Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
LEO
There’s nothing more depressing than the rituals and customs of a Russian Orthodox funeral.
Earlier today, we’d stood in the front pew—my brothers flanking me and my father at the end of the row—as the priest led the congregation in prayer.
Reciting passages from the Bible, his voice resonated through the church adorned with golden icons and the soft glow of candlelight.
But I barely registered any of it. My focus was entirely on Alyona sitting beside her mother, Mina, both of them quietly sobbing, their shoulders shaking with each tearful breath.
Her grief is like a bullet to my chest. Yulian sat on the other side of his mother, his face pale and solemn, his eyes glued to his papa’s casket.
Much like Yulian, my father remained stoic, a clenched jaw and serious expression, masking the sorrow pressing on his soul for his loyal avoirtet. But I didn’t miss the way his hands curled into fists when the last rites were read.
Back at my family’s secluded East Hampton home, hundreds have gathered to pay their respects to the Nikitin family and, by extension, to my family as well. I haven’t caught a glimpse of Aly through the crowd of mourners, but I imagine she is busy shaking hands and receiving condolences.
It was barely a week ago that my father called Yulian and I into his office and told us the tragic news.
Kiril had been killed protecting my father in a shootout with a rival mafia.
Yulian took the news like the vor he was raised to be.
His sorrow morphed into rage. Unsure of what else to do, I got shit-faced with my best friend, then allowed him to unleash his pain on me in the boxing ring, his grief materializing in forceful blows.
Aly was away at boarding school. Her mama left right away to pick her up, and while we’ve been under the same roof for the last few days, she’s been holed up with her mama and Yulian.
The truth is, I don’t know how to console her.
Unlike Yulian, a shot of vodka and a pair of boxing gloves won’t cut it.
So I’ve stayed away even though I know she’s hurting.
Alyona was close to her papa, he called her his zaychik, his little bunny, and doted on her, always bringing her Matryoshka dolls from his trips to Russia.
I wonder if she still has the collection?
Nearing the late afternoon, the guests have finally thinned out, my brothers and Yulian are off smoking in the garage, and I know it’s time to face Aly. I’d spied her slipping out of the room about an hour ago and I know just where to find her.
The hallway leading to the library is quiet, as expected, all the guests are holed up in the other wing. Swinging open the heavy wood door, I find Aly’s long form huddled by the bay window, and she’s nursing something that is definitely not juice.
Her head snaps around, eyes wide and startled by my unexpected presence. “Leo, oh my god,” she exclaims, placing a hand over her heart, “you scared me.”
“Whoa, didn’t mean to scare you,” I blurt, nervously rubbing the back of my neck. We’re both frozen for a beat, just taking each other in. Even with red-rimmed eyes, I can’t rip my gaze from her. “I can leave you alone if you’d like.”
“No, of course not,” she says, rising from the window seat. “It would actually be nice to have someone to drink with.” She holds up a tumbler of amber liquid.
I clear my throat, stepping farther into the room. I feel like a total jackass and at a loss for words. So I go with the trite shit I’ve heard from others all day. “Aly, I … I’m sorry—”
She starts shaking her head before I can get the words out.
“No, please don’t. Not you too.” I’m not sure what she means, but keeping my mouth shut seems like the best course of action.
Her gaze snaps to the window, looking off at the distant sea, while she brings the tumbler of …
what? Whisky maybe? … to her lips and takes a hearty gulp, causing her to cough.
“Shit, that’s strong,” she announces, pounding her chest. A chest that’s a hell of a lot fuller than the last time I saw her. I feel like a fucking asshole. The day of her father’s funeral, and here I am, eyeing up her perfect curves.
Over the past year, she’s blossomed, ditched the braces, and started styling her hair so it falls in a glossy black wave down her back. Even in her somber funeral dress, her legs seem to go on forever, and my mind takes a detour, imagining them hooked over my shoulders while I—
Stop. Jesus. What the hell is wrong with me?
Aly’s always been in my life, but something has shifted lately.
I can’t help but notice her, like really notice.
She’s got this spark that sets her apart from all the other girls I know.
Plus, she’s a knockout—smart, fierce, and drop-dead gorgeous.
