Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Nikolai
"That's the situation, Pakhan."
I leaned back in the black walnut chair, exhaling a stream of smoke.
That old fox Carmine Marchetti clearly wasn't about to swallow his failed hit at the charity gala. Intel showed the Marchetti family's activity around Washington had spiked to abnormal levels recently.
What really made me want to kill? Several known Marchetti informants had been circling the roads near the Volkov estate like sewer rats these past few days.
No crossing the line yet, but I knew this smell too well—the calm before blood spilled.
"Replace all four key intersections leading to the estate with our best shadow posts. Any unfamiliar plates lingering more than two minutes, weapons out. No clearance needed." I crushed my cigar in the crystal ashtray, looking up at Sasha standing statue-still beside me.
"Yes." Sasha nodded, then pulled a matte black phone—no branding—from inside his jacket. He pushed it across the desk with utmost respect. "Pakhan, the device you requested is ready. Military-grade tracking and top-clearance surveillance software fully installed. Can't be removed, can't be traced."
I picked up the phone, testing its weight, then tapped a few keys on my computer.
Eight high-definition surveillance feeds flashed onto the screen. Center frame: Vivienne's bedroom and the side study where she spent most of her time.
On screen, she wore an oversized knit sweater, sprawled across her desk completely unguarded, grinning at her laptop like an idiot who'd gotten candy.
"Good work, Sasha." I stared at that living, breathing image.
Legally? Invasion of privacy. By mob law? Nothing.
She was mine. I needed to know every breath, every movement.
This dark, shameful need for control—she'd never know.
I pocketed the phone and stood, pushing open the study door.
The hinge whispered, but still startled the woman giggling at her screen. I walked over, and before she could slam the laptop shut, I planted one hand on her chair back and leaned in, scanning the display.
The comment section scrolled at insane speed, nearly every post thirsting over the male lead "Aleksei."
"OMG, Aleksei casually cleaning his gun is criminally hot!"
"Author, I NEED to sleep with Aleksei tonight!"
"Update update! I need the safehouse passion scene NOW!"
"Looks like my fiancée's raised an army of fans desperate to jump my bones online." I chuckled low, the vibration traveling through her back. "Impressive growth rate."
Vivienne's face went nuclear. She slammed the screen shut with a smack, spinning like a cat whose tail got stepped on, even covering my eyes with her hand. "Don't peek! These are my readers, they're just... just appreciating literary creation!"
"Appreciating literature?" I pulled her hand away, dragged over a chair, and sat, pulling out that sleek black phone.
"If that's the case, I suggest you upgrade your gear for interacting with these 'literature enthusiasts.
' Your old phone's screen looks like a spiderweb.
Doesn't match the status of this century's greatest mafia romance author. "
Vivienne froze. Her eyes bounced between the premium phone and my face twice. Next second, she let out an excited squeal and launched herself into my lap.
"Jesus, Nikolai! You're literally the best at bribery in the entire world!" Her arms locked around my neck, sweet cherry shampoo flooding my senses.
I caught her thighs naturally, letting her cling like a koala, greedily soaking in her body heat through the fabric.
"Since the gift's such a hit, mind letting me see where your 'literary creation' is at now?"
She hesitated a beat, bit her lower lip, then finally slid off my lap.
Face flushed, she reopened the laptop at glacial speed and turned it toward me.
I leaned forward, scanning those taut, vivid words.
I had to admit—she was brilliant.
She'd stripped away the gunpowder, scheming, and blood from mob life's rotting stench, leaving only the lethal attraction.
"Excellent. Especially the psychological chess match during the parking garage counter-kill. Even I was impressed." I gave my assessment.
Vivienne stared at me for a long moment, those blue eyes glowing with something that made my chest tighten.
She didn't speak, just turned the screen back, lips curving in a smile she couldn't hide, fingers dancing across the keyboard again.
Over the next several nights, this spacious study became a bizarrely harmonious shared space.
The massive walnut desk split in two. I reviewed accounts of arms deals and smuggling operations that determined who lived or died in Washington's underworld. She typed away, weaving hormone-soaked romance for her readers.
Only two warm desk lamps lit the room. Occasionally, I'd stop, pen raised, watching her chew her pen in frustrated writer's block.
This ordinary, lived-in quiet—I'd never dared hope for it in twenty years of bloodshed.
Watching her soft profile in lamplight, I made a brutal vow. Even if I had to slaughter Washington's entire underworld, even if I had to grind Carmine and his rats to dust, I'd protect this goddamn peace.
