I hurled the glass against the wall, glass exploding everywhere. I had to bring her back. Until then, I had to become an invincible Bratva Don.
After becoming Don, I was fucking exhausted. I slept four hours a night, handling family business during the day, frantically planning on maps at night, searching for the weakest points to break into Europe.
Only one desk lamp lit the office. On the table lay the wallet I'd taken from Elena's apartment. I traced the "I.V." with my finger. This was the only warmth of hers I could feel.
At 3 AM, someone knocked.
"Come in," I said without looking up.
The butler entered. "Don, Miss Natasha Ivanova requests to see you."
I stopped what I was doing. Natasha? At this hour?
"Let her in," I said. "But search her first."
Minutes later, the office door opened again. Natasha Ivanova stood in the doorway like a ghost, wearing a brown coat, carrying a black purse.
The butler nodded behind her. "Searched. No weapons."
I waved the butler away.
When Natasha entered, a strong fragrance hit me. Not Elena's subtle lemon scent. This smell was artificially sweet and cloying.
"You look tired, Igor." Her voice was soft, strangely gentle.
I glanced at her. She looked haggard, deep shadows under her high cheekbones, but those brown eyes burned frighteningly bright.
"Your father's going to prison," I said, leaning back in my chair. "What are you doing here? This is the Bratva, not a police station."
Natasha let out a sharp laugh like breaking glass. "I didn't expect the FBI to move so fast. Just days, and my family's fallen so far!"
She walked to my desk, placing her bag on top. Then she braced her hands on the surface, leaning forward, revealing her pale chest.
"I'm here to beg you, Igor. Only you can help me now. Marry me as planned, and my family returns to its former position."
"I can't help you."
"You can." She straightened, and after some movement, the coat slipped off her shoulders, pooling at her feet.
Under the coat, she wore nothing. Her body was perfect—a ballerina's physique, long and tight. Any man would go crazy for it. But I only felt sick.
My body had no reaction. It was dead inside.
"She's gone, Igor. That woman abandoned you. You sit on this cold throne with an empty heart." Natasha circled the desk, walking toward me. Naked, she clicked across the floor in heels.
"But I'll never abandon you, Igor. I'm here. I'm the one who truly loves you." She reached out, her cold fingertips stroking my cheek, tracing my jawline.
I grabbed her wrist.
"Get out." My voice held no desire, only exhaustion.
Her smile froze.
"You really, for her..." Her expression began twisting, that carefully maintained pride crumbling piece by piece. "You'd rather masturbate than touch me? How am I inferior to her? That slum trash!"
"You're inferior in every way." I released her hand, standing. "Now get out before I kill you."
My words clearly stung her. Insane hatred blazed in her eyes.