It’s like I’ve got Aly goggles on. Every family gathering, every holiday, she’s the only thing in my sight line. Hell, she’s all I jerk off to.
But there’s a big fat line between my fantasies and real life. Aly’s off-limits—too young, too innocent, my best friend’s kid sister. I can’t go there. Ever. I shove those thoughts aside, focusing on what she needs right now—a friend.
I snag the Stoli from the mini fridge in the corner, then sidle over to her. “Switch to vodka, trust me,” I suggest, unscrewing the cap and passing her the bottle as I hop up onto the window seat.
She eyes me with uncertainty. “What? You’re not going to give me a lecture about underage drinking like my brother?”
A wry smile tugs at my lips. “Nah, it’s your dad’s funeral. You get a free pass today.”
She seems to agree, taking the icy bottle from my grasp, swigging from it like it’s the nectar of the gods. Like anybody with Russian blood, she puts away a good few ounces, not even hiccuping when she’s done.
“I meant what I said earlier. I’m sorry I didn’t come and find you when you first came home. I just … fuck.” I bite out a curse, my emotions all over the damn place. “I’m not good at this stuff, Aly.”
“It’s okay.” She joins me at the bay window, sitting so close our thighs touch. The heat from her skin and her scent, like ripe peaches, is distracting. “I know Papa’s death brings back difficult memories of your mom.”
I turn to look at her, her face a picture of quiet sympathy.
How is Alyona the one comforting me when she’s experiencing such a devastating loss?
But she’s not wrong. Even though I was a child when my mother took her own life, the memory of her death still haunts me.
On days like today, it feels more present than ever.
“She’s on my mind a lot,” I admit with a helpless shrug. “I hope she found happiness wherever she is; happier than she was here.”
Kids have a sixth sense. Even as a young boy, I could tell our free-spirited mother was wilting under the bratva’s rigid rules and constant threats. The tightening of her freedom. My father, busy with his empire, grew more and more distant, and all of it weighed heavily on her.
“I’ve made a decision,” Aly says, looking down at the vodka cap she’s spinning between her fingers.
“I want out of this life. The bratva, the brotherhood, whatever you want to call it. I don’t want it to be my future.
” Her eyes widen as if she fears I might misunderstand her.
“I mean, your family will always be important to me, but I don’t want to be like Mama today, a vor wife mourning a husband who was destined to die the minute he took the oath.
” Her watery eyes meet mine. “And I want to make a life of my own. Have a job. All of that.”
I nod in understanding. “I hope that for you, too. Shit, I wouldn’t even mind that for myself.”
“Really?” Her head tilts in interest. “What would you want to do?”
“I dunno,” I say with a shrug. But that’s not true, I know exactly what I’d do.
When Aly’s eyes meet mine, so big and earnest, waiting for my answer, I decide to be truthful.
“I think being a video game designer would be a cool job. Or maybe a virtual reality developer. Something with computers and tech.” There.
I said it. I’ve never told another person that except maybe my dog, Bones, but yeah, he doesn’t count.
She bumps her shoulder gently against mine. “I think you’d be great at whatever you put your mind to.”
“Thanks. But being the direct heir to the pakhan, it’s tough to walk away from my family obligations.” More like impossible.
“You never know. It’s the modern world, people break with tradition all the time. And, no offense, but you’re third in line to the throne. Surely that buys you a little more freedom.”
My lips curl into a cynical grin. “None taken. But Papa doesn’t see it that way.
Would you like to be the one to discuss it with him?
” Serge Kozlov is as traditional and uncompromising as they come.
He’s made it clear that his children are expected to join the family business. It isn’t a choice, it’s an obligation.
She snorts, familiar with how rigid my father can be. “Hard pass.”
“What do you want to do?” I ask, screwing the top back on the vodka bottle when I notice a red flush working its way across Aly’s delicate cheeks.
“Probably something to do with fashion. You know how I love combing through Vogue and Elle and all those magazines. I could see myself as a stylist or a buyer. There’s just something about working in that world that excites me.”
“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but you’re beautiful enough to be a model.”
She scrunches her nose, as if she doesn’t believe me.
I take that moment to study her. She really is breathtaking with eyes a deep blue nearing sapphire, subtly upturned at the corners.
