My heart still hammered wildly, but I didn't retreat. I took a deep breath, lips curling into a brazen, fatally seductive smile.
"Oh, really?"
I reached out and boldly grabbed his half-open shirt collar, yanking him down.
Our breaths tangled instantly. I tilted my chin up, lips barely grazing his, voice a whisper only we could hear. "As anauthor who demands meticulous detail, I take my research very seriously. Since you volunteered to be my exclusive material... looks like I'll have to conduct much more thorough, in-depth 'field testing' of Mr. Pakhan to get the most accurate stamina data."
Nikolai's pupils contracted violently.
His Adam's apple rolled hard. The hand on my waist clenched, nearly fusing me into his bones.
Watching the dangerous fire ignite in his eyes, hearing his steady, powerful heartbeat, the sting of hurt vanished. In its place swelled a feeling so full my heart might burst.
I was done for.
Screw the fake marriage. Screw the triple-salary contract.
I looked at this man who ruled the underworld with ruthless brutality yet embraced my entire soul and dreams with utter tenderness.
The fortress I'd built from old wounds and defenses crumbled to dust in that instant. I couldn't lie to myself anymore.
I'd fallen for him. Completely. Hopelessly.
Chapter Nineteen
Nikolai
"That's the situation, Pakhan."
I leaned back in the black walnut chair, exhaling a stream of smoke.
That old fox Carmine Marchetti clearly wasn't about to swallow his failed hit at the charity gala. Intel showed the Marchetti family's activity around Washington had spiked to abnormal levels recently.
What really made me want to kill? Several known Marchetti informants had been circling the roads near the Volkov estate like sewer rats these past few days.
No crossing the line yet, but I knew this smell too well—the calm before blood spilled.
"Replace all four key intersections leading to the estate with our best shadow posts. Any unfamiliar plates lingering more than two minutes, weapons out. No clearance needed." I crushed my cigar in the crystal ashtray, looking up at Sasha standing statue-still beside me.
"Yes." Sasha nodded, then pulled a matte black phone—no branding—from inside his jacket. He pushed it across the desk with utmost respect. "Pakhan, the device you requested is ready. Military-grade tracking and top-clearance surveillance software fully installed. Can't be removed, can't be traced."
I picked up the phone, testing its weight, then tapped a few keys on my computer.
Eight high-definition surveillance feeds flashed onto the screen. Center frame: Vivienne's bedroom and the side study where she spent most of her time.
On screen, she wore an oversized knit sweater, sprawled across her desk completely unguarded, grinning at her laptop like an idiot who'd gotten candy.
"Good work, Sasha." I stared at that living, breathing image.
Legally? Invasion of privacy. By mob law? Nothing.
She was mine. I needed to know every breath, every movement.
This dark, shameful need for control—she'd never know.
I pocketed the phone and stood, pushing open the study door.
The hinge whispered, but still startled the woman giggling at her screen. I walked over, and before she could slam the laptop shut, I planted one hand on her chair back and leaned in, scanning the display.
