Page 21 of Love to Defy You (The Dark Love #2)

Alek

The leather chair in my office groans as I rock back and forth. My elbow sits on the armrest as I absently trace my bottom lip with my finger, but my focus is on the computer screen in front of me.

It’s been two weeks, and DarkSide has found nothing on Enzo Messina, or at least nothing I didn’t already know. But the lack of information is suspicious—a standard background check for employment provides more records than what’s in this report. Even DarkSide admits it’s unusual.

It’s as if Enzo went to great lengths to wipe traces of himself from the internet. Who would do that if they didn’t have something to hide?

Mikhail’s report, however, is a cornucopia of information. The Bratva are involved in the usual illegal activities—drugs, arms dealing, money laundering, and Ponzi schemes. That didn’t come as a surprise.

But what did come as a surprise is their connection to Madame Collette’s Fantasy Auction House.

I’ve heard whispers of it before, but I thought it was an urban myth within elite circles, made up by men to make their peers feel inferior.

Membership in this ultra-exclusive club is by invitation only and accessible to the one percent of the one percent.

The women they auction off are said to be among the most irresistible in the world, on par with—and sometimes including—Victoria’s Secret models and Hollywood actresses.

A single night with one of these women can cost hundreds of thousands of dollars, and the men are allowed to do whatever they want with them, no matter how taboo.

And if you want an entire weekend of nonstop sexual gratification, be prepared to shell out over a million dollars.

Only the world’s wealthiest men can afford it.

It’s human trafficking disguised as a highbrow business operation, and Mikhail Aslanov is listed as the direct CEO.

If he has free access to sex workers, that explains the lap dancers at the Feast of Apollo.

Closing my eyes, I lean against the back of my chair and sigh.

For now, I’ll lock this interesting tidbit of information away in case it comes in handy one day.

I’m not above blackmailing my friends if need be, but Mikhail isn’t just any friend.

He’s the closest thing to a brother I have, and a part of me wishes I could delete this report and forget I ever read it.

Pots and pans clang in the kitchen above the din of voices as the private chef and his team prepare Thanksgiving dinner—under my supervision, of course—and the savory aroma of an oven-roasted turkey wafts into the home office. Willow should be home from class any moment now, if she isn’t already.

I close out of the reports and head into the kitchen. But when I see an unwelcome visitor at the kitchen island sitting far too close to my maliskha , I halt in my tracks.

Enzo Messina glances over his shoulder, and the smirk he gives makes me want to end him once and for all. I palm the switchblade in my pocket, fingers itching to slit his goddamned throat.

“Why, hello there, Aleksandr,” he says. “Willow was kind enough to invite me to dinner. I’ve never had an American Thanksgiving before.”

I narrow my gaze at Willow. “Is that so?”

But when she looks up from her bowl of Dream Whip, her eyes are wide with fear, and her complexion is pale. She doesn’t want him here; he coerced her to let him come, and I’m certain he used either her life or mine as leverage.

I pat my pocket and stride over to Willow. “Welcome home, malishka .“ I wrap my fingers around her neck and angle her face to look up at me.

And then I pull her in for a hungry kiss, forcing my tongue past her lips, and as I dominate her mouth, I swallow the soft moan she emits.

I have half a mind to take her right now on the counter, just to show Enzo that she belongs to me. The kitchen staff can excuse themselves if they don’t want to watch, although I’m certain Willow would welcome the audience.

But a knock at the door interrupts our moment. I pull away and stroke her throat, and when I look into her eyes, her pupils are blown wide with arousal. Her bosom swells with each ragged breath she takes.

“I’ll be right back,” I whisper.

I don’t even give Enzo the satisfaction of a glance as I stroll past him toward the foyer. His irritation is palpable in the thick air, and that alone eases the rage roiling inside me.

Mikhail and Josie are there when I open the door, and I quickly wave them in. I’m eager to return to Willow’s side.

“Mmm, it smells incredible.” Mikhail makes a show of sniffing the air.

Josie sets her purse on the entry table and glides into the kitchen. “Oh, Enzo, I didn’t realize you were coming.”

“Last-minute invitation,” he answers, staring at me.

“The more, the merrier.” Mikhail claps my shoulder. “What are we drinking?”

“I’ll get it.” Willow drops her whisk into the mixing bowl and abandons her task to find wineglasses. Josie follows her to assist.

Mikhail plops onto the barstool on Enzo’s other side. “So, any plans for the Christmas holiday?”

Enzo shrugs. “Just the usual. A quiet night in on Christmas Eve.”

