The apartment feels too small suddenly, the air thick with questions and answers I’m not sure I want to know. I busy myself, tidying cushions that don’t need tidying, adjusting a picture frame that’s already straight. Anything to distract from the nervous energy buzzing under my skin.
Viktor is a Bratva boss, a Russian mobster, and I’m just Leah. A single mom. A legal aid with designs on law school. And now I’m carrying the child of a man who lives in a world of shadows and violence. It’s a reality that still feels like a bad dream I can’t wake up from.
A soft knock at the door, precise and firm, jolts me. It’s not Jade’s frantic rap or Eliza’s impatient drumming. This is Viktor at my door for the second time today, except this time, I’m the one who asked him to come. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart, and cross to the door.
He stands there, a dark silhouette against the dimly lit hallway. His presence fills the space, commanding and undeniable. He’s still dressed in his suit, even at this hour, the fabric dark as the night, making him look even more formidable. But unlike earlier, his eyes hold a flicker of something I can’t quite decipher as they sweep over me, lingering on my belly for a fraction of a second before meeting my gaze.
“Leah,” he says, his voice a soft rumble that both calms and electrifies me just as much now as it did earlier in the day.
“Viktor,” I reply, my voice a little breathier than I’d like.
I step aside, letting him in. He moves with a quiet grace belying his size, a predator in his natural habitat. He doesn’t look around, doesn’t comment on the cozy clutter of my living room. His focus is entirely on me.
We sit on opposite ends of my small sofa, an invisible chasm between us, so different from the ease and brightness of the afternoon. The silence stretches, taut with unspoken words. I fidget with the hem of my sweater, acutely aware of his intense gaze.
“So,” I begin, my voice surprisingly steady, “we need to talk.”
Viktor nods slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “About the future. Our future. The baby’s future.”
“Right,” I say. “Because that’s all this is about, isn’t it? The baby.”
His brow furrows slightly, a subtle shift in his otherwise impassive face. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” I press on, feeling a surge of courage, or maybe just desperation. This isn’t the speech I’d rehearsed all evening in my head, but all those words have flown away. “This isn’t about me, is it? You need an heir, just like you said. A legacy. A child to carry on your name. I’m just—” I search for the right word, and my shoulders fall when I find it “—the vessel.”
The words hang in the air, raw and vulnerable. I brace myself for his reaction, for anger, for dismissal, or worse, his confirmation of my fear. But Viktor just watches me, his gaze unblinking, unreadable.
“Is that what you truly believe?” he finally asks, his voice softer now, more like it was this afternoon.
“What else am I supposed to think, Viktor?” I retort. “You’re a powerful man. You live in a world I can’t even begin to comprehend. And I’m just me. We had a night, one night, and now there’s a baby. It’s convenient, isn’t it? A way to secure your bloodline without having to deal with messy emotions? Especially since Peter isn’t—” I cut myself off, afraid I’ve gone too far.
Viktor leans forward, slowly, deliberately, closing the distance between us. My breath catches in my throat. His eyes, dark and intense, bore into mine, stripping away my defenses. “You think I’m so cold?” he asks, his voice a low, dangerous and captivating. “So calculating? That I would simply use you like that?”
“Wouldn’t you?” I whisper, my voice trembling. “It’s what you do, isn’t it? Peter always said you take what you want, regardless of what anyone else thinks.”
Viktor’s hand reaches out slowly. I flinch, but he doesn’t stop. His fingers brush against my cheek, warm and surprisingly gentle.
“I take what I want, yes,” he concedes, his thumb stroking my skin, sending sparks through me. “But I don’t take what I do not value.”
His gaze drops to my lips, and a jolt of electricity shoots through me—my heart pounds against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the sudden heavy silence. The air crackles with an unspoken tension, a raw, primal energy.
“You are not only a vessel, Leah,” he murmurs, his voice a deep caress. “You are the mother of my child. And to me, you’re more than that. You are becoming far, far more. I hoped this afternoon would go a small way in proving as much.” He sighs. “Mymistakes with Peter are regrettable. I allowed his mother to take him from me and turn him against me. I didn’t fight for him like I should have. I won’t make that mistake again. That isn’t what I want.”
His words, simple as they are, disarm me. I search his eyes for any hint of deceit, any sign of the coldness I expect, but I find only an intensity that mirrors the turmoil within me. He leans closer, his scent—a mix of expensive cologne and something uniquely masculine—enveloping me, overwhelming my senses.
“Then whatdoyou want?” I gather the courage to ask, my voice barely audible.
“I want you,” he says, his lips brushing against mine, a feather-light touch that sends a tremor through my entire body. “I want all of you. And I want to protect what is mine.”
His dominance is palpable, a force of nature that sweeps away my doubts, my fears, my carefully constructed walls. He doesn’t ask, he claims. His hand cups the back of my head, pulling me closer, and his mouth is on mine, firm and possessive.
The kiss is everything I feared and everything I secretly craved. It’s demanding, consuming, leaving no room for thought, only sensation. My body responds instinctively, betraying my mind, melting into his embrace. His arms wrap around me, and I cling to him, my fingers tangling in his dark hair.
His free hand wanders down to my ass and cups it, squeezing before both his hands curl under my thighs to shift me onto his lap. It’s effortless, like I weigh nothing, and turns my fire up another notch. I moan as one of his hands slips under the waistband of my jeans, sending sparks dancing across my skin. Ijerk as his hand pulls my underwear aside and he brushes across the wet warmth at the apex of my thighs.
I push against him, desperate for the feel of his finger inside me. Instead, he pulls away to watch me, his smile wolfish and predatory.
“Do you want this?” he asks, his words a deep rumble in his chest.
