Chapter Sixteen
It had been two long weeks already, and all I’d been able to do successfully within this period was think about Aria every minute of every day. It was as if her face had been tattooed on my stone-cold heart as a reminder that she was the only woman who had ever made me lose my composure.
Thoughts of her were a welcome distraction, even though they hindered my ability to focus on anything productive. During the last Bratva meeting I attended two nights ago, I zoned out almost the entire time.
I could tell that my business partners weren’t pleased with my lack of concentration. But none of them had the effrontery to confront me about it. Being completely distracted at an important meeting like that was unethical and unlike me.
However, I couldn’t help it. I was addicted to this woman as though she were a hard drug.
The sex in my office cracked something in me—something primal and dangerously possessive.
Before we were ever intimate, I felt the pull between us, the subtle tension, and the way my body responded to her presence.
But now, after planting my seed in her and basking in the sweetness of her essence, that pull had multiplied a thousand times. I had a taste of her, and suddenly, I couldn’t get enough. And this wasn’t just about the sex. No. It was beyond that.
I’d never felt so connected to another person before. Because of that, the feeling was both fascinating and disturbing. I’d never lost a war—a few battles, yes—but never a war. However, I was losing this war against myself.
A part of me wanted to forget the incident in my office and act as if nothing had happened. That part of me was of the opinion that she was the same woman who witnessed a Bratva covert operation and should be treated as such.
The other part of me, however, disagreed. This part of me believed she wasn’t a threat—just a woman who happened to be at the wrong place, at the wrong time. Why “clean up her mess” when she hadn’t done anything wrong?
The two opposing sides kept going back and forth in my mind, each presenting valid points as to why it was right. The more this mental war went on, the more I buried myself in the memory of what happened in that office.
Even in my sleep, I heard her moans and saw her face, twisted in pleasure.
I was in my office that afternoon, replaying the sex scene over and over again in my head. The scent of her lingered on my clothes until I got home that evening. As did the taste of her lips and her pussy.
Damn!
So clean.
So tasty.
I could eat her all day long and never get tired. Her body was worth worshipping—perfect breasts, glowing skin, killer shape and a cunt so gorgeous it almost had me drooling when I first set my eyes on it.
“…Where’d you learn to do that?”
That question gave me a small sense of satisfaction, knowing she was blown away by my eating techniques.
The fact that she didn’t come over intending to get laid made it even more interesting. The sex was unplanned—spontaneous. And the best I’d had.
I never thought a man like me, whose presence alone commanded attention, would ever be distracted by a twenty-two-year-old girl. Yet there I was, doing nothing but thinking of her in my office.
Yuri had noticed my distraction lately, and it was only a matter of time before he confronted me about it. Until then, Aria would continue living rent-free in my head.
The front door opened, and the soft creak pulled me out of my thoughts. The man walking into my space like he owned the place wasn’t Yuri.
It was Ilya, my younger brother.
His signature cologne and dangerous, unrestrained presence gave him away even before I set my eyes on him.
Standing at six-foot-three, Ilya Tarasov was lean and athletic, the kind of frame built—not from lifting weights at the gym—but from years of violence that was both controlled and instinctive.
His steel-blue eyes were fixed on me as he approached my desk, dressed in a black shirt with the top three buttons undone. His sleeves were rolled up nicely, his dark brown hair tousled in a way that accentuated his ruggedness.
The Rolex on his wrist caught the chandelier’s warm glow, his polished black shoes scuffing against the floor.
“Did your mother not teach you how to knock?” I asked teasingly.
“She did.” He sank into the visitor’s chair and crossed his legs. “I just refused to learn it.”
I huffed. “What’re you doing here, Ilya?”
“Since when did dropping by to see my big brother become such a big deal?”
“You never ‘drop by’ unless it’s important.”
He shrugged his shoulders, a small knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “People change, Rodion, or should I say…Anton.” The slight pause came when his eyes bore into mine.
I wasn’t surprised that he knew about my fake identity. Just like me, Ilya also had his ways. Nothing got past him unless he chose to let it go.
I let out a quiet chuckle. “So, that’s why you’re here.”
“I think we need to talk.”
“About what?”
“About your newfound obsession with that girl.”
A pause.
“What I do with my life is none of your business.”
“You’re right. It isn’t,” he answered. “But it’s different this time.” Ilya uncrossed his legs and leaned in, holding my gaze. “My sources tell me this girl in question witnessed something she shouldn’t have, and you’re taking it lightly with her.”
“The situation is under control.”
“Is it?” he asked, suspicion flickering in his eyes. “Because it doesn’t seem that way to me.”
A faint scowl settled on my face. “Drop it, Ilya.”
