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Prologue
Matvey
Alina’s 18th Birthday
My fingers dig into Alina’s hip as I guide her out of the crowded club and far away from Grisha’s leering stare. I knew coming here was a bad idea, and I knew there was no way in hell she wouldn’t attract attention in that fucking tiny, black dress she insisted on wearing. I’m wondering why in the hell I agreed to this, but then she looks up at me with her vivid, blue-green eyes, and the reason is painfully obvious.
I’d do anything for her. It’s as simple as that.
Alina may be the one who’s been in love with me her whole life, but there’s no denying that I’ve more than caught up with her. What was once a sweet, platonic love for one of my best friend’s younger sisters has morphed into something very, very different. I tried to fight it at first, afraid that Roman would be pissed or that it was somehow wrong to love the woman I’d watched grow up, but I’m quickly losing my will to fight this. My eyes run over the beautiful face that I’ve memorized every detail of as my hand keeps a firm grip onher hip.
“Who were those guys?”
“No one you need to worry about,” I tell her, lifting my hand for the cab that’s just pulling up.
“Well, the way you practically carried me out of there makes me think they might be somebody.”
I fight a grin at her tone and open the door of the cab. “Get in, Alina. We’re going home.”
She smiles and hops in, nearly making me groan when she bends over and I see the curve of her ass. Once we’re both sitting in the back, I give the driver the address, noticing the nervous look he gives me when he hears my gravelly voice and the look on my face. Alina’s the only one who gets real smiles from me. Ever since the fire, I haven’t been myself, but the woman sitting next to me has always been able to pull them from me so damn easily. She’s impossible to resist. To prove my point, she looks over at me, her face lighting up in a grin that I can’t help but return, especially when she takes full advantage of the cramped backseat and scoots closer to me so our bodies are touching.
I’m used to Alina trying to get close to me. Hell, she’s been doing it since she was sixteen. Back then it was easier to discourage her. She was too fucking young, and I wasn’t about to cross that line. When she was seventeen, I’ll admit, it got a little harder. But now that she’s eighteen? I don’t stand a chance in hell.
She stays glued to my side until the cab drops us off outside the apartment building we all live in and we’re forced to separate. Alina’s been staying over more and more, and knowing she’s sleeping right across the hall from me has made things interesting to say the least.
I pay the cab driver, and when I see a couple of guys eyeing Alina, I pull her against me again and give them a look that has them scurrying back down the damn sidewalk. She gives a soft laugh as I guide her inside.
“Remind me to kill Vitaly for buying you that damn dress,” I mutter, pushing the elevator button for the penthouse.
She looks down at her dress, eyeing the tiny thing before turning her face up to me. “You don’t like it?”
“No, I don’t. It attracts way too damn much attention.”
We step off the elevator, and when I open the door to our penthouse, she walks past me with a small huff. Turning on her heels, she faces me—hands on her hips and that mischievous smile that always means trouble. I shut the door and cross my arms over my chest, waiting to see what she’ll do. She doesn’t make me wait long.
“Maybe I’ll just start dressing like this every day.”
I take a step closer. “Like hell you will.”
She gives an innocent shrug, but that smirk is still playing at her lips, contradicting her at every turn.
“I mean, it was a gift from Vitaly, and it’d be rude not to wear it.”
I know how rough my voice can sound, but when I growl out, “You’re not wearing that dress out of this damn penthouse ever again,” she doesn’t even flinch. She’s never been bothered by my scratchy voice or my scars. She’s always seen right past all of it and straight to me.
“You’re trying to get a rise out of me, Alina, but it’s not going to work.”
She raises a dark brow. “No?”
“No, now take off the goddamn dress and go put on those thick, flannel pajamas I saw you in last week.”
She has the nerve to laugh before she steps closer, closing the distance so there’s mere inches between our bodies, and with that same smirk playing at her lips, she says, “If you don’t want me to wear this dress, then you’re going to have to take it off me yourself.”
“Alina.”
Her name comes out as a growl and a warning and a desperate plea for her to have mercy on me, and she ignores every damn one of those and rests her hands on my waist and looks up at me with the eyes that I can never seem to get out of my head. She’s always on my mind in one way or another, and lately that way has been nonstop sexual thoughts that are threatening to drive me fucking insane.
“Why do you fight me, Matvey?”
