Page 7

I made peace with my reality a long time ago.

There was no other purpose for me than being a part of the Bratva. For what it was worth, even if my family was not the one I’d unfortunately been born into, I believed I would have been roped in with the Russian darkness somehow—like we were meant to be.

But being a part of it didn’t guarantee twenty-four-seven fun or conquests. Some days were good, quiet, and smooth, and other days? Not so much. Either way, I was used to the ups and downs of the business, where things could change quickly and unexpectedly. It was like seeing different sides of the same situation every day.

Today, though, was one of those days when shit got realer, and necessity required me to get my hands dirty.

Apparently, a rising group of rogues tried to sabotage multiple shipments within and beyond the United States borders, and another idiot got caught trying to blow up one of our storehouses in Nevada, all within the same week. Fucking jackals. The Pakhan got wind of both atrocities and needed me to handle the situation.

Trust me, I did.

It took a few days and some burning of jet fuel hopping from state to state, but I always got the fucking job done.

Dealing with them was loud, messy, and fucking stressful. The Pakhan was pleased, though, and that was what mattered. I craved noise cancellation, something worthy enough to serve as a distraction. So, when Damir got a sudden call from my brother inviting us to a small house party in California, without skipping a beat, I told the pilot to change destinations.

Now, here I was, watching the men bicker about the most profitable start-up venture. About two hours ago, Damir looked like a worn-out husband with a loose tie hanging around his neck and tired eyes that needed nothing else but good sleep. Right now, he was going at it with Axel, one of Damien’s business partners, heatedly stressing his point about restaurant start-ups having more prospects.

“I didn’t fucking spend thousands of dollars on the women and wine to have you guys talk about work here.” My brother walked—more like waltzed— into the living room shirtless, grinning, with a full glass of what I suspected to be Vodka and beads of water running rivulets from his dark hair and down the Guardian Angel inked down his spine.

The idiot just had a shower, and the ladies were greedily feasting on the sight.

For a moment, I’d forgotten we were surrounded by half-naked dancers twirling and shaking their asses at the center of the room. The dim lighting and loud music couldn’t be blamed; the conversation had been so stimulating that I, too, found myself engrossed because I sided with Damir. Restaurants were lucrative.

“The girls can wait. Money’s more important,” Axel piped up with his eyes burning a hole through one of the girls’ barely covered ass.

The hell it was. Everyone knew the greedy bastard flocked over girls more than a shepherd to his sheep. Axel was one of the slimy ones, sly in business, and a complete ass when it came to the women. He didn’t treat them right, but he never missed a chance to boast about fucking them right.

“Not right now, they can’t.” Damien lifted his glass, side-eyeing me because he knew the man irritated me. “We came here to fucking party, so party, we will.”

The men eased up, lifting their glasses to salute our special host as he cranked up the volume on the music system before settling in beside Damir on the black couch.

He patted his thighs. “Ladies, please. Over here.” And three ladies happily skipped from the center, throwing themselves into his arms. “Please, my dear men, enjoy yourselves tonight. I’ve got rooms upstairs, if you need ‘em. For tomorrow brings shitty tidings, or maybe good ones. You never really know.”

The room echoed with deep rumbles of laughter, and they relaxed after a brief air-toast. One after the other, the girls swamped each man, and the conversation died out, leaving a replacement of music, masculine grunts, and feminine giggles. I just rolled my eyes at my brother, and he smirked while groping one of the dancer’s asses. “Enjoying the view, Miron?”

I was enjoying the view, and, like the conversation about start-ups, watching each of the men have a teasing smack at the ladies, lowly groaning in satisfaction, was… provoking . I toyed with my glass, not finding the strength to bicker. “What if I am?”

One of the girls nuzzled her face between his neck, and another, a petite blonde, alternated between twerking on his groin and kissing his bare chest, and the haze in Damien’s blue eyes said he enjoyed it a bit too much. “There’s plenty of them to go round. You don’t have to keep starving. Unless you’re on a celibacy journey and didn’t think to tell me.”

I arched a brow, knowing exactly what—w ho —he referred to. The corner of my lips picked up with a ghostly smile. “Fuck off.”

Damien’s rough chuckle got muffled when he grabbed the blondie’s mouth and pressed it against his own, sucking her lips with his eyes closed and a fierce eagerness plastered over his chiseled face. Between the both of us, he was the one kissing like he’d been starved for years.

