Chapter Four
Leonid
Standing in the hallway outside the basement room, I glance at the door where Elena’s locked up and let my thoughts go on a rampage.
Her sea green eyes flash in my head. They were innocent, fear bleeding right into them when I questioned her, even though she did her best to appear brave.
But being in this line of work means I can read anyone’s bravery and cowardice. And though she was clearly scared of me, I can tell Elena is no coward.
Then who is she?
And why is she here?
There are only two possibilities given the way she responded to my questions. Either she’s working with one of my enemies to sabotage me, and whoever sent her did a good job at training her to appear innocent.
Or she’s truly innocent.
But there’s one more possibility burning in my mind, even though I’d like to do nothing but ignore it.
And that’s the fact that whether she’s guilty or innocent isn’t important, and maybe I’m just looking for reasons to keep her alive.
Surviving in the mafia means distrusting everyone. In our world, everyone is an enemy until proven otherwise.
Even then, trusting someone too much could mean getting a bullet or two buried in your skull while you’re asleep.
I’ve never been one to trust. Never been one to give anyone the benefit of doubt. But somehow, this woman is already making me break one of my rules.
My fists clench, the dark part of me that’s brought me this far making me question my choices. Maybe I should turn around, burst into the room, and wrap my hands around her neck until she’s nothing but a corpse.
Yet the thought of light leaving those beautiful green eyes, the thought of the blood draining from her face, doesn’t let me.
I’m not letting her go so easily, though. I’ll stay in close proximity, close enough to control the risk that comes with letting a potential enemy live.
Pulling out my phone, I dial Artem’s number. “Balcony. Now.” I hang up before he can reply.
Artem’s already on the balcony when I arrive, and Mikhail’s right beside him. The bastard’s grinning like he just slipped his dick into some whore’s ass.
“Hey, man.”
My jaw ticks. If he weren’t my cousin, I’d have had a tooth or two pulled from his mouth for addressing me that way. He knows I hate it, and looking at the way his eyes light up with mischief, I know the asshole’s trying to piss me off on purpose.
Mikhail’s the bratva’s enforcer, the only other person I trust besides Artem. Maybe it’s a bratva thing, but the fucker can stab four men to death while wearing his deceptive smile.
He says it’s because of some shit about being a predator and all. He’s one fucked up motherfucker. And so am I.
I stride past him. “Why are you here?”
He shrugs casually and joins me at the railing. His brown eyes look darker than usual tonight. “I heard some shit about you bringing the girl to your home. Came to see for myself.”
Of course. I knew it’d be something stupid. “The prisoner,” I say, correcting him.
“What’s the difference?”
My gaze flicks to Artem, who’s watching us quietly while leaning against the wall across from us, then back to Mikhail. “I can show you the difference if you want me to.”
My annoying cousin throws his hand up. He knows I don’t bluff. Showing him would mean us getting into a fight and him going home with a bloody face, because despite being the enforcer, he knows I always win.
“I’ll pass,” he says. “What’s up?”
I glance at Artem. “I need all the information you can find on the girl.”
He straightens up from the wall, nodding. “This includes…?”
“Her age. Family. Work history.” I pause and peer at him through my narrowed eyes. “Everything you can find on her.”
She looks no older than twenty-one, so I doubt there’s much to find out about her, but I need a thorough background check to confirm that I’m not making stupid decisions based on the way my chest constricts when I’m around her.
I hate that feeling.
Artem nods. “Understood.”
Mikhail’s gaze bounces between both of us. “So where do I come in?”
I furrow my brows, giving my cousin a death stare. “I don’t know. I’m sure there’s a way you can make yourself useful.”
A sardonic chuckle rumbles from his chest. “You know you wouldn’t be able to handle the business without me.”
He’s right.
Mikhail and Artem have both made my work in the bratva easier. With Artem I can easily testify to his usefulness, but with Mikhail…the bastard’s already arrogant as fuck. The last thing I want to do is stroke his ego even further.
“You wish.” I’m about to leave the balcony when the thought of how to put Mikhail to use crosses my mind. “The girl being there last night doesn’t seem like a coincidence. Someone could’ve leaked our operation.”
Mikhail’s expression turns grim. He thinks for a moment. “You know what that means. Don’t you?”
Before I can answer, Artem chimes in. “It’s possible we have a mole in the bratva. We need to find the traitor before we incur more losses.”
Mikhail nods slowly in agreement, rubbing his fingers together. “You believe someone sent the girl.”
