“I said I’m fine, Dad.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am,” I snap, my voice sharper this time. Before I can get another word in, his fist shoots toward my cheek in a blur. Luckily, I have just enough wits about me to swat it away before it connects. “See? I’m fine.” I smile triumphantly.
He hums under his breath, clearly unconvinced. “No, you’re not. And that’s why I’m calling it.”
“What? No! I haven’t even broken a sweat yet, Dad.”
“Don’t care. You’re too distracted today. Bound to get hurt.”
“I’m not going to get hurt, Dad. Promise. Now come at me.” I plant one foot forward, arms raised and ready.
“I said we’re done for today. Go back inside and get ready for class. Hopefully, you’ll be more attentive there.”
I watch him, jaw agape, as he grabs his towel, drapes it around his neck, and heads toward the door.
“I’m not distracted! Come back!” I yell after him, but he doesn’t even glance over his shoulder, heading back to the house instead of listening to my excuses.
Goddamn it. There goes today’s training session.
“I’m not distracted. I’m not,” I tell myself, voice low and brittle as I pick up a handful of daggers from a nearby table. I step toward the corner of the room, making sure I stand a few feet from the paper silhouette pinned to a post, and release the first two, watching them settle just shy of the target. Frustration swells in my chest at the sight.
I never miss. Never.
I shake it off and close my eyes to center myself and take three deep breaths. When I open my eyes again, instead of the shadow target, I findhimin the dark shape, feeling the heat his black gaze invokes, and imagine the crooked dip of his smile when he smirks. I throw the last dagger in my hand, groaning when it finds its mark this time, the blade striking square where his family jewels would hang.
Damn it. Dad was right. Maybe I am a little distracted. But can you blame me?
That little visit I paid Kirill a few days ago didn’t exactly go to plan. I went to that godforsaken club to confront him for lying to us about Frankie’s bracelet. And instead of getting the answers I wanted, I left with a story that was both tragic and unsettling, revealing a vulnerability in a man who wasn’t supposed to have any.
In a roundabout way, Kirill hinted that the bracelet might’ve been pawned off to feed some woman’s drug habit. But the way he talked about that woman’s mother… It left me with more questions than answers.
There was tenderness in his voice. A man like Kirill Petrov shouldn’t evenrecognizethe word, let alone embody it. Not unless he’s talking about one of his own. That much I know. There has to be more to the story. I fucking feel it in my gut. Or maybe… maybe I’m just making excuses to see him again.
I have to admit, being around Kirill gives me a certain adrenaline rush. Even if I hate everything about him and what he represents, there’s no denying there’s an attraction there. A pull.
It’s my own damn fault, really. If I went looking for trouble, then I found it. The man is pure temptation—magnetic, dangerous, and impossible to resist. Forbidden. I know he shouldn’t appeal to me, but I’ve never been good at walking away from things I’m told I can’t have.
Trouble has always been my drug of choice. I chase it, flirt with it, let it hold me just long enough to feel alive again. Maybe it’s the rebellious streak in me, or perhaps it’s just survival, since the rush keeps me from drowning in the quiet, obedient life I was raised for. It’s the only coping mechanism I’ve found that works for me.
However, once I manage to persuade my father to induct me into the Outfit, my days of playing with matches just to feel the burn on my skin will cease to exist. I would never risk my place in the family business for a cheap thrill. Those rebellious days will officially have to stay behind me. I can’t afford to throw away my standing in the Outfit, no matter how tempting or fun the risk might be.
Perhaps it’s because that day feels so far away that the reckless part of me keeps daring to go back to Kirill, even when good sense tells me I should stay clear. But then again, if I don’t see him, how will I ever get the answers I need from him?
I can’t shake the feeling that Frankie’s bracelet holds more significance than Kirill let on. I just don’t know how.
Curiosity killed the cat.
That’s what I told him, yet here I am, seriously considering ditching school just to pay theBratvaunderboss another visit. Damn it all to hell. One more visit won’t hurt. Just one more… then I’m done. Promise. And even if I don’t get my answers, at least I’ll get to play with my food a little longer.
With that thought in mind, I grab my gym bag and head inside, rushing through a shower so I can make it to breakfast.
“Morning,” I call to Lourdes, our housekeeper, as I walk into the kitchen, freshly showered and dressed.
“Good morning, Stella,” she says with a smile. “Have a seat and I’ll fix you a plate.”
I give her a grateful smile and take my usual seat next to Marcello’s empty chair, just as Enzo and Lucky stroll into the kitchen.
