Page 34 of Daddy's Reluctant Queen

“I can be hard on you,” he murmurs against my skin, “Or… I can be easy. It’s all up to you, Princess.”

My eyes roll up the second he calls me Princess. His other hand moves to my breast, thumb rubbing my hardened nipple through the fabric of my dress.

We’ve never had just straight sex without something rough on the edges. It’s always a well-placed bite, slap, grab… It’s always hot…

But the way he’s touching me now is getting me going. My thighs are already getting moist as his mouth moves down to my collarbone…

The doorbell rings and his kisses stall. Shit.

He lets me go and stands up straight. Clearing his throat as he steps away from me, he commands, “Go to your room, Sofia.”

He leaves the dining room and for just a second, I consider listening to him.

12

TITUS

Cyril’s face is still a bit bruised from the beating he took from Sofia the first time they met. The night Sofia was caught, I had our medic, Doc, set his nose for a second time. That night, Doc suggested that Cyril pick on someone his own size. He was less than amused by that quip.

But ever since, his face has gone through several shades of bruising, purple to red to grayscale shades of black. The circles under his eyes have gone from black to deep shades of brown. And his nose still looks a bit crooked to me.

He and his brother were never exactly known for their attractive faces anyway, so I doubt he cares. Cyril is a man who’s accustomed to being the first one to a fight and the last man standing after. He’s gone through a lot of bumps and bruises in his time. All things considered, this is nothing new.

His brother, on the other hand, is more the type to care about his appearance. When they were younger and on the same level, Cyrus always preferred to find other solutions to problemsbefore he resorted to violence. He’s still that way and treats theboeviksunder him with that same kind of authority.

At this moment, they both stand before me in my office, cleaned up in appearance, wearing nearly identical black shirts and slacks, Cyrus with a herringbone gold chain around his neck. I like the formality, especially given the news he’s just giving me. It’s sobering… and he’s waiting for an answer from me.

“Do you know for sure?” I ask him.

He shrugs slightly. “I’m ninety percent sure, sir.”

His brother says, “There’s no doubt in my mind, sir.”

I tilt my head at them. It’s not often that I get this kind of information from an enforcer and a brigadier. The fact that they’ve stumbled on it and not Ignat is odd. I rub my chin thoughtfully. “Where did you pick up this piece of information again?”

Cyril gives me an annoyed look. He’s bothered that I’m asking questions and not ordering him to bust heads immediately. “I overheard it at Lev’s club,” he says. “Couple of his girls were talking about a bust happening at the motel she happened to be at. They said that Aristov walked out to a big black van in the middle of the night.”

I frown a little at the description. It sounds like something out of a movie.

“Sir,” Cyrus says, “We wouldn’t come to you if we weren’t sure it was true. If the FBI has him, then that can really only mean one thing.”

“Can it?” I ask. “Marius’s son, of all people, knows our code better than anyone else should. For you two to accuse him of being a snitch?—”

“Marius Aristov is dead, sir,” he says, his tone deepening. “Adam Aristov is a marked man?—”

“Don’t interrupt me,” I tell him cooly. He stops talking, his lips pressed together. “You need to realize that what you’re talking about is a different animal than just being Marius’s son. He may not be one of us, but for all intents and purposes, he’s our kind and we are all bound to a code.”

“This isn’t any different from taking a shot at you, sir,” Cyril says tensely. I see him flinch slightly as he realizes the mistake he’s made in blurting that out.

I cross my arms. “Care to elaborate on that, Cyril?”

He takes a second, his eyes moving up toward the ceiling as he tries to work out what he’s trying to tell me. “I don’t mean any disrespect, sir,” he says. “But he tried to kill you. Both of the Aristov children tried to kill you. He also failed and he lost his sister. Going to the Feds seems… I don’t know. Logical.”

“Does it? So, you’re saying that anyone in his position would readily snitch to save his own skin.”

Cyril shrugs and his brother says, “He’s probably desperate, sir.” He pauses, glancing at Cyril, then, “If he thinks he’s alone, I think he might be compelled to rat.”

I narrow my eyes a little. Ignat’s warning to me about my men talking about my situation with Sofia is bleeding through. Their inner thoughts are showing. “Thinkshe’s alone?”