyer, something I only notice because the penthouse is dead quiet at this late hour, or more accurately, early hour. The fact that I’m home before two in the morning is a near miracle; my schedule has been nonstop since the casino opened two weeks ago. But tonight, Leo took over managing the Bellair so I could attend to more pressing matters.
Like beating the shit out of a group of cheaters who were caught swapping cards under the table before the night was even in full swing. Their scam ran with two players switching cards to make up a winning hand, while a third person distracted the dealer with talk, and another acted as lookout.
There’s only one way to deal with cheats: swiftly and brutally. And that pleasure fell to me tonight. It’s a shame I couldn’t have administered the same punishment to Días the night of the casino opening.
I flex my now busted knuckles. They probably need an ice pack, but I opt for the numbing effect of booze instead. Fixing myself a whisky from the bar cart, I discard my suit jacket and loosen my tie, allowing the liquor to settle my nerves. Dropping onto the living room couch, I lean back and release a tense breath I didn’t know I was holding only to suck in a gulp of air that smells likeher.
Fuck me, am I hallucinating? I turn and find a sweater of hers tossed along the back of the couch. I’ve seen pictures of her wearing it on the terrace, staring out at the city buzzing below. I’m barely around, but I know what she does every day—gym, shops, reads, paces, reads some more—because my men report everything back to me.
Everything but what is going on in that pretty little head of hers. That remains a mystery. Not that she knows me either. But it’s best this way. Most bratva marriages are built on duty and nothing more—Andrei and Yulian are the exceptions to the rule. Even still, I can’t help but pick up Bianca’s sweater and take a deep inhale. Her scent, like cloves and vanilla, washes over me, making me want something I can’t have.
I throw her sweater across the room, confused by my reaction. My cock twitches in my pants, and a feeling I have no words for blooms in my chest. In Russian, I would call herzanoza—a pain, a complication. From the moment she walked into my life, everything has been so damncomplicated.
Starting with the fact that I now am required to work with her ex. Every night, under Días’s careful watch, a handful of Zegas show up at the Bellair with wads of cash that they use to buy casino chips. Then they hit the tables and slot machines, winning a bit here, losing a lot there. When their loss is in the twenty percent range, Jorge signals his men. They cash out their chips and leave with fresh bills from the casino—dirty money now clean, and our casino is thriving.
Except seeing Jorge parade through the Bellair like he’s the king of the fucking world is making me insane. Flashing an arrogant smile at the security cameras every chance he gets, he knows I’m sitting upstairs in my office watching him. Seething.
Yesterday, as I was walking out of the casino, The Madman stepped into my path, a shit-eating grin on his face. “How’s Bianca?” he asked with all the sincerity of a car salesman. “Please send my regards to her.”
I was reaching for my Glock when Leo stepped between us. “Easy,” he murmured. “He’s fucking with you. Don’t take the bait.”
But it’s too late. There’s a buzz in my veins that won’t be extinguished until Jorge is lying mangled at my feet, every bone in his body twisted unnaturally. “If I ever hear my wife’s name on your tongue again, I’ll cut it out and feed it to the dogs,” I threatened, even though Leo remained between us.
“You mistake my intentions,” Jorge claimed, a mocking edge to his tone. Then, with a little bow, he slithered away, and I was left with an acidic taste in my mouth and the intense need for violence.
I settled for shots of vodka.
But what I really need is a long, hard fuck.
And that won’t be happening any time soon; my new wife and I are at an impasse. She doesn’t want to be married to me, and I don’t trust her. It’s a funny thing though, I still want to bend her over a chair, and make her wet for me.
Ever since our wedding night, I’ve obsessed over how fucking good it felt to have Bianca’s lips wrapped around my cock. The way she obeyed my commands, getting on her knees for me when I told her to… Shit, that was everything. Her inexperience was clear, but it only fueled my hunger. I’ve been like a randy teenager since then, walking around at half-mast every time her lush curves and gorgeous face appear in my mind.
Fuck it, I’m hard as steel right now. I need a cold shower and a few hours of sleep before I do something really idiotic like visit the little traitor in her bed.
Abandoning my tumbler on the side table, I head towards my bedroom. I’m passing by the open door of the library when I hear it. A rustling sound, like papers being shuffled. I enter the room cautiously. The penthouse is secure, I’m not worried about an intruder, but I’m curious to see what a member of my staff is doing in here at this hour.
A moment later, Bianca steps out of the shadows, a small pen and notebook in her hand. Lit only by the moonlight streaming in through windows, she looks like a goddess as her full breasts swing gently under her loose tank top, and a tiny pair of sleep shorts show off smooth brown legs. Fuck. She’s designed to ruin me.
