Chapter 11
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Roman
I hate giving speeches, especially in front of a crowd. Unfortunately, the CEO position comes packaged with this obligation. Being the public face of everything that happens behind the scenes.
When I step onto the stage, I feel a phantom touch and know it's just in my mind. I'm alone up here, with a hundred gazes fixed on me. But I recognize this sensation. It's the feeling of being read down to your bone marrow, and usually, this sensation irritates me.
But now, in this moment, I scan the sea of faces, trying to find that pair of green eyes that I know is analyzing me. Only her gaze from the restaurant has ever provoked this sensation in me, and I'm sure she's here, somewhere in the crowd. I personally verified she made it past the entrance. My speech is concise and the room is full of people hidden in shadows or at tables, so I can't find her gaze.
As I descend from the stage, I catch sight of Sofia, Niko's assistant, applauding with an ear-to-ear smile.
"Well, that wasn't bad at all. Looks like you're starting to develop a taste for speeches." But she must read my expression because she bursts out laughing.
"Alright, alright, no more speeches. Isn't Niko coming?" she asks, and I hear more than just polite curiosity in her voice.
Sofia is a good girl, hardworking, and the last person she should worry about is my brother. I'll never understand how some people don't see all the red flags in a person or why they choose to ignore them.
Niko is the definition of a womanizer. He's three years younger than me, which has always given him the peace of mind that he's not next in the power hierarchy and, as such, he is much more relaxed and charismatic than I am. A bitter laugh escapes me when I think that I'm the one who has to give public speeches even though just two hours ago I was breaking someone into pieces.
Someone blew up an entire weapons warehouse, and even though I already know who's behind the action, we managed to catch a lackey less than a mile from the location. The fool stayed to watch the explosion instead of getting to safety.
One man's stupidity is another man's luck.
"Stop worrying about Niko, Sofia," I tell her in a tone that I hope makes her understand he's not the right man.
Neither am I. In this world, you're here today, gone tomorrow. Choosing to love someone in the mafia is the biggest mistake you can make, and yet when I look at her, I see resilience in her gaze.
"I worry about him like I would about you, Roman. You were the only one who helped me when I needed it."
She barely gets the last word out before a business partner joins us, trying to secure some forecasts for the next quarter.
I can already feel exhaustion consuming me, and I know tomorrow morning won't be one of relaxation.
Do you even remember what relaxation is?
One more evening, I repeat to myself. One more day. One more week. The problem is I don't know how many such mantras I can repeat until I crack. Every aspect of our business is approved directly by me. Every decision passes through me. Every shipment falls on my shoulders to arrive on time. And all these factors, for years, have been gnawing away at the control I try to cling to.
I've got my people in every key position, but it doesn't matter how good they are - the demons inside me need to know every detail, feed on that absolute control.
I'm heading for the door when I hear it - a voice like velvet wrapping around my senses. That slight huskiness mixed with feminine sweetness stops me in my tracks. I know that voice, especially when it's got that edge of irritation. No need to rush out there. From my spot in the hallway, I can see Luna dealing with some suit who's clearly had too much of the free champagne.
What is it about this woman that attracts exactly the unstable ones?
"Tim, are you even hearing yourself? The vodka's doing the talking here," Luna's voice carries down the hall.
I edge closer, keeping to the shadows, listening.
"Come on, Luna, you know that code architecture inside out. Think how much cash you could make reproducing it."
This drunk idiot has no idea he just talked his way into losing his career.
And his life.
I force that thought down. Here, I'm the CEO. Not the Russian mafia's pakhan.
"Tim, I'm going to chalk this up to the alcohol and get you a cab. You need to sleep this off," her velvet voice replies.
She tries to step away, but this fool just signed his death warrant by grabbing her arm. Even from here, I can see his fingers digging into her skin, leaving marks.
"You breathe a word of this to anyone, Luna, and you've got no idea the hell I'll rain down on you." His words slur out between strings of drunk spittle.
I can see her profile in the dim light, and something primal stirs in my chest. Her freckles stand out against flushed skin - stress painting her cheeks pink. She holds her chin high, defiant even now.
She's gorgeous in that dress that clings to every curve like it was made for her. The kind of curves I want writhing beneath me, that velvet voice crying out my name. Those cinnamon waves cascade down her back, framing her face like a crown. Makes her look like some warrior princess - beautiful but dangerous.
Where did you fall from, Luna?
But I don't have time to analyze her because in the next second, I step out from behind the column where I've been standing and grab this wretch by the shoulder, throwing him down.
I don't know if the alcohol he's ingested helps, but I'm sure I used more force than necessary. I can't help myself, so I hit him exactly where I know the pain will constantly radiate through his ribs. My foot makes contact with his abdomen, and I’d like to crush his liver, but a voice reminds me we're not alone in this hallway. I turn toward Luna while adjusting my suit, which got wrinkled in the altercation.
