Page 6 of The Mafia Enforcer's Temptation

But I come up empty.

She’s fucking gone.

TWO

ava

Venom courses through me.It’s bitter, fiery.

I risked everything tonight, and for what? The Volkov crest’s gone. Goddammit, it belongs to me, not even my cousin Stanislav or his father had it. The crest was promised to me.

And yet Romanov took it.

He had to have. It was missing before Dad died. And finally, tonight, I had it in my hands.

I had it for mere minutes…

Now it’s gone. It must’ve dropped outside on the grounds.

I stop walking and put a hand on the laundry room door, closing my eyes for a moment as I force myself to breathe.

My wrists hurt from pulling off the loose ties, something I tested when I kissed him.

Then something crazy happens.

A wave of sensation hits, and it stuns me.

Fucking Christ.

No. I am not attracted to that man. I felt nothing when he was on top of me… touching me…

My pussy throbs, and I know I’m wet, my clit sensitive as it rubs against the Lycra, from the spot he touched. My lips tingle, and closing my eyes does nothing more than flood me with histaste and that amber and smoky scent, one that reminds me of spices and tobacco. It’s on my skin, my clothes, bewitching in its darkness. It’s a hypnotic and unconventional scent.

And he had an Irish accent.

Lyrical, seductive, and something I should utterly despise.

So why didn’t I? Why…?

Do it.

My words haunt, the meaning clear as glass and still throbbing inside me because when he touched?—

“Get it together, Ava,” I whisper, rubbing my wrist as I strip off the grass and dirt-stained dress followed by the Lycra.

I touch my neck, the spot where the knife punctured my skin sticky with blood.

The fucker cut me. And I shiver at the memory.

Right, I need to get my plan in order. I’m allowed to be here. Technically.

I had an unofficial invite, but I never responded.

I almost never respond to an invite to an event or dinner, or anything else, really.

Romanov never has parties, at least any I’m invited to attend, and any of the times I’m here, I’m always downstairs. But I remember this place, the layout from when Dad married Elena.

Back then I didn’t care about the dynamics between Elena, Dad, and Iosif. Mama was dead. Gone. And nothing I did would, or could, bring her back. All I knew was Iosif and Elena had a connection, and it was like family.