“Both.” He leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear. “I’m going to strip you naked and map every inch of your body with my tongue. I’m going to make you come so hard you forget your own name. I’m going to fuck you until you’re screaming mine.”
She shivered, and he could see her nipples hardening beneath her dress. “Viktor...”
“But first,” he pulled back, enjoying the dazed look on her face, “I’m going to take you to dinner. Somewhere with good wine and terrible lighting so I can spend the entire meal thinking about all the wicked things I want to do to you.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow night.” He was already mentally rearranging his schedule, pushing back meetings and adjusting his obligations. Nothing mattered more than this woman, this moment. “Eight o’clock. I’ll pick you up.”
She gave him her address, writing it on a napkin in careful script, and he tucked it into his wallet as if it were made of gold. When they finally left the café, he walked her to her car, a beat-up Honda that had seen better days. It was such a stark contrast to the luxury he was used to, but somehow it fit her perfectly.
“Thank you for the coffee,” she said, keys jingling in her hand. “And for not being a complete asshole about the whole assault thing.”
“Thank you for the assault. Best thing that’s happened to me in years.”
She stood on her toes and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “See you tomorrow, Viktor.”
He watched her drive away, his chest tight with an unfamiliar feeling. Contentment, maybe. Or happiness. Fuck, when was the last time he’d been genuinely happy? Not the twisted satisfaction he got from breaking his enemies or the temporary high of closing a profitable deal, but real, honest happiness.
The next evening, Viktor stood outside her apartment building at exactly eight o’clock, holding a bouquet of white roses and feeling like a fucking teenager on his first date. He’d spent an hour getting ready, changing clothes three times before settling on a black suit and tie. He wanted to look good for her, wanted to be worthy of the goddess who’d stumbled into his life.
Eight fifteen. Still no sign of her.
He called her phone. It went straight to voicemail. “Hey, it’s me. I’m downstairs. Take your time, beautiful.”
Eight thirty. He tried again. Still voicemail.
By nine o’clock, the first tendrils of worry were creeping in. Had something happened? Was she in trouble? He knew the risks of being involved with him, knew that his enemies wouldn’t hesitate to use her against him if they discovered her existence.
He called Kostya. “I need you to trace a phone number. Now.”
“Jesus, Viktor, it’s Friday night. Can’t whatever crisis you’re having wait until—”
“Now, Kostya.”
Kostya must have heard something in his voice because he didn’t argue. “Send me the number.”
An hour later, Kostya called back. “Phone’s been turned off since yesterday afternoon. Want me to send someone to check on her?”
“No.” Viktor needed to handle this himself. “Just get me everything you can on Anka...” He realized he didn’t even know her last name. “Fuck.”
“Anka what, brother?”
“I don’t know. Blonde hair, hazel eyes, drives a blue Honda Civic, lives at...” He rattled off her address.
“On it.”
Viktor spent the weekend going out of his mind with worry. By Monday morning, he had Ilya’s best men combing the city, checking hospitals, calling in favors with contacts in law enforcement. She’d vanished completely, like she’d never existed at all.
It took them two weeks to find the truth.
“You’re not going to like this,” Ilya said, sliding a thick file across Viktor’s desk.
Viktor opened it with hands that weren’t quite steady. Inside were photographs, surveillance reports, and background checks. And there, staring back at him from a family photo, was his Anka. Except her name wasn’t Anka. It was Anka Volkov. Sister to Matvei Volkov, one of their biggest rivals. Daughter of a crime family that had been at odds with the Nikolais for decades.
Every conversation they’d had came rushing back with new meaning. The way she’d deflected questions about her family. Her mysterious job that kept her so busy. The fact thatshe’d paid for her own coffee despite wearing designer clothes she’d claimed to have gotten on sale.
She’d played him. Every smile, every touch, every breathless moan had been a fucking lie. She’d gotten close to him to gather information, to find weaknesses in their organization. And like an idiot, he’d fallen for it completely.
