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It was Arseni. One of my men. Lanky, blonde-haired, and blue-eyed. Had been nothing but a scrawny boywhen we found him. Like me, he’d grown up on the streets back home in Moscow and was graciously taken in by the Bratva. The lad had potential.
“Tell Pavel to get me Cherie.”
His brows wrinkled and he stuttered. “A cherry, b-boss?”
I sighed. The lad had potential but was still in training. His ignorance was pardoned. “Yes. One from Axel’s.” I walked past him.
Her room was down the hall. The last door on the right and three rooms away from mine. Yet she’d seemed so close. Haunted my mind throughout the night.
Irritated, I opened the door, stepped into the room, and closed it behind me. Her head snapped up, her eyes grew big, and her lips parted.
The deep purple curtains were drawn to the sides. Sunlight poured in, bathing her in a warm golden glow.
I'd heard the fairytale stories about princesses. Well-mannered ones who didn't talk with their mouths full or laugh more than threeha-ha-ha's. They were taught how to eat, walk, and do every fucking thing with gentle manners.
Elegance. Poise. Grace.
Laying my eyes on her worsened the conflict waging within me, tangling my thoughts in a mess, as I saw her sitting on the bed.
She looked like one of those dainty fragile princesses.
Her hair, long and dark, cascaded down her back like a silken waterfall. I wasn’t sure why, but an unsettling urge to wrap my fist around it consumed me. And her face... her face was angelic. With soft delicate features, a small nose, natural thick eyebrows, and full perfectly proportioned lips that sent my mind straight to the gutters.
Her amber eyes, glistening like warm caramel, captivated me for a moment. I had never seen such beautiful eyes. Sad and frightened.
This one was... different. Not the kind of offspring I would have imagined as Mike Collins’ blood.
The only glimpse of skin I got to see were her arms, face, and neck. A natural glow of sun-kissed olive. The rest of her slim body was buried under a long brown-fitting dress that stopped at her ankles. Nude-painted toes peeked from underneath. The dipping curve from her small breasts, down to her small waist, and slender hips were subtly highlighted.
But other than that, nothing.
I suppressed an eye roll. We caught ourselves a modest one.
Shit.
A groan rumbled at the back of my throat.
I could snuff the life out of the girl in a heartbeat, focus on finding her father, and still get my money. But I didn’t want to kill her. Not yet anyway.
“Vanessa Collins.”
A dark look crossed her eyes. “How did you—” she shook her head and a few dark strands fell forward. “You know what? Never mind. I feel so stupid for almost asking that.”
She must have figured out that I had her information at my fingertips. I had Knox run a full background check on her and wasn't surprised by what I saw.
Her mother died when she was seven. She didn't have a close relationship with Mike and that resulted in a withdrawal. Basic brat girl background story.
Only, this girl happened to find books and baking more fascinating.
I strolled to the side of the bed and the mattress dipped under my weight. Her face was so close to mine, I spotted theblack flecks in her eyes. Her lips opened and closed like she had more to say but thought against it.
Smart girl.
I put a thumb under her chin and forced her head up.
“Fashion design student and humanitarian activist.” Her hair fell backward, and her scent whiffed through the small space between us. Wildflowers and spring. My nose twitched.God, I was tempted to bury my face in the crook of her neck to smell more.
“I know more about you than you know.”