Now, he was being playful, teasing those girls and whispering sweet nothings in their ears. But no one knew my brother like I did, or witnessed enough to see the true animal that lay beneath all that rouge playboy exterior. It was one of the reasons he liked lots of social gatherings. While I sought out noise cancellation, Damien preferred the noise. It kept his darkness drowned out long enough for him to just live and be free.

Taking my attention away from my brother’s horniness, I stumbled on a tall, slender redhead stripping before Damir. He sat back, tumbler lifted to his lips, while she stood between his legs, grinning from ear to ear as he ordered which skimpy piece of clothing had to go next. Watching him grunt orders in Russian, which the girl surprisingly understood, was amusing. And I didn’t notice the brisk movement from the corner of my eyes until I felt small hands slide onto my chest.

“If you like that, I can give you a show of your own.”

I lowered my face to the intruder curled up by my side.

It was a girl with auburn hair, scattered freckles dusting her nose and cheeks, and green eyes that reminded me of emeralds; unlike the majority of girls here, she had longer legs, curvy hips, and fuller thighs. Which strangely reminded me of a certain someone .

If we were on the topic of honesty, then I was going to be honest and say that this girl was fucking gorgeous. Her warmth was enough noise cancellation for me, and the repeated motions of her fingers slipping between the buttons on my shirt made me want to rip them off and relax while she worked her magic. It was attraction and nothing else, but I considered dropping my tumbler and giving in to the fleeting carnal desire.

“What’s your name?”

She blushed. “Genevieve.”

“You’re sure you can do that for me?” I gestured toward the girl between Damir’s legs, who was now dancing in nothing but a thong.

Genevieve nodded and pressed her palms flat on my abdomen. “I can do even better. All you have to do is say the word. Whichever way you want it, I’m down.”

I opened my mouth, but the music suddenly stopped.

Looking away from Genevieve, I found the men staring at a woman who stood by the music system with the control tightly curled in her fist. Trying to figure out when she got in here and snatched the control without anyone noticing was pointless. Her random pop-ups at the oddest hours were another thing I’d gotten used to.

I rolled my eyes when she glared at the woman in my arms, looking ready to pounce on her and rip her off with her bare hands.

“Not tonight, honey. Get your fucking paws off him.”

Genevieve raised her eyes to mine, silently asking for my permission.

All engines powered down, and I rose to my feet, turning away from the look of disappointment etched all over her face when she scrambled off the couch and moved out of sight.

Damien side-eyed me with an amused expression and twisted on the couch with the girls stuck in his arms like glue. “Talk about the angel, and she appears. Nice to see you again, Alina. For a moment, I thought you’d gone into exile.”

“Such an excellent sense of humor you have, Damien.” She flashed a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Ignoring my brother, Damir’s blank stare, and the rest of the men gaping at the scene, I motioned for her to follow me. “Come on.”

She threw the control at my brother, mumbled something indistinctly under her breath, and fell into step behind me.

When Damien said I was starving, he’d indirectly referred to the three months’ absence of the woman who was currently walking into an empty bedroom with me.

Alina Ivanova.

My fiancée.

And I’d gone long enough without the touch of a woman that seeing her didn’t immediately spark any interest to shift her panties. Not that I would have come around to shifting Genevieve’s either.

Flicking her raven-black hair over her shoulders, she shut the door but didn’t move away from it. I sat at the edge of the bed with my hands on my knees, and we stared at each other in utter silence until I decided to break it.

“You look good. I like the fit.”

Alina scoffed and folded her arms across her small bosom with narrowed eyes. “It’s a dress you’ve seen before, a dress you bought.”

“Then, I like the dress I bought. You look good in it.”

“No, Miron, you don’t get to pull up that acting-indifferent card with me.” Alina pushed away from the door, stomping toward me, brows drawn, and her glossy lips pulled in a disapproving frown. “Baby, what is this? Why didn’t you tell me Damien was throwing a party?”

I didn’t have to tell her shit, and I also didn’t particularly tolerate being questioned. But where Ivanova’s daughter was concerned, it was pertinent that I created limited exceptions.

As a leader of another prominent Russian fraction, Ivanova earned his stripes by being quick-witted and sharp-minded and having a knack for strategic alliances, which expanded our influences. Needless to say, this solidified his position within the Bratva. For decades, he had shown loyalty to the Pakhan and, therefore, earned my respect as well.

