Page 116 of His Darkest Obsession

"This needs to be handled carefully," I continue. "You do this alone. No one else can know about it."

Roma's brow furrows. "Alone? Tolya, that's going to be difficult. You know Vasya's the one with the legal connections."

"I don't care. Find another way."

"It would go faster if?—"

"Eto moi prikaz, Roma Stepanovich." My voice hardens as I use the words of command.

Roma stares at me, clearly trying to read what's behind my eyes. "Why all the secrecy? We've never operated like this before."

I think about the network of thin white scars crisscrossing Indigo's thighs. The way her eyes brightened in fascination in that dark basement as I killed the cops who murdered her parents.

And how she froze before running away when she saw Bennet at the gala.

"Because whatever's in that NDA is the source of Indigo's pain. And I won't cause her more pain than she's already endured by having her find out that I’m looking into it."

Roma's expression softens with understanding.

"That internship broke her," I continue, my voice low. "I want to know what fucking happened so that I can deal out the appropriate punishment. But I need to protect her at the same time,ponimayesh?"

Roma shakes his head slowly. "Do you hear yourself right now, Tolya? You're obsessed with this woman."

My jaw clenches. The truth in his words stings, but I refuse to acknowledge it. "Just get it done."

"This isn't about the bratva anymore," Roma presses, leaning forward. "It's getting personal. You're letting her cloud your judgment."

"I said get it fucking done." The words come out sharper than I intended.

Roma sighs and stands, straightening his shirt with a tug before he starts walking towards the door.

"One more thing." I wait until he meets my gaze. "Don't bother looking for the name Indigo Taylor."

Roma's eyebrows lift in question.

"Look for Amelia Taylor instead." Indigo's real name comes out soft and gentle on my lips.

Roma stares at me for several seconds, and I can see him trying to put the pieces together in his mind the same way that I had.

"Amelia Taylor," he repeats quietly.

I nod once, confirming.

He gives me a solemn nod, and then he walks out, leaving me alone in my thoughts.

I stare down at the glass of vodka in my hand as the door closes behind Roma. The clear liquid catches the light, reflecting little pillars of sun that match the burn in my chest whenever I think about her.

My thumb traces the rim of the crystal as I consider what I've just ordered my brother to do. Roma's right. Thisispersonal. But how can itnotbe personal?

And more importantly, just when the hell did this happen? When did I cross the line from using her as a means to an end to... whatever this is now? I've killed men for her. I've threatened the Volkovs. I've started a fucking war last night.

And last night...

I can still feel her teeth scraping my skin, taste the salt of her sweat on my tongue, smell the sweetness of her hair tickling my nose, and hear her breathy moans nibbling at my ear.

We fucked last night, yes. But each time I buried myself inside of her, it felt less and less like fucking and more like lovemaking.

I pour another drink, my movements more aggressive than necessary.