Page 6

Ilya tried not to smile as Valentina’s glare at him deepened before walking right past him and heading for the door like she knew her way around the place already. He selfishly stared at her figure in front of him.

Her hair was all mussed up from the attack, a section of her lace dress torn at the back of her thigh. Besides that, she remained perfect, her ass still managing to tease him as it moved in that dress. All of a sudden, he hated that dress—hated how it concealed her body from him.

She stood impatiently as he went through the security of his bachelor pad. A small smirk appeared on Ilya’s lips as he walked up to the door, his movements smooth as he placed his thumb on the screen for biometric access. A quiet beep followed, and then he quickly punched in a passcode.

The door clicked open with a soft, mechanical hum.

“Funny how a second ago, you didn’t want to come in,” he taunted, glancing at her with amusement. “Now you’re in such a hurry.”

Valentina didn’t even acknowledge him, her impatience clear as she brushed past him into the apartment, ignoring his jibe completely.

As Ilya stepped inside, the lights flickered to life automatically, casting a warm glow across the sleek, modern space. A robotic voice chimed, smooth and detached:

“ Welcome home, Master Ilya Nikolai. Enjoy your stay. ”

Valentina scoffed, rolling her eyes, trying not to look impressed with what he’d done with the place. “Master, my ass.”

As much as he wanted to bite back with a smart response, there were more important things to do first. He locked the door behind them before fishing his phone out of his pocket.

His eyes met the shattered screen of his phone, jagged cracks spiderwebbing across the display like a fractured mirror. It reminded him of the run-in earlier that day with similar men that attacked them tonight.

His jaw was tight, expression grim as he scrolled through his contacts and dialed his cousin’s number.

The call connected after a single ring.

“Ilya,” Mikhail’s deep, authoritative voice came through. “What’s happened?”

“We’ve got a problem,” Ilya said, dragging his fingers over his eyebrows. He glanced at Valentina, who was still fuming but silent, her arms crossed silently as she looked anywhere else but at him. “Did you check the restaurant footage?”

“Someone got to it before we did,” he said. “It’s been tampered with.”

Ilya wasn’t surprised. “I ran into a few men while handling that errand near Bristol. Figured they were just a bunch of desperate idiots, but something about them didn’t sit right. They weren’t friends. Now, a group of them just ambushed Valentina at her condo.”

Mikhail paused for a beat, and Ilya could hear him inhaling sharply through his nose. “They attacked her directly?”

“Yeah,” Ilya confirmed, his voice low but controlled, as the memory of one of them choking her returned. Fury began to grow in his chest again. “Armed and coordinated. They weren’t after me—they wanted her. Too much of a coincidence. Feels connected to the run-in earlier.”

The Pakhan’s tone turned colder, more calculating. “You think it’s a faction trying to make a move? Or retaliation?”

“I don’t know yet. That’s why I’m calling.” His gaze darted to Valentina, who was now subtly stealing glances at the interior of the apartment. “I need you to check with the Romanos—see if they’ve pissed off anyone recently. This isn’t a random attack. Something’s brewing.”

At the sound of her family, Valentina’s attention shifted from the plush loveseat to him with keen interest.

Mikhail’s voice was tense, dangerous now. “If it’s tied to them, we’ll know soon enough.”

“And Ivonov?”

“He’s still a scared little bitch,” Mikhail said. “For now, keep your head straight. Stay where you are. Keep her secure.”

“Already on it,” Ilya replied, the words clipped. “Let me know what you find out.”

“Da. And Ilya?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t get sloppy. If this escalates, it’s on your fucking head.”

Ilya’s lips twitched into a grim smile, a cold glint in his eyes. “When have I ever been sloppy?”

Mikhail didn’t bother responding, the line going dead with a sharp click.

“ Mudak ,” Ilya muttered under his breath, his jaw tight with irritation as his cousin hung up on him. He lowered the phone, his eyes locking with Valentina’s.

She raised an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation, her arms still crossed tightly. Ilya didn’t give her one, instead sliding his phone back into his pocket with a casual air before walking past her to the kitchen.

She followed him with her gaze as he grabbed a bottle of rum from the fridge, the glass clinking as he slid two tumblers onto the counter.

“You want a tour of the pad?” he asked nonchalantly, pouring the amber liquid into the glasses with careless ease, the sound of rum splashing into the tumblers punctuating his words.

“A tour?” she asked incredulously, her voice sharp with disbelief. “You think I care about what your stupid apartment looks like? What did Mikhail say?”