“Listen, I’m not trying to tell you what to do here. But your head’s not in the game anymore. The other day during our meeting, you zoned out. And I’m not the only one who’s noticed the changes.”
Of course, he wasn’t. I was almost certain that the Bratva elites had put him up to this.
“You’re distracted, brother—and I’ve never seen you distracted.” A pause. “Wait a minute…”
I watched that pesky little smirk of his slowly spread across his face.
“…are you falling for this girl?”
My expression hardened. “Don’t be silly, Ilya.”
He laughed lightly, leaning back in his chair. “That explains why you’re so obsessed with her.”
“I’m not obsessed.” The words came out more intensely than I intended.
He retained his smirk and said, in a gentle tone, “Nobody who’s obsessed with someone ever agrees that they are.”
Deep down, I knew he was right. However, hearing him say it so bluntly and out loud did something to me that I wasn’t ready to label.
“Has she found out who you are yet?” he asked.
“I thought your sources told you everything. How come they left out this piece of information?”
“Is it wrong to want to hear it from the horse’s mouth?”
I rose to my feet. “Whiskey or vodka?”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” I strolled over to the minibar in my large office space.
“You’re trying to avoid this conversation.”
“Yes. Because there’s nothing to talk about.”
“My brother, a stone-cold son of a bitch with ice in his veins, is obsessed with a twenty-two-year-old journalism student,” he said, his gaze following me around. “I think that’s a conversation worth having.”
I grabbed a bottle of vodka and poured a generous amount into two glasses. “Like I said, I’m not obsessed.” I handed one to him.
“Tell that to somebody who doesn’t know you.” He accepted the glass.
I took a sip and leaned against the edge of my mahogany table. “What’s your point? What exactly do you want from me, Ilya?”
“I want you to get your head back in the game,” he replied sternly. “I want you focused because your recent distraction is becoming alarming.” Ilya rose to his feet and stood in front of me. “People are talking, brother.”
I locked my jaw but said nothing.
“I know you don’t want her dead; that’s why she’s still alive,” he added. “But what do you think would happen if your enemies found out that you’re obsessed with some girl?”
A pause.
He continued, “She’ll automatically become a target. And the same girl you’re trying to protect might end up dead sooner than you think.”
My heart skipped a beat as the realization set in. Ilya was right, and I hadn’t considered it this way. The first thing that popped into my head was to double the security around her house and have more men tail her wherever she went.
He glanced at his watch like he had somewhere else to be. Ilya drained the remaining vodka down his throat in a single shot, his expression unchanging.
“I’d stay a little longer, but I have a flight to catch.” He dropped the empty glass on my table. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Ilya tapped my shoulders with both hands and then walked out of my office.
The second the door closed behind him, I picked up my phone, instructing Yuri to increase surveillance on Aria’s movements. Now that my brother had opened my eyes to the possibility of her life being in danger, all I wanted to do was ensure no external threat got close to her.
Later that evening, I tracked her down to her favorite café. And from my car across the street, I saw her speaking with a young man. Average height. Dirty-blond hair. Slightly portly. He was probably her classmate or something.
They were both standing outside the café discussing God-knows-what. It seemed harmless on the surface, but the way the idiot was smiling at her filled me with rage. I couldn’t stomach the idea that he might be into her.
How dare this kid want the same woman as me?
When she reached out, brushing something off his hair, my fingers tightened around the steering wheel. My blood boiled with fury, and in that moment, I wanted to send that kid to his maker.
I watched his face light up in a way that made her smile. Why was she smiling at him? Who the fuck was that guy?
He said something, and she laughed, her shoulders shaking in the process.
So beautiful.
The cool breeze brushed against her face, rustling her tousled blond hair in a way I found rather theatrical. As usual, she was dressed in comfortable clothes—denim and a loose top.
Her backpack was slung over her left shoulder. And when it slipped off slightly, the young man reached out, helping her to carry it. He already had his own on his back but still chose to pull the “perfect gentleman” card.
He opened the café door for her, let her walk in first, then followed and closed the door.
I clenched my jaw so tightly it hurt.
Through the large glass window, I watched them settle at her usual spot, laptops on the table.
Everything about their interaction was normal, probably strictly academic. Yet the fact that she was smiling at him didn’t sit well with me at all. Aria Bennett was mine, and no other man was allowed in the same room with her.
“My brother, a stone-cold son of a bitch with ice in his veins, is obsessed with a twenty-two-year-old journalism student…” Ilya’s voice echoed in my head.
He wasn’t wrong.
I was obsessed with her.
And I wasn’t apologetic about it.
My face twisted into a frown as I watched them from my car, fingers curling into fists.
What were they talking about?
What was this meeting for?