Page 16 of SINS & Riley (Dante & Riley #2)

RILEY

Journal Entry | Riley

That exquisite meal from last night got upchucked around three am.

And now, I can’t get back to sleep.

Zver is a mindfuck, wrapped in Armani, deep fried in tattoos. And ALWAYS wearing that stupid mask.

And I’m still not sure which is bigger—Zver’s psychopathic tendencies…

Or, his dick.

* * *

B y late morning, my appetite claws its way back.

I follow the scent of heavenly food into the kitchen—a big, beautiful space that looks like Zver locked Gordon Ramsay and a cathedral architect in the same room and let them fight it out.

Two massive white marble islands sprawl like Dancing with the Stars stages. High-arched windows slice the walls, latticed in wrought iron. Above it all hangs a chandelier—crystal and blown glass tangled together like frozen fire.

Gourmet meets goth.

And at the center of it, Babushka, stirring a steaming pot on the stove.

The scent hits first. Butter. Garlic. I breathe it all in. “Smells good. What is it?”

“ Lapshevnik . Just noodles with butter and salt.” She twirls a fork around a fresh noodle and feeds me.

I’m not sure what’s with everyone in this house wanting to feed me, but I don’t argue. It’s too good.

I slurp the noodles while Babushka’s gaze slides to the rose I’m twirling in my hand.

“Your boyfriend likes giving you flowers.”

I shrug. “I guess.”

There’s no point explaining to this sweet little grandma that I’m Zver’s captive and that I hate him more than white jeans on period days.

But for the record? He’s not my boyfriend.

Though honestly, I’ve got no clue what label you slap on a man who’s worked my vag harder than my vibrator.

But I’m pretty sure relationship material isn’t it.

Babushka’s smile stretches across rosy cheeks. “Back in my day, I had many suitors give me flowers.” Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “More action than the last hotdog bun at the stand. Everyone wanted to put mustard on it…sometimes two kinds.” She winks.

I choke on my noodle.

“But Dominic’s father…” Her eyes soften. “He did it for me. He swept me off my feet. And he… How do you say it? He melted my butter. Butter all over the place.”

We both dissolve into giggles.

Hers fades first. “This isn’t an easy life. He was a brigadier, you know?”

I shake my head. “A brigadier?”

She scrapes noodles into a casserole dish and slides it into the oven with a clatter. “Like a mafia capo.” She shakes her head and sips her tea. “If it weren’t for Zver?—”

“Babushka.” Dominic’s voice cuts sharp from the doorway. “No need to bore Riley with indulgent stories.”

“Please bore me,” I beg. I’m dying to know why Zver gets to play hero in her story. I can’t imagine him playing one in mine.

But it’s no use. Her warmth shuts down in an instant.

I move to the window, and glance across the grounds. The view spills wide with endless lawns, roses bleeding against the green, the forest clawing at the edges. Broody guards pacing along, here and there.

By now the yard should be alive with activity and shrieks and two little kids darting about like sparks.

But it’s empty.

“Lunch is almost ready,” Babushka says, checking the oven.

Dominic frowns at his phone, thumb pausing over a text. “I’ll get the kids in a minute.”

“I’ll go,” I cut in, too restless to sit still. “Where are they?”

Babushka waves a hand, unfazed. “Probably where they shouldn’t be.”

Just like me and Kennedy.

The air cools the second I step into the hall. The place is obnoxiously big and quiet, all echoing marble in a black-and-white checkerboard floor. It makes me wish I’d been kidnapped with rollerblades.

I glance through several rooms down the hall.

Empty.

I hike the stairs, two at a time, up to their rooms. Two bedrooms, side by side.

The first one is all princess pink and fairy sparkles. Castles painted against an evening sky, fairy lights dripping like stars from the ceiling. Katya’s room is the happiest place on earth, bottled into four walls.

Misha’s hideaway runs wild. Animal-print bedding underfoot, each wall a different theme: Arctic north, safari south, African wilderness east, Amazon jungle west.

And both rooms hold twin beds. Because as much as the kids bicker, they won’t be separated at night.

It’s me and Kennedy at their age, and it makes me miss her all the more.

Except we were probably fighting over a sleeping bag, not feather-down mattresses and million count sheets.

Katya and Misha have everything.

Everything except a trip to a bookshop.

Until today, apparently.

I glance into the playroom and stop cold.

Books.

Not a pile. Not a stack.

Wall to freaking wall.

Every children’s book imaginable is lined up on neat little shelves— from Dr. Seuss to Harry Potter.

A café on one side, a French bakery on the other. Tiny counters stacked with fake muffins, plush croissants, plastic teacups and menus. The place is perfect down to the powdered sugar dusting the toy donuts.

I blink. Hard.

Did Dominic redecorate?

Then I see the book the kids had.

Sally Squirrel Builds a Bookshop.

I pick it up, flip through the pages, trace the cover with my thumb. Then I lift my head.

The room stares back at me.

Like the watercolors bled right off the page and Sally Squirrel moved in and went to work.

It’s surreal.

And not just because it’s an uncanny replica of the book, but because none of this existed yesterday.

I flip through the book again, spotting pieces of every page scattered across the room when?—

“Ahhh!”

Screams tear down the hall.

My pulse detonates. It’s the shrill, jagged, too high-pitched to belong to anyone but children sound that has me in instant panic mode.

I’m already halfway down the hall when another shriek rips through the air. My gut knows exactly where it’s coming from.

