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Ilya remembered the first time he met Valentina Romano like it had happened yesterday, even though it was fairly a year ago. The memory replayed in his mind, sharp and unyielding.

It wasn’t long after he’d taken on Adrian’s request to keep an eye on Rhiannon during Ivonov’s latest moves. Rhiannon had wanted a breath of fresh air, and she wouldn’t stop talking his ears off about a certain Valentina who was supposedly her best friend.

So, with Adrian’s permission, he accompanied her to see the Italian princess. But nothing in this world could have prepared him for the sight waiting for him at the Romano compound.

Valentina stood there, poised yet unassuming, the kind of presence that demanded attention without effort. There was something about her—something magnetic, something hauntingly unforgettable—that struck him in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

He remembered the way her dark brown hair tumbled down her shoulders in gentle waves that reminded him of a waterfall. A light breeze had sifted through her hair, flicking chestnut strands across her face.

Her light brown eyes, at first glance, possessed an innocence he sought to ruin—soft and warm, like sunlight filtering through autumn leaves. But the longer he looked, the more he noticed the sharpness beneath, a lethal edge that hinted at danger and a madness far beyond the surface.

A type of danger he craved every day of his life.

She was shaped like an hourglass, with dips and curves framing her perfect body. For a split second that morning, he was certain their eyes had met. But that was all in his imagination.

Because the moment her vigilant eyes scrutinized the unfamiliar vehicle approaching her, an indescribable warmth filled those brown irises once they landed on her best friend.

Ilya remembered her leap once he opened the door for Rhiannon to get down. He remembered how stiffly he stood, watching them squeal and run to each other like kids who hadn’t seen each other for years.

Valentina barely looked at him. She barely even noticed his unfamiliar presence hovering around Rhiannon. She had been too concerned about her best friend to notice the hunk of a man staring at her in fascination.

And when Rhiannon had introduced him to her as Adrian’s cousin and her temporary bodyguard, he had expected some sort of reaction from her. His build wasn’t the only thing about him that was intimidating—his cold demeanor and piercing gaze had unsettled many before.

But she seemed unimpressed. For the first time, he found himself struggling to read a woman. Her lips, plump and pink, turned down slightly at the corners, betraying neither interest nor disdain.

Her eyes lingered on him for a moment, assessing him like he was a mere object of curiosity, a piece of scrap to be cataloged and dismissed. Then, just as quickly, her gaze shifted away, leaving him unsettled in a way he didn’t care to admit.

Usually, Ilya had the patience of a lit fuse—short, volatile, and ready to explode at the slightest provocation. He had zero tolerance for bullshit, zero tolerance for disrespect.

But with Valentina, he found himself oddly drawn by how quickly she discarded him. He didn’t make a reaction. Not even a single hair on his body moved in response to her blatant disrespect for a stranger who was protecting her best friend.

He just stared at her, thinking a million and one things. And they all revolved around the spitfire brunette.

Since that day, Valentina Romano occupied a spot in his chaotic mind, living rent free.

They bumped into each other many times after that, during events, dinners, and get-togethers of every kind. Being the daughter of the capo of the Italian mafia, which maintained a peaceful alliance with the Bratva, it was inevitable that their paths would cross.

And with the bond she shared with Rhiannon, Valentina was easily considered family—whether Ilya liked it or not. And he did. A little too much, in fact.

She dug her spot even deeper in his mind when she formed an easy friendship with his siblings. She barely had to work for it. As mysterious as she seemed, she had this air of ease around her, one that made him wonder if she had ever worried about anything.

After their first few salty interactions, it was clear that he was the only Nikolai sibling she wasn’t a fan of. She would always act like she was looking down on him, and it didn’t matter that he was a good twelve years older than she was.

But instead of feeling disrespected or offended by her behavior, a sick, twisted part of him enjoyed it. It was far from a turn-off like most people would think.

Every sneer and every vile word she directed at him only deepened his fascination with her. At first, it started out as an attempt to pull her legs, ruffle her feathers a bit, and see what she would do.