“You mean fuck-gathering, right? Because that is what this will end up being before midnight. It isn’t an actual party. You know that.” I propped a pillow behind my back and pressed into it. But Alina wasn’t having it.

I sighed, rubbing between my eyes. What would it take for a man to just relax around here?

“I didn’t know he was throwing a party. He called in at the last minute. Happy?”

She shook her head. “Not happy, Miron.”

“Goddamnit, woman.” My patience was thinner than a thread, and I wanted to slam the pillow against something to just have some fucking peace of mind. “You’ve been away for three fucking months. I’m not going to just pick up the darn phone to have you hop on a plane to California for Damien’s fuck-gathering.”

Her icy expression immediately melted into a puddle of widened eyes and puckering lips. She blew out a long breath and softly dropped on my thighs before cupping my face with both hands.

“On my father’s business, baby. I’ve been away on business. You know he wanted me there in person to monitor the cargoes. And you know I don’t like it when you get mad at me. I just…missed you, Miron. And coming here, seeing that girl curled up in your arms, made me so fucking angry, I wanted to—”

“Did you get your father to agree with the clothing line idea?”

Alina’s mouth clamped shut. “What?”

She had a jealous rage that ticked off at the slightest signal, and if I didn’t stop her from talking, that rage would have only had more fuel fed to it. I needed to take her mind off Genevieve and any other trigger that would disturb the remaining hours of my night.

“The clothing line. The last time we talked, you mentioned it. You didn’t want my help to start because your father didn’t agree. So, did you talk to him?”

“I did,” she said. “He said he’ll think about it. He’s more concerned about the wedding.”

“Okay. We’ll talk about it after the wedding, then.”

When she smiled, the light returned to her brown eyes, and something elevated in my chest. It was a tiny flutter, like a weight lifted, ushering something even bigger—like the sudden urge to draw her closer.

Which I did.

I wrapped an arm around her waist and dragged her closer to my chest so her soft ass was pressed to my dick. In return, she wound her arms around my neck and giggled like a teenager. The warmth of her breath against my jaw and the familiar scent wafting between us made me reconsider shifting panties.

“I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to distract me.”

“Is it working?” I pressed a kiss to her jawline and the delicate curve of her shoulder blade. Soft, just as I remembered. My fingers traveled into her hair, and she shivered in my arms.

Her grin grew wider. “It is.”

“Good. Because I don’t like getting mad at you, too.”

Alina kissed my cheeks and pulled back, her happiness twinkling in her eyes, and they had never been clearer than this. There was a saying that the eyes were the windows to a person’s soul. Every time I looked into Alina’s, I knew it was true. She held back nothing. She always wore her heart on her sleeve, allowing me in, permitting me to see the immense effect I had on her—shades of her the world will never see.

Not me.

I didn’t even think I had a soul, much more a heart to bear. But she was content, knowing that, with a wedding in close view, I was locked in for her.

I brought her closer, peppering chaste kisses from her forehead to her throat. Her scent was intoxicating, stoking the embers and making me grow hot and impatient all over. The fabric of her dress was cut low, baring the smooth pumps of cleavage, and I ventured lower to graze each one with my teeth.

“I missed you.”

She arched her back, pressing her chest flush against my face, and long, slender fingernails combed through my hair, drawing a sharp breath from me.

“I missed you, too, Miron.”

There was no point asking, but I knew she’d want me to. “How did you know I was here in Cali?”

“You know I have my ways.” I agreed; she did have her ways, but I didn’t bother to press. “And coming inside was pretty easy when everyone knows you’re Miron Yezhov’s fiancée.”

“Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

Cupping her ass, I lifted her legs and spread them on either side of my thigh so that she straddled me. I didn’t have to touch between her legs; she was wet. With Alina, fucking was always easy. Sometimes, too easy.

I tipped her chin.

She bit her lip, eyes blazing ferociously with desire when she said, “It does.”

I grabbed her mouth and kissed her lips, ignoring the gloss spreading from hers to mine as I sucked each lip at a time. She molded against me, ran her fingers down my face, moaned hungrily into my mouth, and whimpered when I pulled back.

“Make me feel good, Ali. Come on.”

“Sure.” Alina beamed from cheek to cheek and reached for my belt. “Anything for you.”