Page 25 of Hostage of the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #7)

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as Azriel stared at the stack of case files on her desk, her eyes burning from hours of concentration.

The legal briefs blurred together, but she forced herself to keep working.

Every argument had to be airtight, every precedent properly cited.

She’d been at the law firm since seven that morning, determined to prove she belonged here despite being the newest paralegal in the criminal defense department.

Her colleagues had already filtered out hours ago, leaving their goodbyes echoing in the empty corridors.

The cleaning crew had come and gone. Still, Azriel remained hunched over her computer, drafting motions and researching case law for the senior attorneys.

This was her chance to show she deserved more than filing documents and scheduling depositions.

The promotion to junior associate wouldn’t just happen because she wanted it.

She had to earn it, had to demonstrate that the degree actually meant something.

At twenty-one, her age worked against her in a field where experience typically trumped academic achievement, but her analytical skills and legal instincts were undeniable.

Every late night was an investment in her future, a step toward the independence she’d fought so hard to achieve.

Her phone buzzed with a text from her supervising attorney: Excellent work on the Hartwell motion. The judge granted our request. See you tomorrow.

A small smile tugged at her lips. Recognition felt good, even if it came in small doses.

She saved her work and finally allowed herself to lean back in her chair, rolling the tension from her shoulders.

The office building had grown eerily quiet, the only sounds coming from the ventilation system and the distant hum of traffic far below.

She glanced at the time on her computer screen.

Past midnight again. Kostya had been gone for five days now, handling what he’d vaguely described as “Bratva business.” The specifics eluded her, and that ignorance gnawed at her more than she cared to admit.

She knew the basics of his world now, understood the danger that came with his name, but the details of his current mission remained frustratingly out of reach.

He could be anywhere, she thought, gathering her belongings. Fighting anyone. Getting hurt.

The worry surprised her with its intensity. When had she started caring so much about his safety? When had his absence begun to feel like a physical ache in her chest?

She shook her head, irritated with herself.

Kostya was capable of handling whatever situation had called him away.

He’d survived years in this world before she came along.

Missing him this desperately was probably one-sided anyway.

He had his brothers with him, his responsibilities, his empire to manage.

She was just the woman he’d been forced to marry, the payment for her father’s betrayal.

The elevator descended in silence, carrying her toward the parking garage where her modest sedan waited.

Kostya had offered to buy her something more expensive, more befitting of a Nikolai wife, but she’d refused.

Some things she needed to maintain for herself, symbols of the life she’d built through her own effort.

The drive home took twenty minutes through Chicago’s late-night streets.

Their house sat in an exclusive neighborhood, all manicured lawns and towering trees that provided privacy from prying eyes.

She’d grown accustomed to the luxury, even if she still felt like an imposter walking through rooms that cost more than most people’s annual salaries.

Her key turned in the lock, and she stepped into the foyer, expecting the usual greeting of silence and shadows. Instead, warm light spilled from the living room, and the scent of coffee hung in the air.

Her heart jumped.

She dropped her purse and laptop bag, moving quickly toward the light.

Kostya sat sprawled across the leather couch, his long legs stretched out, his head tilted back against the cushions.

His dark hair was mussed, his usually pristine clothing wrinkled and travel-worn.

A day’s worth of stubble shadowed his jaw, and exhaustion lined his features.

He looked absolutely devastating.

“You’re back,” she said, the words coming out softer than she’d intended.

His eyes opened, those dark brown depths immediately focusing on her with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. A slow smile curved his lips, the kind that had probably charmed women across three continents.

“Hello, beautiful.”

Her cheeks warmed at the endearment, but she tried to maintain some composure. “What time did you get in? I thought you and your brothers were flying back together tomorrow.”

“We were supposed to.” He sat up straighter, his gaze never leaving her face. “I caught an earlier flight.”

“Why?”

The question hung between them, loaded with implications she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear. Kostya rose from the couch with fluid grace, closing the distance between them until she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.

“Because I missed you,” he said simply. “Because I couldn’t stand another second of being away from you, of not being able to touch you.”

