21. LEO #2
Dmitry considers this with an enthusiastic nod. "At least, visibly one-sided," he says, running his eyes over the documents on his desk. "We can use this."
Svetlana, through the screen, finally seems to agree. " Alexei's plan is good. It only failed because he was too confident that Sal wouldn't rat him out to us at the first broken finger ." She stares at me through the screen. " And because your analysis is correct ."
It's the closest thing to a compliment I'm going to get from her.
"Ivan is proud and stupid," Dmitry says. "All we need is an anonymous leak. We'll use Alexei's plan against him. The Malakovs will neutralize each other in a war against their own."
Dante looks at Dmitry, then at the screen where Svetlana is watching us. She looks apprehensive. He stares at me.
"Sal's position is vacant," he says. He doesn't move from where he is, just watches me, arms crossed, his back against the wall next to the window.
Then he gives the order.
"It's yours."
This is the biggest aphrodisiac I've ever felt.
Dopamine. Adrenaline. Serotonin. A fucking symphony of chemicals flooding my brain.
A position. A title. Head of Cybersecurity. Fuck the title . What really matters is answering to him .
The blood heats in my veins. It thickens. The pain in my bones transforms. It becomes part of the sensation. I want to kneel. Here. Now. In front of all of them. For him. I want to feel him. His hand pulling my hair, his skin leaving marks on mine. His strength. Any real proof that I exist for him.
My breath grows short. I lean forward in the armchair—it's involuntary. I know I'm looking at him that way . This hunger doesn't belong in a business meeting, but I can't bring myself to care. Not after everything.
"Anything you command, mister," comes out as a whisper.
I'm not hiding it. The desire, the hunger, the submission—it's all written on my face. My whole body is angled toward him. A devotee awaiting communion. And the others in the room are forced to witness this profanity.
Dmitry shifts in his chair. He watches everything with an elegant professionalism, but he sees how I lean. How my entire body points to his brother. How I speak too softly, sweating desire and reverence in an environment that should only smell of power and threat.
He watches. He analyzes. And he decides he's seen enough.
"Sveta, we'll wrap up for now," he says, standing up. "I'll update you later."
Svetlana glares at him for a second, tense. But she understands. She knows.
" Alright ," she says. The screen goes dark before she can say goodbye.
"Luca," Dmitry continues, grabbing a folder from the desk. "From now on, Mr. Hays has the same security authority as Sal did. His orders are Dante's orders. Am I clear?"
Luca blinks. His eyes go from me to Dante, then retreat as if he's seen something he shouldn't have.
"Affirmative, sir."
"Excellent." Dmitry walks over to him with a forced calm. "I need to assign a team to keep an eye on Sal. Accompany me, if you would be so kind."
Luca nods silently. He leaves with Dmitry, almost in a hurry, and Dmitry gives me a small smile on his way out. He knows what he's doing.
He's leaving me alone with Dante.
Dante remains leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes on me. Then he moves. Two steps. Three. He stops in front of me. A fucking Roman god, looking down at me with an irritated fire.
His hand flies to my hair. A firm, cruel, controlled pull. He makes me lift my face without having to stand. My breath hitches. My body burns.
I'd come just from this, if he ordered me to.
"Never again," he growls, leaning into me. "In front of them."
The pressure of his fingers on my scalp is the only real thing in the world. It hurts. Wonderfully.
"It's hard," I say, "when you act like this."
He tightens his grip. I can't hold back a moan. I'm inviting him. Do it. I want you to finish breaking me completely. Break the other ribs. Break my nose again. Touch me.
But then, he lets go.
The gesture is abrupt.
He's suddenly back in his role. He walks to the window. Looks at the city. So impersonal. Would it still be like this if he weren't facing away from me?
"Listen closely, because I won't repeat myself," he says.
The same tone he uses with his henchmen.
"The position is yours. That means the entire digital security of the Volkovs is in your hands.
The responsibility is yours. And if you fail…
if there's another breach, if you put this family at risk… "
He pauses. It's strange. He takes a deep breath, as if he doesn't make these threats every day, as if he doesn't want to make this one. He turns to me. A face of stone, determined, filled with hatred. With cracked edges.
"It won't be Luca. It won't be any capo, any of my brothers. It will be me ."
Death.
Being killed by Dante should sound threatening. Alexei, throwing me to Ivan, was, above all, afraid of this man's fury. But for me…
I was about to answer. But he continued.
