Page 1 of Brutal Union (Ruthless Mafia Kings #8)

NADIA

"Is that all you've got?" I murmur, tilting my head as Sho's chest rises and falls, sweat gleaming across every carved line of his body. He laughs, breathless but cocky, his moss-green eyes catching the low light as though daring me closer.

"Hime , don't think so little of me," he says, his voice rough but steady. "We're just getting started."

I chuckle, my eyes following the slow decline of a bead of sweat snaking through his abs right to the edge of his black, skin-tight boxer briefs.

God, he looks devastating like this—his shirt hanging open, exposing the expanse of his olive chest. His hair falls loose in waves that ruin the slick style he'd perfected hours ago.

If it weren't for the fact he nearly destroyed my family, I might admit out loud that Sho Matsumoto is the most gorgeous man I've ever had the misfortune to toy with.

This man has not a four or six pack, but a fucking eight pack with V-line so defined my mouth just waters as I imagine licking each sharp ridge of muscle.

"Sho, baby," I whisper, picking up my favorite instrument, a thin blade so sharp it could cut through paper with ease. "I want to carve my name into you."

His lips curl into a lazy smile that might make my knees buckle, if not for the way he rolls his shoulders back, despite his wrists being cuffed behind the chair. He leans back with his legs spread, a glint of dark amusement in his eyes.

"Careful," he rasps, his voice low and sinful. "Keep looking at me like that, Hime , and you'll forget I'm your enemy."

"I haven't even taken you on a date," he muses. "And already you want to claim me Mrs. Matsumoto."

"Mmm, I like the sound of that," I tease, poking my index finger at the tip of my blade as I skip closer to Sho. I lean forward, placing one hand firmly on his thigh. "Don't you?"

"Absolutely darling," he strains through the pressure of my nails pressing into his thigh.

A wicked smile curls my lips as I press the blade against the sharp line of his collarbone, just enough to tease, to feel the way his body tenses beneath me. His breath shudders, not in fear, but something far more delicious.

"Tell me, Sho," I murmur, dragging the tip of my knife down the center of his chest, tracing each sculpted ridge of muscle. "Was it worth it? Turning on me?"

His eyes smolder with amusement, his jaw tightening as he exhales slowly. "I never turned on you, Hime. You just don't like the way I played the game."

I laugh softly, leaning in until my lips hover over his. His scent—sweat, and something uniquely him—makes my head spin. I shouldn't enjoy this, but fuck, I do.

"You almost killed Gwen." I pout, drawing lines along his Greek god chest.

He tilts his head, his grin dark and knowing. "But I didn't. And you're still here, straddling me, looking at me like you want to do things that would make even your brother blush."

I drag my blade lower, slipping just beneath the waistband of his jeans. His abs flex, his breath hitching for the first time. A small victory.

"I could cut you here," I whisper, my free hand trailing down the inside of his thigh. "Make you beg."

Sho chuckles, but it's ragged now, his pupils blown wide. "Beg for what, Hime? More? Less?" He shifts slightly, his legs spreading wider, inviting. "Because if you're trying to break me, you're going to have to do better than that."

I press the blade harder, just enough to break the skin, a thin line of crimson blooming against tan flesh. His lips part, a sharp inhale escaping, but his gaze never wavers.

"Who said I wanted to break you?" I murmur, my mouth so close to his ear he can feel the heat of my breath.

His groan is low, almost a growl. "Don't you break all your toys?"

"Only my favorite ones," I purr along the curve of his throat before pressing my knife against his inner thigh, just enough to draw the faintest line of red.

He lets out a choked moan, almost like he had been holding his breath and a moan escapes my throat as he inhales sharply at the shallow cut, and fuck it's goddamn music to my ears.

"Ugh, keep making noises like that and I may have to keep you alive. "

I squat between his legs, the imprint of his cock pressing through his black boxers and trail my fingertips over the curve of his impressive member.

He twitches under my finger, and I lick my lips at the sensation, because there is no way he is small.

He feels thick, warm and so close to mine right under my fingertips.

A cough turned laugh peppers over my skin from his lips making me look up at him through my eyelashes.

"Fuck, Hime," he curses. "Don't look at me like that."

"Or what?" My breath catches, a hitch in my throat that betrays me for the briefest second.

"I'll have your ass over my knee, and you'll be begging."