Her breath caught. The honesty in his voice, the raw need she saw flickering in his expression, sent heat spiraling through her body. This wasn’t the practiced charm he wielded like a weapon. This was something real, something vulnerable.

“Kostya...” she started, but he reached out, his fingers trailing along her cheek with reverent gentleness.

“Five days,” he murmured, his thumb brushing across her lower lip. “Five days of thinking about you, about this.” His other hand settled on her waist, pulling her closer. “Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

She could feel the tension radiating from him, the carefully controlled desire that made her skin tingle with anticipation. Her professional exhaustion evaporated, replaced by a completely different kind of energy.

“I missed you too,” she admitted, the confession slipping out before she could stop it.

His eyes darkened, and she saw the exact moment his restraint began to crack. “How much?”

The question was pure temptation, delivered in that low, rough voice that never failed to affect her. Instead of answering with words, she rose on her toes and pressed her lips to his.

The kiss started soft, almost tentative, but Kostya’s response was immediate and hungry.

His arms came around her, one hand fisting in her hair while the other pressed against the small of her back, molding her against him.

She could taste coffee on his tongue, could feel the barely leashed power in his embrace.

“Azriel,” he breathed against her mouth, her name sounding like a prayer. “I tried to stay away. Tried to focus on business, but every night I dreamed about having you like this again.”

His confession sent a thrill through her that had nothing to do with physical desire and everything to do with the realization that she’d been wrong. He had missed her. Maybe not as desperately as she’d missed him, but enough to abandon his original plans and come home early.

“Show me,” she whispered, the words bold and breathless.

Something primal flashed in his eyes, and then his mouth was on hers again, more demanding this time.

His hands roamed her body with possessive familiarity, reacquainting themselves with every curve.

She melted into him, her own hands exploring the solid planes of his chest through his rumpled shirt.

“You have no idea,” he said, trailing kisses along her jaw, “how many times I imagined coming home to you like this. How many times I had to stop myself from getting on the first flight back to Chicago.”

She shivered at the heat in his voice, at the way his teeth grazed her earlobe. “Why did you stop yourself?”

“Because I was supposed to be focused on work. Because leaving early would have been unprofessional.” His laugh was low and self-deprecating. “Turns out I don’t give a damn about being professional when it comes to you.”

The admission thrilled her more than it should have. She’d never been anyone’s priority before, never been important enough to disrupt carefully laid plans. With Kostya, she felt wanted in a way that went beyond physical attraction.

His hands found the hem of her blouse, fingers dancing along the strip of exposed skin at her waist. “Tell me you want this,” he said, his voice rough with need. “Tell me you want me.”

“I want you,” she said without hesitation. “I’ve wanted you every night since you left.”

The confession seemed to break the last of his control. He lifted her easily, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her toward the stairs. His mouth never left hers, their kisses growing more heated with each step.

“I’m going to make up for every night I was away,” he promised against her lips. “Going to remind you exactly why you’re mine.”

The possessive words should have annoyed her, should have triggered her independent streak. Instead, they sent liquid fire through her veins. She was his, had been since that first electric touch in her apartment, and she was finally ready to stop pretending otherwise.

He kicked open the door to his bedroom, their bedroom now, and set her down beside the king-sized bed. The room was bathed in moonlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting everything in silver and shadow.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, his hands framing her face. “So damn beautiful it hurts to look at you sometimes.”

She reached for the buttons of his shirt, her fingers working with increasing urgency. “Then stop looking and start touching.”

His laugh was pure masculine satisfaction. “Demanding little thing, aren’t you?”

“Only with you,” she admitted, and saw the way her honesty affected him.

The playful banter faded as the intensity between them ratcheted higher.

This wasn’t just about physical release or the culmination of five days of separation.

This was about claiming each other, about acknowledging the shift in their relationship from a reluctant marriage to something deeper and more complicated.

As his hands began their slow exploration of her body, as his mouth followed the path his fingers traced, Azriel realized that somewhere along the way, she’d stopped trying to convince herself that what she felt for Kostya was temporary or one-sided.

She was falling in love with her husband.

The thought should have terrified her. Instead, as he whispered her name like a benediction and showed her exactly how much he’d missed her, she let herself fall.