Ilya’s gaze met hers briefly he tossed back his own drink in one go. “Nothing you need to worry yourself about,” he said, sliding a glass over to her. “So, tour?”

Valentina shot him a pointed look, her lips curling into a small, frustrated frown. “I’m only here for a night,” she replied stiffly, her eyes never leaving him. “In case you forgot. I don’t need a stupid tour.”

Ilya gave a slow, knowing smirk as he poured himself another drink, enjoying the fire in her eyes. She didn’t know it yet, but he wasn’t letting her go anytime soon. It was cute to watch her hope, though.

“I lost my phone in the scuffle,” she said, ignoring the glass he’d slid toward her. The irritation in her voice was barely veiled. “Give me yours. If I can’t see my family tonight, then I can at least speak with my father.”

“You can,” he said with a nod as he lifted his glass to his lips. “On one condition.”

She gritted her teeth. “I didn’t know speaking with my father is now a wish to be granted.”

“Oh, it is,” he said, spreading his arms and gesturing to the space they were in. “You’re in my house, Valentina. I do what I want in my house.”

Her patience was ticking. “And what’s your condition?”

“Beg me,” he said simply.

Something inside him jumped for joy when he saw the twitch in her eyes. “What did you just say to me?”

His grin widened. “Beg me, Valentina,” he repeated, her name a hot tease on his tongue. “Show me just how much you want to speak with your Papa. Show me how desperate you are to—”

He didn’t finish. Without warning, Val grabbed her drink and threw it straight into his face, the liquid splattering across his shirt in an instant.

Ilya didn’t react with the anger she expected. Instead, he wiped his face with the back of his hand, his tongue darting out to clean the excess rum off his lips, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

“You’re something else, moya printsessa ,” he muttered, his smirk only growing.

Valentina turned on her heel, not wasting another second. She stormed toward the stairs, her footsteps sharp against the floor as she headed for any room in sight. Ilya, however, wasn’t done with her yet.

He followed, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the hall behind her. “You’re not getting that phone back,” he said quietly, just loud enough for her to hear, his voice low and amused.

She didn’t answer, just continued to storm up the stairs, slamming the first door open to reveal a room waiting for her. Ilya followed without hesitation, the door clicking shut behind them with a soft thud.

She spun around to face him, nostrils flaring. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I should be asking you that,” he said, watching her like she was some intriguing painting. “You just stormed into my room.”

Val’s gaze swept over the dark, soulless interior, her eyes narrowing at the imposing king-sized bed that sat in the center of the room, its stark presence impossible to ignore.

Without a word, she turned on her heel, heading toward the door.

But before she could get there, Ilya blocked her path, casually leaning against the doorframe with a signature smirk. His posture was effortless, yet there was something undeniably predatory about it.

“And where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, laced with amusement.

“Anywhere far from you,” Val shot back, her tone as sharp as ever.

Ilya straightened slightly, eyes glinting with mischief. “This is the only bedroom in the apartment,” he said, voice smooth like butter. “It was designed for one person. So, you either sleep here…or nowhere.”

Val scoffed, her eyes narrowed in slits as she looked at him. “You’ve got to be kidding me. There’s only one bed.”

“I’m not sure why a bachelor would want two beds in his room.”

“There’s only one bed,” she repeated. This time, it sounded like it was starting to sink in.

“Seems like it,” he said without missing a beat. “I suppose we’ll have to figure out how to manage.”

He liked the way her jaw tightened. He could tell she wasn’t about to let him win and he was so ready for it.

“No way in hell will that happen,” she said, crossing her arms and leveling him with a challenging look. “I’ll take the bed for the night. You’re welcome to sleep on the floor or in your living room. It is your apartment, after all. So, you have many other options to choose from.”

There was something about the arrogance of her tone that ticked him a little bit. It didn’t seem to matter that he saved her life tonight. If he hadn’t been there when he was, she’d have been nothing but a corpse by now.

The thought of it made his chest tighten. One would think she’d be appreciative, but here she was, demanding his own bed in his own apartment like she had a right to it.

“You said it yourself already, Princess,” he said, stepping closer to her. “It is my apartment. Which means I should be the one to get the bed.” He took another step closer, his voice lowering. “But, if you’re that desperate for it, I’m willing to share.”

“I’ve had a hell of a day already, so I’m not about to do this back and forth with you. The least you can do right now is to be a gentleman and leave the bed for me.”