"Damn it..."
The keyboard sounds across from me stopped. Vivienne grabbed her curls in frustration, dropped her chin on the desk with a thud, and let out a long groan.
"What's wrong, firecracker? Aleksei not cooperating?" I set down my pen, eyebrow raised.
"I'm stuck." She lifted her head, looking utterly defeated. "I need to describe the family tattoo on the male lead's lower abs and V-line, but the muscle structure and tattoo details are fuzzy in my head. If I just grab random model photos online, it'll lose that authentic mafia feel."
I watched her distress, my Adam's apple rolling slowly.
"Why not use a live model that's right here?"
I stood, unabashedly yanked off my tie in front of her. Then I unbuttoned my shirt with efficient movements and tossed it over the chair.
Vivienne's breathing hitched. Those blue eyes went wide as saucers.
I walked over, popped the metal buckle of my belt with a click, and pulled my waistband down a few inches, exposing my V-line and the black thorn tattoo that traced along my hip bone and disappeared into my briefs.
"Take a good look, author." I braced my hands on either side of her chair, looming over her, voice rough as gravel. "Details make or break the story."
Vivienne's face turned blood-red. But her writer's damned curiosity apparently won out over shame.
She swallowed hard, then slid off her chair like she was possessed, kneeling on the thick Persian rug. To see the tattoo details, her face was practically pressed against my abs.
Fuck.
From my angle, her fluffy head was bowed submissively between my legs.
Her warm breath scattered across my already taut groin with each careful observation.
This visually explosive, sexually charged image was a sledgehammer that shattered the last thread of sanity in my brain.
Almost instantly, I felt myself harden uncontrollably, brutally—my rock-hard length arrogantly tenting my slacks, nearly poking her nose.
Vivienne clearly sensed the dangerous shift. She jerked her head up, blue eyes full of panic.
"I... I just remembered, I got inspiration already! I'll get some water!" She stammered out the words, scrambling to escape on hands and knees.
"Too late, firecracker."
My voice was gravel. I grabbed her slender wrist and yanked hard.
"Ah!"
With her short gasp, I threw her entire body roughly onto that wide walnut desk. Papers and pens scattered to the floor.
I pinned her down, my right leg forcing between her thighs, nailing her to the desktop.
"Weren't you looking for inspiration?" I lowered my head, nearly savagely biting her earlobe, my palm sliding roughly up her inner thigh, ripping away that thin fabric barrier.
"Since you got me this worked up, as your exclusive model, I need to give you some more 'in-depth,' hands-on physical stimulation. "
"Nikolai, wait... I need to write down the details—mmph!"
I cut off all her protests with my mouth, swallowing that "wait" between lips and teeth. The kiss was fierce and invasive, filled with undeniable conquest.
Vivienne struggled slightly under my weight, then quickly melted into fragmented whimpers—sounds like feathers scratching my nerves, making the fire in my lower belly burn hotter.
I broke the kiss just long enough to shove her sweater up, baring her breasts to the lamplight. My mouth found one nipple, sucking hard while my hand roughly palmed the other. She arched beneath me, gasping, fingers clutching at my shoulders like she needed an anchor.
"You taste so fucking good," I growled against her skin, teeth grazing the sensitive peak. Her response was a broken moan that went straight to my cock.
But I wasn't done with her yet. Not even close.
I dropped to my knees between her legs, spreading them wider. The view nearly destroyed me—she was already wet, glistening in the low light. I looked up at her, saw those blue eyes glazed with need and confusion, and smirked.
"Let me give you some real inspiration, author."
Then I buried my face between her thighs, inhaling her intoxicating scent before my tongue even touched her.
The first slow, deliberate stroke along her slick folds made her cry out sharply, her whole body jerking violently on the desk.
I gripped her hips, fingers digging into soft flesh as I held her firmly in place and devoured her like a starving man.
She tasted incredible—sweet, musky, and utterly addictive.
I licked broad, flat strokes from her entrance up to her swollen clit, then circled the sensitive nub with the tip of my tongue, alternating between teasing flicks and firm pressure.
Every gasp and whimper fueled me. I sucked her clit gently between my lips, humming against her so the vibration traveled straight through her core.
"Nikolai, oh God, I can't—"
"Yes, you can," I growled against her drenched pussy, the low rumble making her thighs tremble uncontrollably. "Come for me, firecracker. Let me taste every drop."