I find her in the library curled up on the sofa with a book, but she’s not reading. She’s staring into the fire, her expression tight. She looks up when I enter, her hazel eyes cooling instantly. She’s still angry about this morning. Good. So am I.
"Igor," she says, her voice clipped. "I didn't expect you back so soon."
"We need to talk." I cross the room, looming over her. I don't sit. I don't want to be on her level right now. "About Daniel."
She sighs, closing her book. "I already told you, he’s just a friend. You were rude to him, and you were controlling with me."
"He’s not a friend, Aria. He’s a soldier."
She blinks, confusion wrinkling her forehead. "What?"
"His real name is Danyeal Nicholai. He works for the Lepin family. Our enemies." I watch her face closely, looking for the lie, for the flicker of recognition. "He’s been pumping you for information."
"That’s impossible," she says, shaking her head. She stands up, facing me. "Danny is a sweet man. He works in IT. We met after work at a coffee shop near my agency. About seven months ago."
"Seven months," I repeat. "Right when Galina got sick. Right when we hired you."
"It’s just a coincidence," she insists, her voice rising. "He helped me when I dropped my latte. He’s kind. He listens to me. He is not some... mafia soldier."
"He is using you."
"You’re paranoid!" She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone. "I’ll call him. I’ll put him on speaker right now, and we can straighten this all out. He’ll explain everything."
I snatch the phone from her hand before she can unlock it.
"Hey!" she shouts, reaching for it.
"You will not call him," I snarl, tossing the phone onto the armchair out of her reach. "I forbid you to ever contact that man again. If he comes near the gate, my guards will put a bullet in his head."
"You forbid me?" Her face flushes red. " You can't just order me around and ban me from speaking to people. I am not a child, Igor."
"And yet," I say, stepping into her space, backing her up until her legs hit the sofa. "I still know what's best for you."
Aria stares at me, her chest heaving with indignation. She looks like she wants to slap me, scream, or cry. Instead, she turns on her heel.
"I’m done listening to this," she snaps, starting to storm toward the door.
I move faster. I grab her arm, spinning her back around. Her body collides with mine, soft curves against hard muscle.
"We already discussed your storming off," I say, my voice a low rumble. "And you said you would never do it."
She struggles against my grip for a second, then goes still, her eyes blazing up at me. "I agree," she hisses. "And that was a smart clause. But I guess we forgot to discuss what I should do when you are being a possessive idiot."
"Not sure," I snarl, tightening my grip on her arm, pulling her flush against me. "But I guess you’ll have to learn."
I don't give her a chance to retort. I slam my mouth down on hers.
It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s a takeover. I kiss her with all the frustration and jealousy burning in my gut. I kiss her to taste the truth on her tongue, to prove that she belongs to me and not some low-level Bratva spy. She fights for a second, her hands pushing against my chest, but then she caves. She melts. Her mouth opens, and she kisses me back with a fire that matches my own.
I groan, lifting her up. She wraps her legs around my waist instinctively. I carry her not to the bedroom, but to the nearest heavy oak table in the hallway. I sweep a vase off of it—it shatters, I don’t care—and slam her down onto the wood.
"Mine," I grind out against her lips. "He doesn't get to look at you. He doesn't get to speak to you."
I spin her around, forcing her onto her hands and knees. Her jeans are tight, hindering me. I rip at the fabric, popping the button, shoving them and her panties down to her thighs. She’s already wet. My body reacts violently to the sight of her spread for me, vulnerable and waiting.
I free myself, hard as iron, and I don't wait. I grip her hips, my fingers digging into her soft flesh, and I thrust into her from behind.
It’s raw. It’s rough. There is no slow buildup, no gentle romance. This is primal. I drive into her, my hips slapping against her ass with a rhythmic, wet sound that echoes in the hall. She cries out, burying her face in her arms, but she pushes back against me, meeting my fury with her own need.