Ilya scoffed. Like he hadn’t already saved her life. “Nothing about me is gentle, Valentina. You’ll do well to remember that. You want the bed, it’s all yours. As long as we’re both in it.”

Val stepped closer, her gaze never leaving his. Her eyes narrowed, a defiant smirk playing at the corners of her lips as she closed the distance between them. “I’ve met plenty of gentlemen who’d gladly kiss my feet, or, at the very least, give me a bed to sleep in. And they don’t act like this ,” she taunted, her voice dripping with venom.

Ilya’s jaw clenched, his amusement flickering to something darker. The way she spoke, the challenge in her words, and the guts she had to mention other men in front of him—it all ignited something possessive in him.

His eyes darkened, and he could feel the tension building between them, hot and thick, drawing them one to the other. His hand, almost instinctively, reached out, grabbing her arm and aggressively tugging her to his chest.

They were inches apart now, their breaths mingling in the small space between them, tension coiling in the air. Ilya could feel the heat radiating off her body. Her nipples were as hard as diamonds, peaking through her lace and grazing his chest.

Raw desire flooded his eyes, a dangerous, explosive thing. The urge to shut that fucking mouth of hers with his slammed against him, harder and harder as their breaths became one. He wondered what she’d taste like, the feeling of his mouth sucking on her hot tongue.

Those gentlemen she mentioned—they’d never be able to kiss her the way he would. They’d never be able to satisfy the way he would.

And as maddening as the urge to kiss her was, he forced it down his throat. Now was not the time.

“You think you can just waltz in here and act like you’re in charge?” His voice was low and dangerous now, each word laced with a simmering intensity. His grip on her arm tightened, and the hairs on her pretty skin stood in attention. “What exactly are you going to do to earn that bed, hmm?” His tone was deliberately nasty, the sexual innuendo unmistakable.

Valentina’s breath hitched, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she lifted her chin, glaring up at him. “I’d rather sleep on the floor than do you any favors, Ilya. You’re not worth the effort.” By now, they were both breathing hard, their chests heaving against each other.

But at the last minute, Valentina stepped back, a muscle in her jaw ticking. “And if you think you can intimidate me, you’re sorely mistaken.”

His eyes searched her face, staring past the fire in her eyes and deep into her soul. He wanted to challenge her claim, to ruffle her feathers yet again. But he could tell the incident from earlier shook her. It would explain why she was being more irritable than usual.

So, he gave up, a mocking chuckle escaping him as he stepped back. “Fine,” he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. “Enjoy the bed. Consider it a favor. But you might need to know that I don’t do those for free.”

He turned away from her, strolling toward the couch, before flopping down with a heavy thud, his arms crossed behind his head with the ultimate show of arrogance.

“I’ll take the couch. It’s not like I need the comfort.”

He watched her lips curl into a triumphant smirk as she walked toward the bed, kicking off her heels before taking her place without a word.

But Ilya wasn’t really as unaffected as he made it seem. His thoughts kept drifting to her—the way her lips curled into that smirk, the fire in her eyes every time she spoke back at him. It was the same fire she possessed when she tossed her drink in his face earlier, the same one when she pointed a gun at his head to get him to turn his car around.

His mind flashed back to the feeling of her nipples pressed to his chest and his fingers clenched against the cushions, his jaw tight as he resisted the urge to glance at her. There were clothing barriers between them, and yet, it felt that good to have her against him.

The heat of their argument made his cock twitch—the way she knew just how to push his buttons, how to keep him on edge. He fucking loved it.

He stared at the ceiling, the low hum of the apartment around him doing little to drown out the thoughts of her. He thought back to the ambush—hoping the sight of it hadn’t messed too much with her mentally. He was used to things like that. Killing men was almost as normal as breathing to him.

But he was sure it was a different story for her. He couldn’t deny the fact that she was skilled enough at defending herself. He saw the way she wielded her knife and the impressive accuracy of her throw.

Still, her experience with incidences like this was nothing compared to his. If she had ever experienced one at all. She grew up in love, with siblings that were ready to lay down their lives for her before she could lift a finger.

No matter how strong she looked, she was still pampered at home. A baby in his ruthless world.

Ilya turned his head slightly, glancing toward the bed. She was still there, her back turned to him, still fully clothed, covered with a blanket with her form curled in the middle of the bed.

Her posture was too stiff for him to believe she was asleep. Even with the distance between them, the tension was undeniable.

He couldn’t sleep—hoping she wouldn’t have a nightmare because of what had happened. But even if she did, he’d be right there, waiting and ready to tuck her back to sleep.