But now, it was an obsession. She was his obsession. Now, he looked forward to gatherings together, just so he could push her buttons. And, of course, she never disappointed. She seemed to always be ready for him to give back twice what he dished out to her.

She was like his favorite little toy. A toy he was bound to taint with his own darkness sooner or later.

Ilya had spotted her the moment she walked in with his sister tonight. He didn’t approach her immediately, allowing her time with his siblings and Rhi while giving him the chance to linger in the shadows, watching. Admiring . Claiming her silently as his most prized possession—a possession she didn’t yet know she was.

The sight of her in that red dress, clinging to her like a second skin, knocked the air from his lungs and ceased the blood flow to his brain. She was stunning, yes, but it wasn’t just superficial beauty that held him captive.

It was the fire she carried, the way she walked into the room as if she owned it, unaware of how completely she owned him. A storm grew in his dark blue eyes, tracing every curve, every detail, as his chest tightened with a possessiveness so dark it bordered on dangerous.

She wasn’t just a woman to him in that moment. She was much more. A siren pulling him deeper into waters he had no desire to escape. His every thought was consumed by her—how she’d look with that dress and all other defenses of her stripped away, how she’d sound gasping his name, how she’d be his, entirely and without question.

He thought of what she’d look like surrendering to him, those dainty unmarred knees of hers scraping against his bathroom tiles, begging for his cock, his hand around her throat. He imagined the salty taste of her sweat as he dragged his hot tongue over her slick, trembling skin, how he’d completely destroy that false innocence in her eyes, how he’d pound into her over and over again until he was the only thing her body could respond to.

The obsession grew hotter with every second as he watched her laugh with his siblings, a relentless ache in his chest that demanded satisfaction. Her perfect white teeth were on display, oblivious to the other men who leered at her.

He so badly wanted to squeeze the air out of their throats, to watch the light leave their eyes with a sardonic smirk on his face—a reminder to anyone who tried to prey on what was his.

But he couldn’t cause a scene in an event as peaceful as this.

So, he left the darkness, adjusting the growing tent in his pants, and made a beeline toward her as soon as Rhi left.

He watched the light in her eyes darken as soon as they landed on him. She assumed her signature pose—chin lifted, muscles taut, and her lips curving into a subtle, delicate frown. Lips he couldn’t stop imagining wrapped around his cock, feeding the unyielding hunger that twisted inside him.

She’d be the type to swallow , he thought, smirking as he got closer to her. And he’d give her as much of him as she asked.

“You don’t look too happy to see me, moya printsessa ,” he noted, an arrogant smile on his lips. His Russian accent thickly coated his words, a feature of his that Valentina refused to admit she liked. “Care to share what bothers you?”

“You,” she spat. “You’re the only thing that bothers me here. And how many times do I have to tell you not to call me that? I’m not your princess.”

“Says who?”

“Says me, Ilya Nikolai,” she sneered. “I’m not anyone’s princess.”

Ilya loved it when she called his name. He loved the way Ilya rolled off her American tongue. Foreign and exquisite.

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. “Would you rather I call you my queen, then?”

For the briefest second, she was speechless, frozen to the floor, clearly not expecting that. But she quickly regained her composure and walked past him.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late,” he murmured, gravitating toward her like a magnet. The subtle tension in the air was his favorite part of their games. He could feel her resolve cracking just a little, even though she’d rather kill than ever admit it.

“Can you not follow me around like a dog?” she snapped without turning to look at him. “I’m trying to get something to eat, but the longer you stay next to me, the more I lose my appetite.”

“I’d believe that,” he said, coming to stand in front of her, “but your stomach already betrayed you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What?” Just in time, a loud growl erupted from her stomach, and she quickly placed a hand over it, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Ilya couldn’t help but let out a low chuckle, the sound laced with satisfaction. “Looks like you’ve got an issue to take care of.”

Her eyes shot daggers at him as she quickly recovered, straightening up. “Shut up, Ilya. It’s not like you’ve never been hungry.”

