Chapter 13
RODION
I fucking hate being apart from her. I’ve never been obsessed with a woman before, but everything about her, fucking everything, calls to me like the call of the siren. I only hope I don’t crash myself on the fucking shore.
The phone buzzes in my hand. Again.
Rafail .
I should answer. He hates waiting, but my mind is stuck somewhere else. My thumb hovers over the video feed from her apartment. I ignore Rafail and click the button, an addict unable to stop himself from his next hit.
She’s asleep, her breathing steady, her hair spilling across the pillow like some kind of goddamn halo. My shoulders tense as I check the biometrics again—heart rate, body temp—all steady. She’s fine. Perfect.
And yet, something gnaws at me. Maybe it’s because she didn’t call back. Or because her name hasn’t appeared in my notifications, no flirty comment under my video. Nothing.
I should know better than to post the fucking thirst traps, but I can’t help it. It’s the wildest of bait for the wildest of women, and I love the way she watches them the second I post them. I scroll through the comments on the latest upload directed at Ember.
I really shouldn’t have opened this. I have work to do and now I’ve forgotten my own name. Why is this man so hot???
Sir, I will personally commit crimes for you.
This energy could ruin my day, and I’d thank you for it.
I scroll past, searching, searching… nothing from her.
I’m used to being in control. Planning. Acting. But with her, it’s like every fucking second of silence feels like a failure.
The phone buzzes again, and this time, Rafail’s name is flashing like a warning. He’s gonna kill me.
“What?” I snap as I answer.
“ What ?” he echoes, sharp and biting. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I’ve been waiting for ten minutes.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, dragging my focus back. I don’t talk to him this way and can’t start now.
“I’m here. What do you want?”
“Watch it. You tell me. Are you bringing someone to this gala or not?” His tone is clipped, but there’s a thread of something deeper—curiosity, maybe. Amusement.
“Yes,” I say, jaw tightening.
“Who?”
I roll my eyes with a sigh. “You know who.”
There are no real secrets in our family, though I’ve somehow miraculously been able to keep my masked online presence off their radar. He’s seen footage of me with Ember and so has Semyon.
There’s a beat of silence. Then he laughs, low and dark. “The pretty little redhead. Did you marry her yet?”
The teasing pisses me off more than it should. “No,” I bite out. “Not yet.”
He’s silent again, but this time, there’s no laugh, no follow-up. Just dead air. Rafail knows how to make his point with silence better than most men can with words.
I check the live feed again while I wait, watching the soft rise and fall of her chest. A faint shift, the way she tucks her hands closer under the covers. Something in me aches, sharp and… unfamiliar.
“You’re distracted, Rodion,” Rafail snaps, yanking me back.
“Just tired,” I lie, biting back something harsher. I have to remember who I’m talking to.
“Bullshit,” he fires back. “Focus. If you can’t keep your head in the game, I’ll pull you from the gala entirely and send Matvei.”
No, he fucking won’t.
“I’m focused,” I say sharply, even as my eyes flick back to the video.
“Then prove it.” His tone hardens. “We’ll talk more about this weekend later. I have a job for you to do. Right now.”
Here we go again. I straighten, already bracing. “What’s the job?”
“Details are coming to your secure line. Handle it, and do not screw this up.”
The line goes dead before I can respond. Typical Rafail.
A notification pings—encrypted instructions, just as promised. I scan the details quickly, forcing my mind to shift gears. It’s a cleanup. A target with loose ties to a Bratva rival. Not messy work but work that requires my full attention.
Son of a bitch . I wanted to go see Ember. It’s only been a few hours, but…
I clench my fist, pushing down the pull to check her video again. She’s fine. Safe . I don’t need to hover over every second.
But still, the idea of leaving her tonight twists something in my chest.
I grab my gear.
The distraction she’s become… I’ve got to deal with it. With her .
The job will keep me busy for now, but it’s not enough.
Not until I show her exactly what it means to be mine. Tonight, I’ll handle Rafail’s mess. But after?
I take a look at the tools I’ve set aside for her—the soft rope, the blindfold—and grin. Game on, little queen.
Then my phone buzzes again, and for a split second, I think it’s Rafail, already breathing down my neck. But no—the notification is from her account.
@dreammafiaqueen has gone live
Live
My pulse spikes, and I swipe the notification open, the feed springing to life.
There she is. Her hair’s still a mess from sleep, and her sweatshirt slides off one shoulder. The sight of her, disheveled but glowing, hits me like a punch. She’s in her bedroom, the same one I’ve been watching all night, and she’s staring into the camera with a look that’s nothing short of fire.
“Morning, little queen,” I whisper.
Her lips curl into a small, knowing smile, and then she speaks.
“This one’s for you,” she says, her voice low and teasing. She leans closer to the camera, her green eyes locking onto the lens like she knows exactly who’s watching. Me .
My grin fades, replaced by something darker, sharper. The game just changed.
“Careful what you wish for,” she whispers, echoing the words from my video. Then she sits back, brushing her hair out of her face with the kind of casual confidence that drives me insane before I realize—she’s sitting in her panties on top of a pile of books, the leather strap of her camera hanging off the edge of her end table. She fingers the leather strap and wraps it around her chest, just under her breasts—the feed ends abruptly, leaving me staring at the blank screen.
Oh my fucking god.
Let the games begin.