Chapter 20 Slava
SLAVA
Sun sets, and Bella’s panties are still on my desk.
They’re sitting over a stack of paper like some kind of fucking trophy I didn’t earn. They’ve been sitting there for hours now since she threw them at my face this morning.
I close my eyes, and see her again with her spread wide, and fingers splaying her glistening pussy open. There was a submissive defiance in her eyes when she looked at me. A paradox, I know, but that’s exactly what Bella is.
She’d been so wet that a drop had pooled on the table between her heels. I wanted to push her legs apart and lick that drop away, and keep licking until I’m drowning between her legs.
And she’d practically begged me with that defiant little cunt of hers. She wanted me to lose control. She’d been counting on me to lose control.
I almost did. My fist slams down on the mahogany before I can stop myself.
The impact rattles through my knuckles, but does nothing to quiet the emotions warring for control in my skull. I’ve killed men for less than the defiance she showed me today.
But somehow, I like it when this infuriating, stubborn, and impossible woman actively defies my will. Instead of punishing her for throwing her soaked panties at me, I stood there watching her put her clothes and dignity back together.
And when she finished, she just went to work like nothing had happened.
Like she wasn’t about to spend the rest of the day commando under that inappropriately professional little outfit, her bare pussy just a thin piece of fabric away from the leather of my chairs, leaving wet traces of herself on every surface she touched.
And like a dog chasing cars, I spent the entire fucking day watching her.
She crossed her legs at the ankle, one heel dangling precariously while she reviewed documents. When she concentrated on something, her soft pink lips would chew on something—either her own lower lip or the cap end of a pen.
I never thought I’d ever be jealous of a fucking pen until today.
And then she kept breaking down the boundaries.
She’d always walk up to my desk, take the glass of my water, and sip from it like it was the most natural thing in the world. As if to remind me that both of us crossed an invisible boundary that neither of us can come back from.
And each time she drank, she’d look me dead in my eyes, and I can read the thoughts running through that pretty little head of hers:
What the fuck are you going to do about it?
The blood had gone to my dick so fast that I felt dizzy. For the rest of the day, the blood stayed right there, pumping in my pants and making me incapable of thinking about anything other than her wet tempting slit.
I’m almost certain she found something this morning. She’d already been snooping around my safe once, and she was rounding my desk when I caught her.
But there was no way she could’ve gotten past the thumbprint scanner on the safe. But still, the nagging suspicion continues to eat away at me like I hadn’t searched her thoroughly enough.
She’s got me rattled, that’s for sure.
My phone buzzes with an incoming text, rescuing me from the spiral of paranoia and arousal that’s become my constant companion ever since Bella came into my life.
My blood pressure spikes when I see who it is: Nico D’Ambrosio.
It’s terribly rude not to respond to an invitation, especially one my father sent personally. The old man’s feelings are fragile these days.
I stare at the message for a long moment. Right…
Don Leo’s seventieth birthday party on his yacht where we’re supposed to discuss ways to keep shit from spiraling out of control.
If he wants to keep shit from spiraling out of control, he’s free to stop provoking me.
Funny how that’s never an option.
But then again, Bella’s life has already come under threat from the D’Ambrosio Family. If nothing else, I can at least negotiate some kind of deal where they leave her fate to me.
So, against my better judgment, I respond. Don't overthink it.
I’ll be there.
Nico’s response comes almost instantly.
Good. Your fiery PR agent has already agreed to come.
A dark, possessive, and dangerous feeling crawls through me upon reading the text. It balloons in my chest and spreads through my veins until my phone digs into the flesh of my fingers.
She what?
Just when the fuck has Bella been talking to Nico? And more importantly, how fucking long has she been talking to him?
The logical half of my brain reminds me that as Luca’s sister, it shouldn’t be surprising that she found a way to contact the same people her piece of shit brother used to work for.
For all I know, she might be working for Nico as well.
Maybe from the very beginning.
But there’s another half of my brain—the animal half that neither thinks nor plans but only wants—that leaves a dark and bitter taste in my mouth at the thought of what else the two of them could be doing other than talking.
Was that why she didn’t let me in the door when I came to pick her up on the night of the fundraiser gala? Was it because Nico was there?
Has she been fucking him behind my back?
I slam my phone down and pick up Bella’s panties. Has she put herself up on Nico’s desk? Did she spread her legs for him the way she did for me?
My fingers clench around the soft material and I swear I can feel them wringing out a few more drops of dampness.
A knock comes on my door, quick and sharp. I put the panties down.
