Stolen By The Bratva King (NYC Russian Royals #2)

Chapter 25

25

Emery

L eon has left the room, but I still feel him—his touch, his mouth, the way he seemed to worship me like I was the most precious thing he’d ever held in his hands.

My body hums with the aftershocks, each little wave of sensation a reminder of how easily I surrendered.

It’s not right. Am I so damaged, so starved for affection, that I’ll take it from the first man who offers? Even when he brings home a parade of red flags large enough to be seen from space?

I was so friendless and alone. Then, I met a man who treated me like a human being, enough for me to hand over my innocence like a stick of gum. What’s wrong with me?

The euphoria is fading, leaving cold, heavy shame in its place. I pull the sheets tighter around me, insulating myself against the chill.

It isn’t only about the physical side. If it were, Dante would’ve been the one to take my virginity. He wanted it, and I could’ve given it to him.

Closed my eyes, done some theatrical moaning, and let it happen.

But Dante never looked at me the way Leon does.

Leon looks at me like I’m something delicate, something worth cherishing. It’s in his voice, too. It softens when he speaks to me, as though he’s afraid I’ll shatter if he’s too harsh. Even my father never talked to me so gently.

My father.

I haven’t spoken to Dad since he let go of my arm at the altar. He must be worried, but then again, I’m still unsure what happened between him and Leon.

I scramble out of bed and grab the first thing I find in the closet—a blush-pink satin robe. I knot the belt tightly around my waist and follow the sound of movement toward the lounge.

The scent of Leon hits me first, shower-fresh and clean. Then I see him standing at the counter, his back to me as he pours water into the coffee machine.

He’s completely bare-ass naked.

“Oh my God!” I say. “Are you serious right now?”

He glances over his shoulder, utterly unbothered, a slow smirk spreading across his lips. “Hello to you too, moya zhena .”

“Put some clothes on!” I snap, heat rushing to my face.

He chuckles. “This is my home. I pay the bills. If I want to air out the goods while making coffee, I will.”

“You shouldn’t want to, that’s my point!”

He turns to face me, leaning on the counter, and I look away.

“I enjoy the feel of the breeze on my business,” he says. “Do you not? If you have a problem, you’re welcome to take it up with the management. Which is me.”

I groan, mortified, and keep my hands firmly over my eyes. “Leon, please get dressed. We need to talk, and I can’t focus with that all up inmy?—”

“Fine, fine.”

I hear the faint rustle of fabric. When I lower my hands, he’s tugging a pair of gray sweatpants over his hips.

He’s still unfairly gorgeous, and I try not to let my jaw hang as I take in his chiseled body and the intricate artwork that decorates it.

His joggers are slung low, drawing my eye to the Vs cut into his hips. It’s enough to make me question if being half-dressed is more distracting.

“You’re impossible,” I mutter.

“That’s a new one,” he says, his smirk softening as he turns back to the coffee machine. “I’ve been called relentless, ruthless, even psychotic, but impossible is a first.”

“Are you always like this?” I ask. “Or am I the only one lucky enough to see the weird side of Leon Vasiliev?”

He pretends to think about it. “I suppose I could’ve put on a three-piece suit and practiced brooding in the mirror before you walked in. But this feels more authentic.”

I roll my eyes, but he says nothing, focusing instead on preparing the coffee. He adds cream and one brown sugar cube to the first mug, stirring it before handing it to me.

I take it, surprised. “How did you know?”

“I watched you all week. At work, at home, out and about. I stood behind you in the queue when you ordered your drink on the way to work and observed you failing to get around to drinking your late-night caffeine fix when you were snowed under in the hospital.”

He smiles. “Or maybe it was a good guess. You have cream and brown sugar in your kitchen.”

The mug is warm in my hands, and another kind of warmth blooms in my chest despite my resolve to stay guarded.

He noticed details about me, little things no one else ever cared to pay attention to. True, it’s because he had me under constant surveillance, but still.

“You’re tenacious, I’ll give you that,” I say.

Leon shrugs. “Faint heart never won fair lady.”

“I’m sure that’s what Ted Bundy told himself as he put his murder kit in the trunk.” I sip my coffee, trying not to stare at his delicious body. “This is the problem with you stalking types; you find ways to justify yourselves.”

“We’re married now, honey.” Leon holds up his hand, showing me the band on his finger. “You don’t get to play the victim, especially not after what we just did.”

I suppress a groan of resignation. For some reason, I find his boundary-trashing entitlement desperately romantic.

Presumably, it’s a deep-seated psychological flaw. If this were a horror movie, I’d be dead before the goddamn title card.

I remember the first time I saw Leon, bloodstained and cagey, cradling a child as tenderly as he might hold his own.

“Speaking of victims, what happened to the boy you brought to the hospital?” I ask.