“It’s likely.” I drag my hand over my hair. “Think of it. The girl works as a charter manager. If she works for the enemy, someone within our circle has to be leaking details about our operations.”
“I agree. I’ll get right to it and find out if we have a rat in the crew,” Mikhail says.
“And I’ll run a background check on the girl,” Artem adds. “I’ll make it quick and let you know once it’s ready.”
I nod once. “Good.” Then I leave.
When I make it back to my room, I rip off my clothes and enter the bathroom. As the hot water runs down my body and bites its way down my skin, all I can think of is Elena.
Her beautiful face flashes in my head, her green eyes boring into mine with an intensity that reaches my soul. I imagine grabbing her neck and claiming her lips with mine, then fucking her hard until I get a confession out of her.
Shit.
What the hell is wrong with me? I barely know this woman, or if she’s even innocent. It’ll be my undoing if I let these crazy, fucked-up thoughts consume me.
But my body doesn’t agree. My cock throbs, my heart beating hard against my ribcage with something I dismiss as lust. I can’t let this go on.
After I finish my shower, I throw on a pair of black sweats and head straight to her room.
She’s sitting on the edge of the mattress when I open the door. Her legs are drawn up to her chest and her arms are wrapped around them. She flinches when I slam the door closed.
Her eyes are dim with fear when they meet mine, her lips parting as a small gasp tears from her throat.
Her frame is small compared to mine. Fragile. As if she’d break from the slightest pressure, as if there’s not a single evil bone in her body.
She looks too innocent for this world. Too harmless to hurt a fly.
But I remind myself not to fall for her looks. Looks can be deceiving, and I know many men in the bratva have died because they failed to remember that.
And if she’s truly as innocent and afraid as she seems, then she should be insignificant enough for me to let her go and pretend we never met.
Yet something inside me twists as I look at her. It’s strange, but a part of me wants to keep her regardless of whether or not she’s a threat.
My fists clench at my sides, my jaw ticking. I hate the control this woman has over me.
“What do you want?” she asks in that tiny voice, looking up at me as if I’m a horned devil.
I ignore her question and move closer, then press the back of my hand to her forehead. My body warms up instantly. I’m not sure if it’s from her body’s temperature or something lustful bubbling inside me.
“You’re burning up,” I say.
She moves her head away, but she doesn’t break eye contact. “What do you care? You’re keeping me here against my will.”
“Piss me off, little bird, and I’ll keep you here forever,” I mutter, a smirk playing on my lips at the way her eyes glint with defiance.
But she says nothing and looks away.
I don’t like the way she’s burning up, and if the fever continues, I might need to get her a doctor.
“You need to got take a shower,” I say, and when her brows cock curiously, I add, “For the fever. I don’t want you dying on my property.”
Her eyes grow wide with barely contained rage. I have a feeling she would’ve yelled at me if it weren’t for the fever and her obvious fear of me.
“Then you shouldn’t have kidnapped me in the first place.” Her voice is soft and calm, but it’s impossible to ignore the challenge laced in her tone.
I crouch in front of her. Despite my position, she has to tilt her head to meet my gaze. “You’re not leaving until you tell me everything I need to know.”
“I’ve told you everything,” she mutters. Her eyes gleam with unshed tears. “I don’t know anything else. I promise.”
Those are the same exact words she said earlier. I’m struggling between believing her or calling her bullshit.
I can’t decide until her background check comes back. Then I’ll know what to do with her.
I wish I could say she’ll regret lying to me if it turns out she’s lying, but then I’d be lying to myself. If she has the balls to look me in the eyes and lie this convincingly, then my life is about to take an interesting turn.
“Stand up.”
Without a word in protest, she rises to her feet.
My gaze sweeps over her. At the swell of her breasts, rising and falling with every breath she takes. Then the curve of her hips and the linen fabric stretching over her thick thighs.
She’s soft in all the places that can make a man weak. My fingers itch to touch her, and it takes a good amount of self-control to restrain the desire burning through my veins.
Her sweater is now wrinkled, sleeves rolled up to her elbow, and honey-blonde strands escape her collapsing ponytail.
She’s insanely beautiful.
More beautiful than any woman I’ve ever seen, despite how disheveled she looks from being kidnapped and locked in here for a day.
“Take your clothes off.”
She narrows her eyes at me, her pupils instantly dilating with defiance. “Why?” She asks it like I’m some lunatic who wants to force himself on her.
