I drain the glass and leave it empty, watching the way the crystal catches the light.
This part is always easy. Violence has never haunted me. I know exactly who I am. What I don’t know, and what I don’t like, is why my thoughts keep drifting back to the woman asleep in my bed.
Matilda.
Her name already feels like it’s under my skin.
I see her the way she stood in my bedroom, wrapped in nothing but that infernal nightdress. Some old-fashioned thing, soft fabric gathered so heavily over her body that it creates its own texture, pleating and folding over itself. A square neckline, low enough to be tempting to a man like me, with inch-wide straps and a frill of gauze at the top that's torn on one side.
It's not quite transparent, but it might as well be. The fabric is so thin I can see the shadow of her body beneath it, the suggestion of curves that the bunched material both hides and emphasizes. She has no idea what she looks like in it. The way it clings where it shouldn't, reveals without revealing. The peaks of her nipples beneath the gathers is what nearly broke me.
I tighten my jaw and place the glass next to the bottle.
I don't act on impulse. I don't make moves I haven't thought through three steps ahead, especially not with someone who just betrayed her own family. But the moment I saw that dark smear of blood on her lip, every carefully constructed rule I've built around myself dissolved into a single, primal need: taste her.
It was a mistake, plain and simple, but my body doesn’t seem to understand that. I can still feel the heat of her mouth, the way she went still instead of pulling away.
I lean back in my chair and rub a hand over my face.
Outside, the estate shifts as morning approaches. The quiet changes pitch. At six, the first cars arrive. Footsteps echo softly in the halls. Life resumes, orderly and efficient, like it always does.
I built my world deliberately, with no room for softness, no room for attachments that could be used against me. And yet here she is, growing in the cracks inside me where nothing should be able to survive.
"Morning, Boss," my first in command, Stefan says as he arrives at my door.
"I thought you were taking the day off, after earlier events?" There’s nothing urgent that needs doing, and we have no jobs today.
"I got a few hours’ sleep. I’m feeling okay. Wondering how things went with the daughter—" he shrugs, "thought I’d come in."
"Things went fine with Matilda, she is sleeping." I don’t add that she is in my bed…even though I feel it with every tensed fibre of my muscles. "Why?"
"Dangerous to have women like that around. Those who betray their own family will betray anyone."
I clench my jaw. "She helped her Pakhan find a wanted man. She may have betrayed her family, but she didn’t betray me."
Whether it’s the way I say it, or the look on my face, Stefan gets the message and puts his hands up in mock surrender.
"I didn’t realize there was more to this, boss."
"Find her something to wear, now. She can’t walk around in a torn night gown. She’ll be eaten alive."
Stefan slumps off with a grimace just as Mila arrives at my door.
The bruise is still there, high on her left cheek, dark purple and blue. Fury threatens to breach once again, but I hold it back. She doesn’t deserve to see my rage.
"There’s whispers on the grapevine that you went out in the early hours of this morning," she says, propping her hip against my desk.
I don’t respond. I don’t like involving my baby sister in Bratva business as it is, and I don’t want her to feel any guilt when she finds out that I killed the bastard who put that mark on her face.
"It’s nothing for you to worry about," I finally say.
"He texted me, at a quarter to three this morning… begging me to call you off." She raises her right eyebrow, challenging me to keep silent if I dare. I do.
"For god’s sake, Gennady, are you going to kill every boyfriend who gets handsy with me?"
"Absolutely," I confirm. "Every single one of them, so I would prefer it if you would stop choosing the worst kind of boyfriend, Mila."
I know my tone has turned impatient, but she is the only woman in the world who can frustrate me like this. How hard is it to stay away from men? Especially the ones who are walking red flags?
