Chapter 12
AbrAM
She’s beneath me, legs spread, mask slightly askew as I drive into her again and again.
Her hands grip the couch, back arching as she cries out. Her thighs tremble around my hips, and her breasts sway with each deep plunge. I drag one hand up her ribcage, pin her wrists above her head, and lean down to whisper—
HONNNNK.
The blaring horn yanks me out of the fantasy as surely as a punch to the goddamn face. I swerve back into my lane with a growl, the other car speeding past, the driver flipping me off in the rearview. I don’t blame him.
Get your brain out of your pants, Abram.
I grip the wheel tighter, flexing my fingers like I can shake her off. But it’s no use. I’ve been doing this all weekend—slipping into daydreams, letting her take over. I even gave in once, late Saturday night, alone in my penthouse with the city glittering below and her scent still on my skin.
I pull into the underground lot beneath the Vasiliev Tower, thirty-two stories of glass and steel rising just off the Strip. It’s one of the tallest buildings in Vegas, sleek and modern.
The valet greets me with a nod. “Morning, Mr. Vasiliev.”
I toss him the keys to my black Mercedes-Maybach. “No scratches.”
He chuckles nervously. “Never, sir.”
The private elevator awaits, already summoned.
I step in and scan my thumbprint, the doors closing behind me with a whisper.
The ride is silent, save for the faint hum of the rising elevator.
I try to use the silent moment to reorient, shake off the heat still prickling in my blood from the half-formed memory.
She doesn’t even know it was you, I remind myself.
The elevator chimes at the top floor. I step into the office expecting silence. I told her to arrive at 6:45. It’s 6:20. I was ready to make my own coffee, get started on the quarterly prep alone. But she’s here.
My steps falter, just for a second.
She stands near the long meeting table, a fresh cup of black coffee in one hand and her iPad in the other.
Her hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail—tight, professional, elegant.
I’ve never seen her wear it that way before.
It shows off her cheekbones, the graceful lines of her neck, the stubborn set of her jaw.
She’s wearing a tight black skirt that does nothing to hide the curve of her hips, and a silky blouse that clings to her chest in a way that’s going to haunt me through every meeting today.
She’s never looked sexier.
She glances up at me; calm, professional, ready. “Morning,” she says, tone cool and crisp. “I’ve synced your calendar, printed the files for the first meeting, and arranged for Dalia to call at ten instead of eight.”
I don’t answer. I take the coffee from her hand a bit too fast and it sloshes, hot liquid splashing onto my fingers.
Fuck.
She lifts a brow, not quite smirking but definitely close. “I can tell you haven’t had any caffeine yet.”
She leans to grab a tissue from the side table. The view of her ass in that skirt is distracting. Unfair. Dangerous.
I grit my teeth.
“Thanks,” I mutter, dabbing at my hand.
“Anything else you need before your first meltdown of the morning?” Another half smirk.
“Yes,” I say, voice clipped. “Come into my office and shut the door behind you.”
She pauses. “You do know no one else is here yet, right?”
I meet her eyes. Say nothing. She stares back before turning without a word.
We enter my office. I note a flicker of amused defiance as she pulls the door shut. I also notice the subtle eye roll she thinks I missed.
When she turns back, her face is blank. Poised. Pure assistant mode.
I almost laugh. Instead, I walk past her, still flexing my hand as I sit behind my desk. The coffee’s already cooling on the surface, steam thinning.
Jenna doesn’t speak. She just stands there, iPad ready, waiting.
My mind isn’t on the quarterly projections. It’s on how she looked beneath me. The sounds she made. The little gasp when I bit her collarbone. The moment she came apart around my cock.
I shift in my seat. She notices. Of course she does. The corners of her mouth twitch, just barely, and suddenly I can’t decide what the hell I’m more annoyed about—how much I want her or how much she knows it.
I lean back and cross my arms. “Well?”
She blinks, confused. “Well what?”
“What’s that smirk for?”
“There is no smirk,” she replies smoothly, not even pretending to sound apologetic. “But if there were, I guess it might be because you summoned me in here like you were about to reveal state secrets, yet you’re just brooding in silence.”
“I don’t brood.”
She gives me a look.
I clench my jaw. “Update me on the Fremont property.”
The mood shifts instantly. She straightens her spine, thumb gliding across the iPad with practiced precision.
“There was a meeting on Friday with the tenant board. Henley confirmed a conversation between the leasing rep and a potential third-party developer. Officially, the tenant says they’re not interested in selling. ”
“And unofficially?”
“The rep’s story doesn’t line up. I pulled the internal emails—they’ve already started exploratory pricing.”
I exhale slowly. “Cowards never just say no.”