“Oh, I’ve been hungry,” he said, leaning closer, his voice a wicked whisper that caressed her ears, “but I’m not the one acting like a stubborn child.”

Valentina’s embarrassment deepened, but there was a resolve in her eyes that told him she wasn’t about to let him have the upper hand.

“At least I don’t try to feed my ego with every word that comes out of my mouth.”

Ilya’s grin only widened, “And yet, here you are, feeding it anyway.”

She scoffed, her eyes flicking away, a mix of frustration and something else he couldn’t quite place. “Just to think I was already having a nice night. You really get a sick enjoyment out of making me uncomfortable, don’t you?”

Oh, you have no idea, Princess .

He leaned back, his eyes never straying from her. “Maybe. But you’re the one who keeps making it so easy.”

She stormed past him, her shoulder knocking against his as she headed toward the table of food. He watched her grab a silver dish, a soft sway to her hips as she moved from one section to another.

Her ass looked too good in that dress, two perfect round globes that he needed to squeeze. But as much as he desired her, he could never touch her without her candid permission.

He might have been raised as a ruthless caveman, but he was no animal. He understood consent.

“You’re so full of yourself; it’s a miracle you stand upright,” she said once she had filled up her plate.

“And you’re so arrogant, it’s almost endearing.”

She scoffed, her lips pressing together into that tight little frown. “I know what this is.”

“Humor me.”

“I think it seriously bothers you that I don’t throw myself at you like every other single woman in this room wants to,” she accused, taking a step closer to him. “You find it hard to believe that I don’t want to suck your dick. So, naturally, you try to make my life a living hell, and yet again, you don’t even succeed at that. It’s a dick move if you ask me, but what else can I expect from a man like you?”

He was amused, alright. “A man like me?”

She leaned in, her voice lowering. “An arrogant asshole who thinks the rest of the world has to suck up to him because he’s big and strong. But guess what? You don’t fool me, Ilya. You’re just like every other man out there. You only think with your dick, and it’s sickening.”

Something in Ilya’s chest tightened at the proximity between them. He could smell her flowery perfume and her familiar coconut shampoo.

He chuckled lightly, surprising her. “And you claim I’m the one who’s full of myself.”

Her brows pinched. “Excuse me?”

“How high do you carry yourself to think that the only thing I want to do is fuck you? I’m nothing like the men you compare me to, Valentina. I’m much more, and you know that. In fact, we both know you’d beg me to fuck you.”

She stiffened at the sound of her name from his mouth.

“I was right,” he added with a smirk. “Your arrogance truly is endearing.”

Irritation rolled off her in waves. “You really think you can get under my skin, don’t you?”

“Clearly, I’m doing something right,” he responded, leaning in just a fraction, savoring the way her breathing hitched.

He relished the way her composure cracked, just enough for him to see the spark of frustration in her eyes. She was trying to maintain control, but he could see it—he was getting to her.

“Arrogance suits you,” she muttered, turning her back on him in an exaggerated show of disinterest, though he knew better.

“I’m sure you’ll learn to love it,” he teased, his voice carrying a smugness he fully knew she hated.

Valentina paused, as if deciding whether to throw a sharp retort or just walk away. But there was something about the tension between them, something that kept them wanting more.

Maybe it was the way they both knew exactly how to unravel each other, or maybe it was the fact that beneath the insults and the constant clashes, there was an undeniable pull between them—something neither of them could resist.

Her lips curled into that disdainful little frown he secretly loved. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re so predictable, it’s cute.”

She bit her bottom lip hard to keep from snapping, but he could see the fight in her, the way she hated being so close to giving in.

Finally, she smiled sweetly. “You know what? I won’t let you succeed. I won’t let you ruin my night. Come close to me again, and I might just leave a bullet in your head.”

Then she walked away briskly, like there were hot coals under her feet. As much as he enjoyed pushing her buttons, just as much as she enjoyed pushing his, neither of them truly walked away unscathed.

In a strange, twisted way, it was the only thing that made sense between them.