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Still rolling my hips, I rise slowly, dragging my hands along my every curve, dipping into the narrow fabric nipping at my waist, and to the swell of my breasts barely covered by the thin black bodice held by nothing more than delicate strings tied in a bow at the nape of my neck.
I’ll have to show them skin. That’s how this works, but first, I’ll make them helpless to do anything but take in my every dip and valley, one excruciating part of me at a time.
What if he was the one in the crowd, unable to escape, desperately trying to mask his forbidden reaction to me? I’d make him burn with the agony of wanting me. Giving him scandalous glimpses of the parts of me he’s forbidden to see.
Every time I close my eyes at night, I will myself to slip back into the fantasy, the only place I have him now. Because to get near him again means surrendering to my father, and I’ll die before I let that happen. But in my dreams… he’s there and I’m free to touch, taste, and savor every last part of him.
And there, in that faraway part of my mind I escape to in order to rewrite my reality, he lets me.
CHAPTER TWO
KONSTANTIN
When I get my hands on her, I’m going to spank her ass raw.
She’s fucking grounded.
Not enough. Exile.
Exile is good.
After I make sure I’ve reddened her ass so thoroughly she’ll never bare it to another set of eyes again.
Nikoletta Maksimova Romanoff would live to regret every second she spent prancing her lithe body in maddening circles around that fucking pole. I’d make sure of it.
Years of dance lessons, private teachers, the best dance schools, and traveling the world with top-tier dance troupes and she’s here. Inch after inch of her honey-kissed legs clean up to her waist on display with every movement.
Her dress hides nothing. Not one thing. When the light catches her just right—fuck—it only highlights her tight nipples.
It’s too late to call off the meeting. The minute I entered this room, the plan went into motion. Tonight I sink the knife of betrayal in my best friend’s chest.
What’s left of him.
He will know I’m no longer standing at his side in any way, and in the war to come—I’ve chosen.
His second son.
I will stand at Nikolaj’s side—because he’s the right choice.
And it’s the best way to protect her—the goddamn nymph seducing the ravenous crowd from the stage.
Devolving into delusions and mania, Maksim Romanoff’s reputation frays under the war between his sons. If he isn’t careful, his legitimate son and heir, Vladimir, will surely destroy his empire. The Romanoffs are one of only three Bratva families with origins dating back to the eighteen hundreds, and their vengeful and twisted first-born son is sure to ruin it all.
I’ve remained loyal to my best friend for thirty years. Three decades I’ve stood by my honorary brother’s side, even when he didn’t deserve it. When the woman we both loved fell for him, I conceded. When he repaid her love by marrying another, I stood by his side. When he bore children by both women and fostered animosity between his two sons, I kept my vows to our friendship. And when he had his little girl with the woman we both loved, named her for her mother, and asked me to be her godfather, I accepted my duty.
Even when I knew he did it to taunt me with what I could never have. His scathing jealousy and insecurity bled into our friendship until it ruled. The razor-sharp edges of his entitlement never failed to flay me wide.
I carry the scars of a life at his side, but it’s the scars no one can see inflicted by my best friend that still ache to this day.
Despite being indebted to him for saving my life as a child, I should have walked away. I almost did.
But the day I held little Nikoletta in my hands before the altar at Old St. Patrick’s Church right here in New York City, any chance I had of saving myself from a life of living in Maksim’s brutal shadow vanished. My vows before God—to be an example to her, to guide her, to protect her—became the final shackle tethering me to his madness.
Eighteen years I’ve done my duty. I’ve shielded her, advocated for her, nurtured her—and despite everything I’ve done, she’s here.
On display. Exposed. In more danger than she can possibly wrap that pretty little head around.
I want nothing more than to scoop out every set of eyes staring up at her, studying her, coveting her.