She swipes again, efficient as ever. “I’ve flagged the correspondence and cross-checked it with your calendar. You’ll want to review the notes before your next strategy call with legal. We may need to renegotiate the lease structure, add a non-compete clause if it’s not too late.”
My gaze lingers on her just a beat too long. She’s sharp. Controlled. And fuck if that doesn’t turn me on.
I try to focus, try to maintain my composure, be the man I’m used to being. But my gaze keeps drifting. Her mouth. Her hands. The thought of her kneeling between my thighs—
I cut the thought off and reach for the coffee. The cup’s still slick from earlier and my fingers tighten too hard around it.
I’m going to lose my goddamn mind, and she’s going to make sure I enjoy every second of it.
The silence lingers, thick and charged. Jenna waits patiently, her professional mask flawless, but I know what lies beneath. I know how her skin flushes pink when pleasure overtakes her, the sounds she makes when her defenses crumble beneath my touch.
But right now, her composure is impeccable. It irritates me just as much as it fascinates me.
I wonder what it would take to shatter it.
I could drop a hint, whisper something in Russian, watch her reaction. See if recognition flickers in her eyes. But I won’t, not yet. Too easy. Too soon. I want to watch her figure it out slowly, watch as she unravels the delicious mystery one clue at a time.
My lips twitch at the thought. A dangerous game, but what’s life without a little risk?
She clears her throat softly, shifting my attention back to the meeting and the matter at hand. It’s her first Bratva meeting as my assistant. She needs to understand exactly what she’s stepping into. No more shielding her from the reality of who I am.
“I want to make sure we’re clear on what’s about to happen today,” I say carefully. “Do you know who I am?”
Jenna chuckles softly, a spark of amusement brightening her eyes. “Is that a trick question or are you having a personal crisis?”
I arch a brow. “Answer me.”
“You’re Abram Vasiliev,” she says, her voice steady. “Leader of the Vasiliev Bratva. Billionaire, occasional pain in my ass, exceptionally particular about his coffee.”
I resist the urge to smile. God, she’s good. “Fair enough. But do you know what that actually means?”
Her confidence wavers slightly, a subtle tightening at the corners of her mouth. “My understanding is that Bratva means the Russian mafia. Organized crime, power, danger. That sort of thing.”
Close enough. “Essentially,” I confirm. “This meeting is with my lieutenants—Denis and Mikail—whom you’ve met briefly before. We have a delicate situation brewing. The Agosti family, our Italian counterparts on the north side, have started testing our boundaries.”
She nods slowly, taking that in, processing. No flinching, no panic. Just a careful, quiet seriousness that suits her far better than I expected.
“So, it’s a territory dispute?”
“More or less,” I say. “The Agostis have decided to make a play while their don is sick. Nico Agosti, his son, is impatient and impulsive. And dangerous.”
Jenna’s brow furrows slightly, concern flickering across her face. “And you’re going to discuss how to handle him.”
It isn’t a question, but I answer anyway. “Yes. He’s been trying to interfere in businesses that belong firmly in our territory. Sending his people into establishments under our protection, trying to sow discontent. We can’t let it stand.”
She exhales a soft breath, and I can practically see the wheels turning behind her eyes. She’s sharp, perceptive. That’s part of what makes her so intriguing—both professionally and otherwise.
“I’ll be taking notes?” she asks, glancing down at the iPad.
“Yes,” I reply, “but mostly observing. Watching how things operate. Familiarizing yourself with the language we use, how we communicate. I need you up to speed quickly.”
She nods, her expression tightening slightly. I sense a moment of hesitation building within her, something on the tip of her tongue.
“Something wrong?” I prompt.
She meets my eyes, searching carefully. “Look, I’ll be honest. Everything I know about the mafia or Bratva or whatever it is comes from movies. I’m not afraid to learn, but I need to ask…”
She pauses, swallowing hard. It’s rare for her confidence to slip, but the question she’s about to ask seems to unsettle her, exposing a flash of vulnerability I wasn’t expecting.
“Ask,” I encourage, gentler this time.
She inhales deeply, visibly steeling herself. “Am I safe here, Abram? Or does working for you put me in danger?”
Something sharp twists in my chest at her words. A protectiveness rises immediately, possessive and fierce. Without thinking, I stand and move closer, closing the distance until I’m standing directly in front of her.
“You’re safe,” I say, my voice low, unwavering. “You have my word. No one under my protection comes to harm, not unless they cross me.”
Her eyes widen slightly, but she holds my gaze, studying me intently. “And if someone tries?”
Without hesitation, I tell her, “Then I’ll deal with them personally.”
Her breath catches, and I can feel the tension coiling tighter between us—unspoken but undeniable. I can’t resist pushing just a little further, testing those walls she’s so carefully built around herself.
“I take care of what’s mine,” I add quietly, letting my gaze dip deliberately down her body then back up again. “Always.”