I admit I’m a little fucked in the head, but I like my women willing and not burning up with a fever. I inhale, rising to my feet.
“You need to take a shower,” I say calmly. “To lower the fever.”
“Oh.” The look of defiance in her eyes vanishes, and it’s instantly replaced with one of her brows arching curiously. I can tell she’s shocked as to why I’d care about her having a fever, but she doesn’t voice the question.
Instead, she furrows her brows at me.
“What is it, ptichka?” I ask, not liking the way she’s glaring at me like she wants me dead.
“Don’t they teach you guys any manners at kidnapping school?” The sarcasm dripping in her tone doesn’t match her trembling voice.
I chuckle, amazed by how she holds herself even in the face of fear. I’ve killed men for less, but for some reason, I’m enjoying this more than I should.
“Kidnapping school?” Another chuckle rumbles from my throat. I take a step toward her, and she instinctively moves back. “Keep talking to me that way, and I can assure you that you won’t be leaving here anytime soon.”
Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t back down. “Only losers threaten women they’ve abducted.”
My lips curl into a smirk. “Take off your clothes.”
She grits her teeth. “I won’t. Not while you’re watching.”
“Do you think I’m interested in seeing you naked?” I ask.
And goddamnit! I am. I want to see what she looks like beneath that sweater. I want to feel her skin…with my fingers. My lips. My cock.
“You’re an insane bastard who kidnapped me,” she blurts out. “Who knows what other sick fantasies you have?”
I don’t take others from anyone, but for some reason, I find myself turning around. “Happy now?”
“You’re not dead, so I can’t say what happiness feels like,” she retorts.
“I need to do something about that smart mouth of yours, ptichka,” I mutter, swallowing so hard my throat hurts.
I try to ignore the rustling noises behind me as she strips. I move to the dark wooden dresser, gripping the edge so hard that my knuckles ache. It’s a desperate attempt to not let my control slip.
But then I turn my head to the side of the dresser. The act isn’t deliberate, but when I catch her reflection in the mirror, it’s impossible to look away.
Her fingers slowly grip the hem of her sweater, and then she pulls it up over her shoulders.
She’s wearing a black bra that reveals half the swell of her beasts. They look soft, her nipples straining against the lacy fabric as goosebumps scatter over her skin.
My grip on the dresser tightens.
The glass reflects every soft curve, tracing the line of her waist and the curve of her hips as she shrugs off her shorts.
Desire crashes through me in maddening waves. My breath itches and an ache settles deep in my chest. Every instinct I have screams at me to turn around, to close the distance between us and press her against the nearest wall until we’re both breathless.
Fucking God.
I need to get a grip on myself before I fucking lose it.
Just as quickly as the lust, a wave of bitter irritation ripples through my veins, warring against the heat of desire.
Forcing my jaw tight, my gaze locks onto the mirror for one final, desperate second before I tear my eyes away.
I hate the agonizing pull she has over my senses, but most of all, I hate the pathetic weakness that makes me want to give in to it.
Elena’s not someone I should be thinking of this way. She’s my prisoner, a problem that needs to be solved, and a possible enemy. For all I know, she could be here on a mission, and the last thing I want is to be thinking of all the positions I could put her in.
I need to remember that.
And I need to stay the fuck away from her.
My throat tightens, making it a little too hard for me to breathe. I can’t stay here any longer, not while I know she’s most likely completely naked behind me. But I can’t leave until I’m sure she’s okay.
It hasn’t been confirmed that she works for the enemy, so I can’t let her die on my watch.
But maybe all of that is an excuse to stay close to her even when I know I shouldn’t be. I’ve been with a lot of women, but none of them have ever made me feel like I’m about to lose my shit as much as she does.
Unable to bear the torture of my traitorous thoughts any longer, I walk out of the room in quick strides. Reaching my bedroom, I grab a cigar from the pack on my nightstand and light it up, then stroll out to the balcony connected to my room.
The cold night air hits my face, but it does nothing to calm the storm inside me.
Even as I exhale a ring of smoke into the open air, images of Elena’s half-naked body burn in the back of my mind.
This isn’t just lust.
It’s some twisted and sick obsession I need to put an end to. In the mafia, obsessions make men vulnerable, and vulnerability is a luxury I can’t afford.
I lean against the railing with one thought playing on a loop in my mind with terrifying clarity.
If anyone finds out about my desire for her, it would be my one-way ticket to hell.