I stop cold, staring at two double doors with more warnings than a dark romance trigger list.

It’s the East Wing. The corridor no one should be down.

A crash explodes from down the hall, splintering the silence.

That’s when I notice the massive doors are cracked open, and Nips is lying on the floor.

Another cry tears through the air—Katya and Misha shrieking, “No!”

That’s all it takes. Adrenaline spikes, and I’m already past the threshold, barreling toward them.

Consequences—and every last one of my hot shifters—be damned.

I’m a breath from tearing through the first open door when a hand clamps hard around my arm and yanks me back.

“Don’t interrupt.”

I whip around, ready to snap the bastard’s wrist clean off—until I see him.

Dominic.

Two guards flank him like shadows, silent as they track every twitch.

Well, every twitch except Katya and Misha.

I wrench free, chest burning.

He shushes me.

Jesus—am I the only one still sane? “Your kids are in there. Screaming.” I jab toward the door.

“They’re fine,” he says, calm enough to make me want to shake him.

“Really? Because it sounds like they’re about to be sacrificed in a Temple of Doom ceremony.” My heart hammers a war-beat while he stands there acting like I’m the hysterical one.

Another shriek rips the air, raw enough to peel my nerves.

I’m about to lose it. “Maybe children screaming bloody murder while everyone stands around isn’t an issue for you, but it’s damn well triggering for me.”

I lunge for the door to rip it off its hinges?—

Dominic slides ahead of me.

I’m two seconds from my own set of screams—mostly profanity—when he finally steps aside.

“Fine. See for yourself,” he whispers. “But if you tell Zver I let you watch…” His gaze cuts clean through me. “Your precious books become kindling.”

If looks could kill…

I edge forward, peering in.

What the actual?—

It’s an office.

It’s Zver’s office.

Dark wood. Heavy leather. Power radiating from every surface.

Not nearly the torture chamber I expected.

From the doorway, the scene unfolds?—

Misha bouncing on the desk, shrieking with glee.

Katya gripping a sword in both hands, white-knuckled, stance fierce—like a pint-sized warrior queen defending her throne.

And then there’s Zver.

A blade in his hand, and it takes me a full beat to process they’re not in danger. They’re laughing. Parrying. And knowing him, he’s one hundred percent letting them win.

All black on black, muscles coiled tight over an enormous frame.

The big bad wolf, 2.0.

After a quick chase around Misha Island, Katya lunges, her little sword leveled straight at Zver’s crotch.

My eyes fly wide.

“Defend yourself,” she commands, her voice fearless.

Slowly, Zver tilts the blade higher, pressing it to his chest.

Only then does a low growl roll out of him, deep and feral.

The man is the villain. Pure bad boy.

As if he could ever be anything else.

And yet he’s…tender with them.

Which shouldn’t be hot.

But holy hell—it is.

Fine. There, I said it.

Katya lunges. He counters with lazy precision, turning the attack into theater. A fight on the surface, a dance underneath.

“What’s he doing?” I breathe, half in awe.

Dominic doesn’t blink. “Even monsters have to play.”

He says it so flat I can’t stop the laugh that slips out. “What the hell?” Am I seeing this right? “She’s holding a real sword.”

His brow pulls tight. “Katya is six. Not six months. If I were teaching her to swim, should I fill the pool with air? Perhaps an imaginary pole would drive home the art of fly fishing.”

Point taken.

For a long while, we stand there and watch. Blades flashing. Children shrieking with laughter.

My heart squeezes.

“When did you turn their playroom into a bookshop?” My voice slips out hushed, almost reverent. “It’s…remarkable.”

His brow ticks, unreadable. “Where?”

“In the playroom.”

“Great.” He exhales in a sharp, irate breath. “I should’ve known Zver was up to something when he sent me out. So now they have a bookshop. What's next? A movie theater?”

“The kids have never been to a movie theater?”

He shakes his head, more to himself than to me. “If I’ve warned him once, I’ve warned him a million times…you can’t unspoil children.”

The words settle into the softest part of my chest.

Because that’s exactly what Zver’s doing.

Giving them pieces of the world they’ll never get.

Can a brutal beast actually feel?

In what can only be described as a reckless, no-fear, kids-have-a-death-wish move, Katya climbs a leather chair before launching, full force, straight at Zver.

I’m a heartbeat from screaming “Look out!” or “For the love of God, don’t impale her!” when he simply drops the sword.

Two powerful arms snap out, catching her mid-air like it’s nothing. He spins her in wild, dizzying circles, and her laughter explodes off the walls. Pure joy.

A second later, Misha’s shouting, “Me! Me next!”

And I swear, it’s like someone swapped out my psychopathic mass murderer for Father of the Year.

Something flutters hard in my chest as I try to take it all in.

Do not swoon, Riley.

Do.

Not.

Swoon.

Oh, who the hell am I kidding?

I’m staring at the man like he’s nine steamy, hot pancakes, stacked high and dripping butter and syrup.

Every part of Zver is way too much for me, and everything I want all at once.

“You’d better go,” Dominic says, shooing me off with both hands.

“Why?”

“Because if Zver catches you here, I’m pretty sure you’ll lose your last book of—wolf…copulation?”

I gape. “Wow. That is the single most unromantic way to describe shifter romance. It’s hot romance. Not 4H.”

His only response is a flick of his hand, motioning the guards closer.

I throw my hands up in surrender. “Fine, I’m going. Just keep your claws off my alpha males.”