Page 28

It creaked open just a few inches… and then more. And thenhewalked in.

Tall. Broad. Beautiful.

Like he belonged here. Like this washisapartment and not mine.

I recognized him instantly—the ink on his arms, the cold blue of his eyes, the terrifying stillness of him. His dark gray shirt fit him like a second skin, tailored perfectly to his broad chest and powerful shoulders, the sleeves rolled up casually enough to show off the intricate tattoos wrapped around his muscular forearms. His trousers were black. Polished black shoes clicked softly against the floor, marking every step toward me with that predatory calm.

Nikolai Morozov.

In my apartment.

I stumbled back a step before I could stop myself, the air leaving my lungs all at once. He closed the door behind him with one hand, his gaze dragging slowly down my body before rising back up to my face.

He looked calm.Toocalm.

That kind of dangerous calm you only see in men who already knew exactly what was going to happen, like he’d already decided what he was going to do with me.

He took a step toward me.

I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

“It was you, wasn’t it?”

Immediately, I knew that he knew, and all my self-preservation instincts rose to a head.

I should have lied.

Iwantedto lie.

That’s what I usually did—I stayed in the shadows, manipulated quietly, bent perception, and walked away clean. I didn’t get caught. I didn’t get confronted. And I definitely didn’t get cornered by a Bratva boss in my brand-new apartment in the middle of the night while I was half-dressed.

But in that moment, my brain couldn’t keep up with my body.

Because while my chest was tight, my breath was short, and the nerves were crawling up my spine… my thighs trembled just the slightest bit.

Heat bloomed low in my belly—unwanted, undeniable—at the way he looked back at me. Like I was already in trouble, and he was the one who was going to deliver the punishment.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I tried to sound calm, but even I heard the wobble in my voice. It wasn’t a good lie. It wasn’t even areallie.

He took another step closer.

“You’re such a bad little girl,” he growled.

My face flared with fire, and I knew I was blushing. My mouth opened, but nothing came out. He shook his head slowly, like he was disappointed in me.

Like heknewI’d try to lie.

“You’re clever,” he said, raising a single eyebrow. “Clever enough to think you could get away with messing with things you shouldn’t. Rigging the odds on one of my fights. Manufacturing rumors. Making money inmyworld. I almost respected it.”

His eyes darkened.

“Almost.”

I swallowed hard.

“What are you going to do?” I whispered, voice barely audible.

He was closer now—not touching me, but close enough that I could smell smoke on him, as well as the scent of something ruggedly masculine, expensive, and dangerous.