“Come in.”
Ludmilla enters without hesitation, and her eyes zero in on Bella’s crumpled up panties on my desk. She arches a single silver eyebrow in silent judgment.
“Do I want to know what happened today?”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Hmm.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “You’ve been in here for hours, malchik. Your dinner is getting cold.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re not eating. There’s a difference.”
I don’t respond. There’s nothing to say that won’t make this worse, and nothing that won’t leave her with even more questions for me. And if the last fifteen years have taught me anything, whenever Ludmilla has questions, they usually follow with a lecture that cuts just too close to the core.
She moves closer, studies me for a long moment, and then looks down at the chess board on my desk.
“Is this about Bella?”
“No.”
She picks up a white bishop and moves it to an open space. “You were never good at lying to me.”
My eyes fall to the board and I counter with a black knight in silent contemplation.
She’s right, of course. She’s always been right.
Ludmilla saw through me the first week she started working here, when I tried to convince her I didn’t need a housekeeper.
She saw through me when I claimed I was fine six years ago after late nights that ended with bloodied knuckles and a hollowed-out chest.
She’s seen through every lie I’ve ever tried to tell, and she’s not about to stop now.
A white pawn inches forward. “She asked me about Gia.”
Of all things Ludmilla could’ve said, this was the one I least expected.
Who the fuck could’ve told her about Gia? It couldn’t have been Luca. That piece of shit was too proud of what he’d done to gloat about her to his precious little sister. And if he had, she wouldn’t have such devotion to his memory.
The black bishop advances. “And what did she ask?”
“If you raped and murdered her.” Ludmilla’s voice cracks slightly.
“And what did you say?” My voice trembles slightly.
“I told her the truth.” She looks at me, and then adds. “Not the whole truth. But enough to absolve you of the crimes she thinks you committed.”
I let out the breath I’ve been holding. “That truth wasn’t yours to tell.”
“No,” Ludmilla agrees. “But someone had to tell it. Someone had to make her see the man beneath the monster. Check.”
Already? I look at the board, and sure enough, my king is exposed to Ludmilla’s rook. And the only way to save him is to sacrifice my queen.
I move my king, and the white rook immediately darts across the board to snatch away my queen.
This is one of the worst games of chess I’ve ever played.
Nico, I think. That must’ve been what Nico said to Bella at the fundraiser gala. But if he told her that, then why didn’t Bella ask me at the gala? Or here?
The answer comes immediately. It’s because she doesn’t trust me.
She already sees me as a monster. Why wouldn’t she be so inclined to believe Nico? Why wouldn’t she believe that I’m a rapist as well as a murderer?
The thought of her trusting Nico feels worse than a knife twisting between my ribs. Jealousy wraps its iron fist around my throat and squeezes until I can’t think straight anymore.
I make another mistake in my game, and Ludmilla punishes me by sweeping my knight from the board.
The jealousy burns hotter, sharper, until it’s all I can feel. Next comes the irrational, consuming rage at the idea of Bella believing anything that comes out of Nico D’Ambrosio’s lying mouth.
But why the fuck do I care who she believes? I’m not doing this to make her believe the truth.
“Check,” Ludmilla says again.
This time, I lose my bishop. I’m near the point of no return, where the game is all but over.
But with a grim determination, I play on, until I’m reduced to just a handful of pawns and a single useless knight.
“You think you made a mistake once,” she says quietly. “And you think you’re making that mistake again with Bella.”
“What are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything. I’m telling you what I see.” She takes my knight off the board and looks at Bella’s crumpled panties on my desk. “You’re falling for her.”
“I’m not falling for her.”
“You are.” Her voice is gentle now. “And you’re terrified that she won’t fall for you back.”
“I can’t fall for her,” I snap. “Not after what her brother did.”
“Her brother is dead, Slavochka. Don’t make her pay the price for his crimes.” She picks up the white queen and places it three spaces away from my king. “Checkmate.”
“I—”
“Need to eat.” She’s already moving toward the door. “I expect to see you in the dining room within the hour.”
“I’ll be out soon.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. “Let me put away the pieces first.”
Ludmilla pauses at the doorway and looks back at me with concern and resignation in her gaze. But if there’s any final words of wisdom she means to impart on me, she keeps them to herself.
Instead, she just nods and walks away, leaving me in deafening silence.
I stare at Bella’s panties on my desk, at Nico’s message on my phone, and at the darkness pressing against the windows.
Your fiery PR agent has already agreed to come.
I need to call her.