Leon exhales slowly, his brow furrowing. “He got caught up in something. A few guys were trying to...steal my boat, and he ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

I frown, trying to piece together his vague explanation. “Really? What kind of operation are you running?”

“Import/export and commercial real estate,” he replies smoothly, sliding his eyes away from mine. “I have a portfolio of foreign investors—intensely private clients who prefer to keep their business discreet.”

“Are you a millionaire?”

“Billionaire several times over if all my assets were valued at their current market rate.”

“I think it’s fundamentally immoral to be a billionaire,” I say. “My dad isn’t as rich as you.”

Leon laughs aloud. “I think that’s a perfectly reasonable stance to take, and if that’s how you feel, it’s probably best not to pry.”

It’s not a complete explanation, but I can’t tell if he’s lying or withholding the whole truth. Either way, I decide not to press; I’m not sure I want to know.

“That reminds me,” I say. “What was the deal you cut with my father, exactly? Because the wedding crashing thing was kinda dramatic.”

“Simple.” Leon crosses his hands behind his head. “I was already committed to ruining Dante, but your dad had a chance to save himself. All he had to do was let me steal you from under your fiancé’s nose in front of all the people he wanted to impress, and I’d ensure his precious fortune was safe.”

Tears prick my eyes. “Oh, great. And my safety meant nothing?”

Leon is about to respond when his cell phone vibrates. He picks it up, swipes at the screen, and hangs up.

“Viktor,” he mutters, more to himself than to me. “It’s the fifth time he’s called. I gotta go handle some business.”

I set my coffee down. “What am I supposed to do while you’re gone? Just stay here?”

“Yes.” He strides past me into the bedroom, talking as he goes. “That’s precisely what you’re gonna do. I’m still dealing with the fallout from the incident the other night, and you’re better off out of it.”

I follow to find him buttoning a maroon shirt, having swapped his sweatpants for a fine wool mix suit. I throw my hands in the air, trying to get his attention, but he doesn’t look my way.

“This isn’t fair, Leon. You’re using me.”

His head snaps up, and something flickers in his eyes.

“Emery—”

“No.” The bizarreness of what’s happening rolls over me like a tsunami, and my voice cracks. “I didn’t ask for any of this. All I wanted was a quiet life—to help people, to have peace. Not to swap one cruel man for another.”

Leon closes the distance between us in two strides, cupping my face in his hands. His thumbs wipe away the tears that spill down my cheeks, and his expression softens in a way that makes my heart ache.

“Give me a month,” he says quietly. “Stay with me for a month. I’ll let you go if you still feel the same after that. No contest, no strings attached, and I’ll give you a billion dollars of your very own to sweeten the deal.”

He smiles, his tone teasing. “If you want the money, that is. Ethically, it’s shaky ground, but it could be worse, don’t you think?”

I search his face, looking for the catch. Obviously, the downside is supposed to be having to live with him and be his wife, but that may not be quite the sacrifice it could be.

“Fine,” I say, my voice trembling. “But you have to leave my dad alone, too. And give the money to the hospital instead; they have ambitions to expand and refurbish the children’s ward, but it’ll cost a fortune.”

“Deal,” he says, releasing me and picking up his suit jacket. “I’ll give you a call when I’m done.”

I glance around, confused. “Call me how? Don’t tell me you have a secret landline in the bathroom or something. And besides, I’m not staying here all day; I’m going to work. People need me.”

“On your wedding day?”

“Yes. Obviously, I should be at my reception, but seeing as I’m not, I may as well be at the hospital. Anything is better than sitting around here like one of your ugly vases.”

His brows lift, clearly surprised by my insistence, but then his mouth curves into a small, almost proud smile.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I snap. “Just because you stole me away doesn’t mean the world stops turning.”

He laughs softly, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “You amaze me, moya zhena. ”

Before I can respond, he reaches into a drawer, pulls out my phone, and holds it out to me.

My jaw drops. “You had this the whole time?”

“Naturally,” he says, unapologetic. “Your father gave it to me.”

“You mean you took it from him?”

He tilts his head at me. “Po-tayto, po-took-it. Whatever. I needed to make sure you wouldn’t do anything stupid.”

I snatch it, glaring at him, but he only smirks. “You have free use of my driver,” he adds, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “And keep your phone handy. If anything happens, you call me. Understand?”

I nod reluctantly, clutching the phone like it’s a lifeline.

“Good,” he says, his tone firm but affectionate. He presses a lingering kiss to my lips before pulling away. “I’ll see you later.”

And just like that, Leon is gone, leaving me alone in the silence of his coldly anonymous apartment.

I sink onto the couch, trying to clear my head. The coffee he made for me sits virtually untouched on the table, its warmth rapidly ebbing.

A month to figure out who Leon Vasiliev really is. A month to resist falling for him or get too entangled in his web to break free.

What have I gotten myself into?