"A mistake." The word tastes bitter on my tongue. I stand, moving around my desk with deliberate slowness. Eva doesn't retreat, but I see the tension in her shoulders, the way she presses her thumbnail into her index finger.
"Yes." She lifts her chin, meeting my gaze with those honest brown eyes. "I need this job, Mr. Sokolov. I can't afford complications. What happened yesterday was… it was unprofessional. For both of us."
I close the distance between us, crowding into her space, and watch her breath catch. She's afraid, but not of me. She's afraid of what I make her feel, of the attraction crackling between uslike electricity. I can see it in the way her pupils dilate, the slight parting of her lips, the flush creeping up her neck.
"Unprofessional," I repeat, my voice low. My gaze drops to her mouth, remembering how she tasted, how she kissed me back with desperate hunger. "Is that what you call it?"
"What would you call it?" Her voice quavers slightly, betraying the composure she's fighting to maintain.
I want to tell her the truth. That it was the best sex of my life. That I've been hard for her since the moment she walked into my office three weeks ago. That I want to strip away her professional armor right now and take her again, slower this time, until she stops pretending she doesn't want this as much as I do.
But before I can answer, my office door opens without knocking.
Lev.
He takes one look at us, at the tension radiating between our bodies, and his expression hardens into something cold and dangerous. Eva uses the interruption to escape, slipping past Lev with a murmured excuse about files that need organizing.
I watch her go, my jaw tight with frustration and need.
"Close the door," I tell Lev, my voice harder than I intend.
He does, then settles into the chair across from my desk with the casual confidence of someone who's earned the right to speak his mind. "You fucked her."
It's not a question. Lev knows me too well, can read the situation with uncomfortable accuracy. I don't bother denying it.
"That's none of your business."
"It's absolutely my business when you're thinking with your dick instead of your brain." Lev leans forward, his dark eyes boring into mine. "I saw the closed blinds yesterday. The way she's avoiding looking at you today. The tension thick enough to cut with a knife. You crossed a line, Roman."
"I'm aware."
"Are you?" His voice drops lower, becomes almost gentle. That's when I know he's serious. "Because from where I'm sitting, you're about to make the same mistake I've seen destroy better men than you. Eva Markova is not like the women you usually fuck. She's not some Bratva princess who understands the rules. She's innocent, desperate, and completely out of her depth in your world."
"I know what she is."
"Do you?" Lev stands, moves to the window, his hands clasped behind his back. "She's a complication you can't afford. Not now, when Yakovlev is testing your territory. Not when your empire is under attack. You need focus, Roman. You need to be the Pakhan, not some lovesick fool chasing his secretary."
The word "lovesick" makes my jaw clench. "I'm not?—"
"You are." He turns to face me, and I see genuine concern in his expression. "I've known you since we were kids. I've watched you build this empire through blood and ruthless calculation. You don't make mistakes. You don't lose control. But that girl out there? She's making you sloppy. And sloppy gets people killed."
I want to argue, to tell him he's wrong. But I can't. Because he's right. Eva has gotten under my skin in a way no one else ever has, and it's affecting my judgment. I should end this now,maintain professional distance, and focus on the threats circling my organization.
But when I think about not touching her again, about watching her work through that glass wall without being able to claim her, something in my chest tightens with rejection.
"I'll handle it," I finally say.
Lev's expression suggests he doesn't believe me. "Don't let your dick destroy everything we've built. That's all I'm saying."
He leaves, and I'm alone with my thoughts and the view of Eva through the glass wall. She's on the phone, her voice too low for me to hear, her expression professionally neutral. But I see the way her hand trembles slightly as she takes notes, the way she avoids looking in my direction.
She's fighting the same attraction I am. The knowledge should satisfy me. Instead, it makes me want her more.
The day drags on with agonizing slowness. I handle calls, review documents, and make decisions that affect hundreds of lives. But my attention keeps drifting to Eva. The way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear when she's thinking. The curve of her neck when she bends over her desk. The memory of how her skin felt beneath my hands, how her body moved against mine.
By late afternoon, I've made my decision.
When Eva gathers her things to leave, I intercept her at the elevator. She looks up, surprise flickering across her face before she masks it.