I swallow it down, forcing my expression into something cool and controlled, but the heat in Sho's gaze tells me he caught it. He always catches everything.

Slowly, I lower myself, sinking onto the heels of my feet, my knees pressing into the cold concrete.

The shift in position feels just as natural—just as right—as standing over him with a blade in hand, power thrumming through my veins.

Except now, the energy between us changes, coils tighter, turns into something heavier. More intimate.

His legs are spread wide, his wrists still bound behind the chair, yet somehow, he doesn't look at all like a man at my mercy. No, he looks at me like I'm the one caught in a trap. Like I'm the one playing right into his hands.

I run my tongue over my bottom lip, watching the flicker of his gaze as it follows the movement.

My fingers ghost over the inside of his knee, slow, deliberate, tracing lazy patterns against the rough fabric of his jeans.

His breath shudders, a sound so subtle most people wouldn't have noticed. But I do.

Kneeling in front of him like this should feel like submission, but it doesn't. Not with the way his body tenses beneath my touch. Not with the way his chest rises and falls a little too fast.

I tilt my head, letting the edge of my blade glide down the center of his torso, slow enough to make him feel each practiced stroke. Barely breaking skin. "You like this, don't you?" I whisper, my voice dripping with amusement.

Sho lets out a low chuckle, dark and breathless. "Hime, you have no idea."

I lick my lips looking down at his straining cock. "I could take a bet."

"Too bad you're going to kill me before we get our taste."

"I don't know if I'm going to kill you," I pout. "You're too fun."

Sho shifts in his seat, his dark eyes glinting with something wicked as he tilts his head at me.

"How about a game?" His voice is smooth, teasing. "Since you're already on your knees for me."

I arch a brow, leaning up so I can drag my blade across the waistband of his boxers. "You're bold for a man tied to a chair."

"And yet, you're still listening," he murmurs, his smile deepening.

I press the tip of my knife into the muscle just above the spandex, not enough to cut, just enough to feel the way his abs tighten beneath it. "Speak carefully, Matsumoto."

Sho exhales, a sharp steady breath, before tilting his head toward my hip. "I get the key out of your pants without using my hands, and you let me walk out of here."

A laugh bursts from my lips, low and amused. "And if you fail?"

He grins. "Then I stay right here at your mercy. Isn't that what you want, Hime ? Me at your mercy?"

I study him for a long moment, twirling the blade between my fingers. This should be ridiculous. A man in his position shouldn't be negotiating, shouldn't be teasing me like this. But Sho isn't most men and for some reason, I want to see him try.

"Fine," I shrug, sliding the blade back into its sheath. "Time starts now."

Sho leans forward, his bound wrists forcing him to rely on his balance, his body curving toward mine like he was meant to be there.

His breath ghosts over my hip first, warm through the leather, sending an unexpected shiver down my spine.

He's deliberate, slow, dragging this out like he wants me to feel every second of it.

His nose brushes against the key's outline beneath my pants, his lips parting as he angles his mouth around it. I feel the way his breath stutters, the way his jaw tightens in concentration. His tongue flicks out, testing, tasting, and a smirk tugs at my lips.

"Having trouble?" I taunt, fingers tracing the top of his ear.

Sho exhales sharply but doesn't pull away.

Instead, he doubles down, his lips pressing harder, his teeth grazing over the leather.

His face tilts slightly, and in the struggle, his nose brushes against my hip while his forehead grazes my stomach—then, unexpectedly, his lips slide along the curve of my ear.

Instead of ignoring it, he breathes it in, letting it slide between his lips before releasing it, his tongue flicking out just slightly as if savoring the moment.

He's thorough, determined, and fuck, he's good at this—too good.

Heat coils low in my stomach, but I refuse to let it show.

He shifts, trying to trap the key, but the slick material makes it impossible. He growls softly, the sound vibrating against my skin, but I can tell—he's losing.

Minutes tick by, and then?—

He curses, resting his forehead against my stomach as his chest heaves. "You little?—"

I laugh, threading my fingers through his damp hair and tugging, forcing him to look up at me. "Time's up, Matsumoto."

His jaw tightens, frustration flickering in his dark gaze, but it's mixed with something else. Lust. Amusement.

I slide back, standing to my full height, and his eyes follow me, sharp and hungry. "Looks like you're still mine," I hum, reaching into my waistband to retrieve the key. I dangle it between two fingers, letting it glint under the dim warehouse light.

