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She rides me hard. Deep rolls forward, sharp drops down, grinding herself against me on the forward stroke and taking everything on the way back. She’s chasing it, and she doesn’t care that I can see her chasing it. The sounds she makes aren’t anything like the ice queen. She’s loud, breathless, and completely gone. It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Fuck,” I say.

She doesn’t answer. She goes faster.

I grip the bed to stop myself grabbing her. She drops down hard, and I feel her grind against the base of my cock. She shudders and keeps going. She’s soaking wet, everywhere, and every time she drops down I feel her clench around me and release and clench again. I am losing my fucking mind.

She braces one hand on my chest, changes the angle, and goes absolutely feral. Hard and fast and completely without mercy, taking exactly what she wants. I am her instrument, that’s all I am right now, and I’ve never been anyone’s instrument in my life, but I don’t want her to stop.

She comes screaming. No hand over her mouth. No control. Head back, nails through my shirt and into my chest, pussy clenching around me so hard and so rhythmic that I last four seconds after that.

I come harder than I have in years. Both hands locked on her hips, holding her down onto me, filling her up completely, every pulse of it. She’s still shaking through hers when I finish, and neither of us moves.

Her forehead drops to my shoulder.

We stay like that.

She’s Berezin’s daughter. I think it now, here, with her forehead on my shoulder and her breathing all wrong. I killed her father, and she just came apart on my cock and called me a bastard like it was an endearment, and I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing anymore. That’s the honest answer. I don’t know.

Then she climbs off, straightens her skirt, pushes her hair back, and walks to the bathroom without a word.

I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the wall for a second, trying to collect myself.

When I’m certain I can move, I zip up, stand, and walk to the door.

I pull the door shut and stand in the passage with my hand flat on the wall. I breathe.

I’m in control. Completely in control. That’s exactly what just happened. That was me being in control, manipulating her into fucking me. Yes, that’s it. Satisfied, I go downstairs.

11

Evelina

“Lockdown,” Volkov says, and that’s the entire announcement.

One word and the estate transforms. I watch it happen from the doorway of the library, men moving fast and quiet through the house, doors closing, positions being taken. Marka appears from somewhere, exchanges twelve words with Volkov, and disappears again. Within four minutes the outer gates are sealed, and I can hear the security rotation doubling up on the perimeter.

I step back into the library and wait.

Volkov comes in two minutes later and closes the door. He has his phone out, eyes on the screen, already moving through whatever just came in like the answer to it is somewhere in the next message.

“What happened?” I ask.

“Another body.” He doesn’t look up. “Same symbol. Different family.”

I keep my face right. “Which family? I’ve no idea what that means.”

He glances up once. “DeLuca adjacent. Cousin’s associate, nobody important.” Back to his phone. “Stay in the inner rooms. Away from the windows.”

I sit in the chair by the shelves and stay there.

He works the room. Phone calls that last under a minute, short and direct, men coming in and out with updates and leaving with orders. I have a book open in my lap, but I’m listening to every word.

“Perimeter’s clean on the east side.” One of the gate rotations. Volkov nods, says something in Russian I catch most of. Sweep it again, don’t stop until I say.

I turn a page I haven’t read.

Another man hands Volkov a phone and points at the screen. Volkov reads it, hands it back. “Find out who handled his accounts for the last two years. I want names, not firms.”