“Tell me, Messina,” I say, unable to bite back a wicked grin, “does the Prince of Liechtenstein spend the Holy Night in his wife’s bed or your mother’s?”

Mikhail’s elbow slips off the counter, and he lets out a grunt when it bumps the sharp edge.

Enzo’s eyes darken. “Let’s not bring our mothers into this, Aleksandr.”

Mikhail rubs his elbow. “Alek hates his mother.”

It’s a poor attempt to lighten the tension, and it falls flat. Even the kitchen staff have stopped talking amongst themselves, and they keep their heads bowed over their cooking.

Willow and Josie rejoin our group and pass out glasses of red wine to each of us. When she’s done, I wrap my arm around Willow’s waist and hold her close at my side.

“So, Josie, are you coming to the chalet for New Year’s?” Willow asks.

Josie glances at Mikhail. “I hadn’t heard anything about it.”

“Oh, well, in that case, consider this your official invitation. Apparently, the chalet has plenty of room.” Willow rests her head on my shoulder, and I reward her by squeezing her ass.

“It sounds delightful,” Josie says in her posh accent. “Count me in.”

I don’t miss the way Mikhail avoids Josie’s gaze. It’s clear he doesn’t want her to come.

But it does give me an idea.

I slip my fingers beneath the hem of Willow’s shirt to caress her hip. “Say, Enzo, you should come too.”

Everyone grows quiet. Willow lifts her head off my shoulder to stare at me, and even though she doesn’t say it aloud, she’s communicating What the fuck? with her eyes.

“That’s... a generous offer.” Even Enzo is disarmed. “I would be delighted to join you.”

He’s rather quick to accept my invitation into the viper den, but it confirms what I already suspect—he wants to worm his way into my and Willow’s life. I’m not sure why, but I plan to find out.

“Make sure to bring Birgitta,” I add. “I’ll put you two in my old bedroom. It has a romantic view of the sunset over the Alps. She’ll love it.”

It’s so small I almost miss it, but his eye twitches. “I’ll see if she’s available.”

I turn to Willow. “Why don’t you text her right now, malishka? We wouldn’t want her to make other plans before she receives our invitation.”

Willow quirks her eyebrow at me, but she goes along with it. “Sure. Uh, I’ll go grab my phone.”

Having Enzo here in my apartment for dinner is already proving educational. Imagine what I can learn over multiple days trapped in a ski chalet with him where I have the homefield advantage. The web of secrets he’s spun will inevitably unravel, and I’ll be there when it does.

Besides, I’ll have a special surprise waiting for him, and I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he realizes I’ve won.

Mikhail’s snores in the passenger seat grate on my nerves, and it’s difficult to focus on the road.

I turn up the volume on the car stereo in an attempt to drown him out, but even Tchaikovsky can’t compete with Mikhail Aslanov, so I tighten my grip on the steering wheel of his Escalade and bear it.

I don’t trust Mick behind the wheel, especially with Willow in the back seat, so I insisted on driving to St. Moritz, which marks the start of our winter holiday.

After the unwelcome guest at Thanksgiving, I started walking Willow to and from class, and for once, my defiant little malishka didn’t put up any resistance. I haven’t seen Messina lurking in the school hallways or our usual haunts, but Willow and I kept a low profile until after final exams.

The Order of Apollo has been unusually inactive as well, and while I’m relieved by the absence of ritual invitations and late-night kidnappings, their silence keeps me on edge.

I have no idea what’s waiting for me next, and I’m tired of glancing over my shoulder at every flicker of movement or sudden noise. It’s exhausting.

I need to get out of Zurich, and now that exams are over, Willow and I can hide away in the St. Moritz chalet for a few weeks of respite—with Mikhail as the third wheel.

Josie will join us for New Year’s, and my mother is keeping Ana in Paris for Christmas.

So, for now, it’s just the three of us, which gives me time to prepare for the arrival of Enzo and our other guests.

I even extended an invitation to Henri Rooman at Willow’s request. She seems to believe Prisha and Henri would make a cute couple, but I disagree.

If Prisha wants to pop her cherry, Henri doesn’t stand a chance against her fictional men. I doubt the guy even knows what a clitoris is, much less how to find it, and it’s setting her up for disappointment.

I glance in the rearview mirror at Willow, who has also nodded off with her forehead pressed against the window. Her breath fogs the glass with every soft exhale.

I love watching her sleep. She loses her sensual allure when she’s unconscious, transforming into something innocent and pure. It makes me want to defile it.