Sho watches it for half a second before dragging his gaze back to mine. He tilts his head, his confident smile returning. "You enjoyed that."

I roll my eyes, but before I can respond, my phone buzzes against the floor.

The phone's vibration against the cold concrete cuts through the thick tension in the room. I sigh, stepping back and glancing at the caller ID. Nik.

Of course.

Sho watches me carefully as I answer, his smile widening. "Saved by the bell?" he taunts.

I smile back, twirling the key before tucking it back into my waistband. "Not for you, baby. You're still exactly where I want you."

I don't wait for a response before turning on my heel and striding out of the dimly lit basement, slamming the heavy metal door shut behind me. As I ascend the stairs, I bring the phone to my ear.

"This better be important, Nik," I snap.

"I'm outside. Emergency meeting," he says, skipping pleasantries like usual. "The heads of the Bratva want to discuss your claim to the throne."

I grind my teeth, my grip tightening around the phone. "They can discuss whatever the fuck they want. I am the rightful heir."

Nik scoffs. "If it were that simple, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

I push open the warehouse door, stepping into the cool night air and clicking the phone off.

The wind whips against my heated skin, but I barely feel it as I stand toe to toe with Nik, who's leaning against his car with his arms crossed.

His eyes narrow on me as I cross my arms over my chest. Normally Nik would tower over me but in my six inch thigh high stilettos, I am his height as long as he doesn't stand up straight.

"This wouldn't even be a conversation if you had been honest about Boris from the beginning," I say, stepping closer, pushing into his space. "But no, you had to lie to me. And now, I have to clean up your mess, as fucking always."

Nik doesn't flinch, doesn't waver, just tilts his head, looking down at me with that familiar mix of annoyance and reluctant respect. "I didn't lie."

"You omitted the truth," I hiss. "And now I have to stand in a fucking room with those old bastards and prove I belong there without calling you out for treason. Do you know what would happen to you if I told the truth?"

"Nadia-"

"What do you think would happen if I decided to tell everyone the great Nikolai Petrov lied and his little psycho sister is the heir to the throne?"

"They would kill us all," Nik snarls, and I chuckle at the way his nostrils flare.

"That's right, buddy!" I smack his chest as I chuckle. "Now, I know I can't trust you, but trust me when I say I love Gwen, Mia and Gio too much to allow anyone to kill you."

"Is that why you are playing with Sho instead of doing what you're supposed to be doing and finding Boris?" he reminds me, voice flat.

"I am finding Boris," I snap, shoving my fingers through my hair. "Sho knows something."

Nik gives me a pointed look but doesn't argue further. He knows better. "Sho knows nothing."

"No, he knows," I take a breath, forcing down the frustration. "I can feel it in my gut."

Nik nods knowing that my gut is the most reliable thing in the world, if I think Sho knows something then he does. "I'll be at the meeting once I secure Sho in one of the cells," I say, stepping back. "But if I have to kill one of those assholes to prove a point, you're cleaning up the body. "

Nik smirks. "Wouldn't be the first time."

I roll my eyes, turning on my heel and heading back inside, my mind already shifting back to the unfinished business waiting in the basement.

As soon as I step through the heavy metal door, something feels off.

The air is thicker, charged with something that sends a shiver down my spine.

My heels click against the floor as I descend the stairs, my eyes locking onto the empty chair that once held Sho and two of my guards unconscious on the floor, small cuts on their arms but breathing steadily.

I step forward and look at the art he placed in the middle of the two bodies. A heart, drawn in blood with an arrow through it, and below it, his name. Sho.

Right next to it, my hairpin—I quickly touch the flyaway hair next to the ear he caressed with his tongue.

The phantom of his hot breath is making me shiver even now.

My stomach twists, something dark curling at the edges of my mind.

I clench my jaw, inhaling sharply before my lips curl into a slow, wicked smile.

I stalk forward, standing over the message, my pulse thrumming in my ears. Then, throwing my head back, I let out a sharp, frustrated scream.

The sound echoes through the basement, but beneath the frustration, there's something else.

Excitement.

I glance back at the empty chair, imagining the satisfied look on Sho's triumphant face.

"Oh, baby," I murmur, tracing the edge of the drawing before bringing my finger to my lips. "If you wanted to play, all you had to do was ask."