“Sobaka.”
This time when she repeated it, she was flawless, even giggling her happiness.
“Very good,” I told her and she was overjoyed at my compliment. Just like a teenager would be. “Rafaela. How old?” I started by pointing to her golden retriever.
“Golden Angel just had her first birthday. I won’t try that in Russian.”
Laughing, I took some of the food she’d brought, munching on it before pointing to her. “How old?”
She looked away, shrugging as if I would be upset. “Eighteen.”
“Howold?” The gruffness of my voice surprised even me.
“I turned eighteen a few days ago. Not that my parents cared.” Her look was hopeful.
“Why?”
“Because I’m nothing but property to them.” She laughed when seeing my face. “Don’t look so shocked. My guess is you have no understanding of how it works in old school families in Italy. You might be shocked, but here in this beautiful yet archaic country, arranged marriages still exist. I have no doubt that’s what I’ll face at some point whether I approve or not.”
She was no one to me, just a beautiful girl with bright eyes, vulnerable and sweet. Yet as soon as she mentioned being forced to marry someone else, I was shocked at my body’s reaction. I wanted to fucking kill someone. I was uncertain what to say to her. She was undeterred, her rebellious attitude continuing, sparking a strange and powerful moment of desire.
“I know. Shocking. To commemorate this oh-so fabulous event, my father has a huge birthday party planned, which I have no interest in. But he won’t allow me to ignore the celebration. As an adult, I’m fair game to the right rich man who will offer my father billions of dollars for my hand in marriage.”
She laughed and the sound created a severe tightening of my balls. Fuck if I didn’t want her in the worst way. “Billions?”
“Obviously, I’m exaggerating, but I assure you money or some level of power will sweeten the deal. And just imagine the joy ofdiscovering I’ll be engaged. How kind of my father to wait until I was no longer jailbait.”
Her disdain brought a smile to my face. At least she was of age, a rule that I required all my soldiers to follow. While other Bratva and the scumbag Turks were heavily involved in sex trafficking including of children, our regime would kill anyone involved. I wouldn’t hesitate to take the life of her father.
Her defiance glowed much like her skin, the anger swirling inside fueling her desires almost as much as our time spent together. Sadly, she had no idea I was using her for information that she was easily providing.
The party could be the perfect opportunity to escape. The sadness in her voice reflected a sharp knife digging into my gut. In many ways, she was a prisoner just like I was.
My balls tightened further from the same filthy thoughts, a longing to deflower her alongside the realization that I didn’t want anyone touching her.
Jesus. What the hell was I doing? I eyed her carefully. Shoving aside the desire wasn’t easy but necessary. My feelings were reckless, but not untypical.
“I answered your questions,” she continued. “Now, you owe me.” She pointed toward my chest. “Name.”
A chuckle surfaced. While I debated telling her the truth, what harm would it do? “Kazimir.”
“Kazimir,” she breathed. “That’s insanely sexy.” When she’d realized what she’d said, she laughed and the lilting sound was one that would keep me enthralled for a long time to come.
“Can you tell me your last name?”
“Not a good idea.”
“Why?”
I shook my head. “The less you know about me the better.” Which was very true. I had no clue what the hell was going on.
“That means you’re a powerful man.”
“Maybe I’m a nobody.”
She offered a defiant shake of her head. “No, you’re very powerful. My guess is you’re a prince of some foreign country.”
“I assure you I’m not a prince.”