"...I don't want to have to kill you, Nyx. Understood?"
Fuck .
I push myself up on the arms of the chair.
The effort sends a sharp bolt through my ribs.
Moving my face does, too. Fuck it. I force myself up, make my legs hold me.
Some of my muscles tremble. I clench them into a shaky fist and approach.
He watches me, frowning. He doesn't understand what I'm doing.
I don't stop. I stand before him, and I have to touch him. It's an unbearable impulse.
I lean in. He doesn't push me away, and I don't give him time to think. I kiss his mouth.
Stretching up to reach him hurts. It leaves me breathless. Dante leaves me breathless. I touch his chest. It's firm, anchoring me to the ground.
He tenses. A hand pushes my shoulder, lightly, almost carefully . He only moves me back enough to look at my face.
"Nyx," he calls out, rough, but gentle. "You're hurt."
My face has seen better days. I get it. But this concern hiding inside him is impossible. I have to touch him.
"I wouldn't mind dying," I whisper back, breathless, "if it were by your hands."
I see something break in his eyes. The wall.
I lean in. My whole body protests. I brush my mouth against his, and the words come out without me thinking. Like a reason. It's automatic.
"I love you."
I kiss him again, before he can rebuild the wall.
For a second, his hand presses against me. He's so much stronger than me and could break me in half if he wanted, but the pressure is so weak it doesn't move me. I remain. And he, slowly, holds my waist.
I wrap my arms around his neck. The burning, at this point, feels good.
He presses me against him, and he's still rough, but now he holds me gently.
He kisses me back. All of his kisses leave a cluster of heat in my groin, spreading through all my nerve endings as they explode with oxytocin and dopamine.
The taste isn't of blood anymore—tobacco, whiskey, and a minty undertone.
I lean closer and feel the loose bone of my nose against his cheek.
Fuck it. I feel his hair between my fingers. His tongue. Him.
"Don't say that again," Dante orders against my mouth. It's a frightening growl. It makes me shiver.
I smile into the kiss.
"I love you," I say again.
"Nyx…"
"I love you."
I kiss the corner of his mouth. His jaw.
He grips my waist tighter, and the movement makes me hold my breath, a sharp pang coming from my broken rib. It's an involuntary spasm, but he feels it.
Immediately, he stops. He pushes me away with a strange urgency. His hands assess me, feeling my body, and he stares at me with a closed-off expression. Another frightening order.
"Enough," he says, harshly. "You're hurt."
Hurt. It only registers now. He's actually stopping because of that.
I laugh. Laughing hurts too.
"After everything we've done... a broken rib is where you draw the line?
" I say. I move closer. "You broke my molar once, remember, mister?
I spent a week with a swollen face. But a wound someone else made.
.." I lower my hand. I touch his knuckles, still red, swollen from punching that guy. "...this one bothers you?"
He takes my hand.
He's about to answer when a knock sounds at the door.
It's Dmitry's voice, muffled by the wood.
" Dante?... It's me. I'm coming in, okay? Very slowly. Just... announcing my entry so no one gets spooked. "
Dante sighs. He pushes me away, but keeps a hand on my back, supporting me. I unwind myself from him. Standing straight again makes the pain lessen.
The door opens with comical slowness. Dmitry pokes his head in, his eyes fixed on the floor.
"I hope I'm not interrupting any... important strategic deliberations," he says, choosing his words with the care of someone walking through a minefield. "I know I asked Luca not to bother you, but it's about our... about Sal."
The mention of Sal's name breaks the spell. Dante removes my hand from his arm, and he recomposes himself the instant Dmitry's eyes hesitantly turn to us. He was expecting nudity.
"He's in the basement interrogation room," Dmitry continues. "He's cooperating. But we need to decide what to do with him. Long-term."
Dante looks at me one last time.
"Let's go," he says, his voice once again glacial and in command.
He walks past me and Dmitry, leaving the room, the general back at his post. Dmitry and I exchange a quick glance. He gives me a minimal smile, almost an apology.
He knows exactly what he interrupted.
Sal is tied to a chair in the center of the room, his hands bound to the armrests.
He seems smaller, more fragile. Terror has shrunken him.
And, sitting in a chair directly in front of him, is Dante, with his arms crossed and legs spread.
They had already talked before Luca brought me.
Sal's face is swollen from crying, and I can imagine why. Dante knows how to be threatening.