Cheekbones that are high and broad, tapering down to a slender nose.
And her lips, plump and full, have starred in some of my hottest fantasies.
Her cheeks flush, a sign she’s caught me staring at her lips. I quickly lift my eyes to meet hers. I hadn’t meant to perv on her so obviously.
Suddenly, the atmosphere shifts. The air is charged, heavy with anticipation. Of what, I don’t know. “Did you really mean what you said earlier …” Aly’s hoarse voice breaks the silence. She looks up at me through thick dark lashes. “About a free pass today?”
“‘Course I did. Anything to feel something other than pain.” First-hand experience is the most ruthless teacher, and I know all about the power of diversion, the desperate need to feel something—anything—other than the searing slash of pain.
“Would it be selfish to ask to feel good? So my memory of today isn’t all sadness and loss?” Her words nearly send me tumbling from the windowsill. I could blame the booze, but her stunning eyes are clear, completely alert. And they’re trained right on me.
Maybe I’m reading this all wrong, maybe she just wants to take a sauna or something, get a massage … but that’s not the vibe I’m getting. Maybe I should talk her out of whatever idea is brewing in her head, but I don’t want to. So, instead, I say, “I don’t think it would be selfish.”
Her voice doesn’t waver when she asks, “What if you kissed me? Then I’d also remember today as the day I got my first kiss.”
Shit.
Desire floods my system, impossible to block out.
A grunt leaves my throat as I try—and fail—to ignore the spark of heat in her eyes as she looks up at me.
This is ridiculous. I should say no. I should tell her it’s a terrible idea, her brother is my best friend and would probably beat my face in if he knew I took advantage of his emotionally vulnerable sister.
But she doesn’t look vulnerable right now.
She looks damn sure of herself, and how can I deny her?
No, more than that. I don’t want to deny her.
I reach out and tuck a strand of silky dark hair behind her ear, enjoying the way her breath catches in her throat. “You sure, Aly?”
She nods, a hint of shyness coming through in her expression. “I’m sure … I just don’t know what to do. Will you show me?”
My throat goes dry. Screw it, I can’t pretend the idea of being her first kiss isn’t enough to make me instantly hard.
I shoot a cautious look at the closed door, confident that no one’s coming in here anytime soon.
I clear my throat and push to stand. She watches me closely.
My fingers instinctively find her chin as she blinks up at me, vulnerability etched across her face.
I’m on the verge of crossing a line that should never be crossed, and I can’t find it in me to care.
“You know, I want this as bad as you do,” I say.
“Really?” Her cheeks turn a shade of pink as her gaze drifts down to my lips. My thumb skims over her mouth, a mouth I’m sure is going to taste like the sweetest ripe fruit. Like perfection.
Her pulse flutters in her throat as I tighten my grip on her chin and run my tongue over her lower lip. This kiss is like jumping off a cliff, exciting and terrifying all at once, because after this, there is no turning back. I’ll know what she tastes like forever.
My lips capture hers. What she lacks in experience, she makes up for in sheer enthusiasm, opening herself up to me so perfectly.
I devour her, running my tongue along her full lower lip then sucking it into my mouth.
She releases little moans as my tongue brushes against hers, her skin silky and soft beneath my hand, still cupping her jaw.
Her hands find my arms, fingers digging into my skin like she doesn’t know what to do with all this need, all this pent-up desire. And damn, I feel it too. If it was any other girl, I’d be balls deep in her right now. But not Alyona. This kiss is all we can share.
So I make it count.
I grab her ass and lift her onto me. Her arms wrap around my neck, and her legs instinctively find their way around my waist. “You’re such a good girl,” I praise her, and she arches against me. “Your body knows exactly what to do. What it needs.”
Her response is a whimper from the back of her throat. She’s desperate for it now, shimmying her hips, eagerly seeking relief. “More,” she begs.
And I’m so tempted to give her the more she is craving. One hard circle of her clit, and I bet she’d go off like a rocket in my hand. I imagine her face flushed, back arching as my fingers brush against her throbbing clit, and it’s so fucking tempting, but …
But that’s not what she asked for.
She asked for a kiss, that’s all.
Her first kiss. So that’s what I give her.