"Third time's the charm - maybe try attracting them when they're not under the influence of alcohol. It's not fun saving you when all these idiots are drunk when I get my hands on them." I try to make my tone sound playful, but her gaze is still fixed on Tim.
Her eyes are as big as saucers while analyzing the scene, and I know the moment my gaze lands on hers that this girl has seen things she shouldn't have. The same pain and darkness hide behind a green veil that seems to be gripped by panic.
Fuck. I scared her. Again.
I take a step toward her, and she backs away. I see her put up her hand as a barrier between us, and the demon in me writhes like a snake, but I manage to keep my mask in place.
"He deserved what he got, Luna," I tell her, almost whispering, trying not to frighten her more.
I see her frown at me as if she can't believe I could be so calm after beating someone.
"He left marks on your arm," I say in a tone that's closer to the monster in me than the gentleman I'm supposed to be, and I make a mental note to break the hands of the idiot who dared to touch her.
I see her instinctively place her palm over the mark left by his fingers.
"He's drunk and didn't realize what he was doing, Mr. Borisov," I hear her say while still looking at the man who isn't getting up from the floor.
Probably from the alcohol and bruised ribs. He’ll stay like that for hours until someone picks him up.
"Alcohol isn't an excuse. He's an adult and should know his limits, especially in a professional setting. In the end, this man is a reflection of the company, and I don't like his reflection," I tell her, trying to make her understand there's no point having empathy for him, especially after hearing him talk about the project and his intentions with it.
The fact that she continues to call me Mr. Borisov grates on my nerves.
"Regarding what you were discussing before he grabbed your arm." My words seem to teleport her to the present because her back straightens and her gaze becomes serious.
"I don't know what you heard, but I wouldn't have agreed to do what he proposed," she tells me, and I smirk.
"I didn't hear the entire discussion, so if you could clarify exactly what he proposed, I'd be grateful," I tell her and signal her to follow me, but she keeps looking at the drunk on the floor.
I don't need details to know what he's suggesting. Anyone with half a brain understands what leaking a prototype to our competition would do - it'd be nuclear.
My security detail's been hovering nearby since I grabbed him, waiting. They know the rules - when I'm handling things personally, they don't move without my signal. One slight nod from me, and they collect our drunk friend. He and I will finish this chat later, when he's sobered up in my special warehouse. The one reserved for...particularly enlightening conversations.
“My men will get him to an office, have a doctor check him out," I tell her, answering the question written all over her face.
She's actually worried about this piece of garbage who turned on her the moment she said no. Better she doesn't know that 'office' is code for basement, or that the only doctor he'll see is the one making sure he can survive what's coming.
Her shoulders relax a fraction at my explanation, and she follows me without another backward glance. I find an empty office and gesture toward one of the armchairs, but she stays standing, defiant as ever.
"What did he want?" I ask, my eyes betraying me as they trace the lines of her dress.
That neckline frames her cleavage perfectly.
Perfect for my hands to ... I clear my throat, forcing my mind away from thoughts that would scandalize HR.
"He wanted to sell the bracelet prototype to competitors. Give them the edge in the market," she explains, her eyes darting around the room, sizing up everything. Including me.
I know defensive behavior when I see it.
My Luna wants to bolt.
Christ, Roman. 'My Luna.' My obsessions usually have this problem - they spiral too deep, too fast. But she's...different. For once, I don't feel that familiar urge to conquer, to dominate. Don't need to see her submit.
I just want her safe. And that's...troubling. None of my previous women got that privilege. They knew the deal upfront - my time and attention weren't part of the package.
Here I am, fresh from lecturing Sofia about feelings and our world, and I can't even follow my own damn advice. But that's the real problem - if these are actual feelings, I've got no playbook for handling them.
The problem is that her presence plays with my reason. I saw her reaction with that idiot, but what if she's somehow involved and was actually sent by someone to play with my mind?
"Did he give you a name?"
I try to think of who would be interested in a prototype of bracelets that monitor some health values, and no one comes to mind.
This project isn't profitable; it's actually a black hole I had to argue with our other partners about. It’s just that...to their misfortune, I don't ask permission when it comes to an acquisition. Niko started sketching a plan to make them profitable, but they're nothing compared to other projects.
"No, just that he has a contact who offered him one hundred thousand dollars if we manage to give them the prototype in a week." I see her playing with her fingers and wonder if it's from everything that's happened tonight or if there are other reasons why she's so agitated.
Apparently, my mind isn't in its right place anymore because I extend my hand and place it over hers. Her entire body freezes and she literally stops breathing. Her hand is so fragile and delicate compared to mine, but I focus on her pulse.
Fast. So fast.
Her perfume hits me then - different from the restaurant. That was all sweetness; this is bold flowers, commanding attention. Of course even her choice of fragrance fascinates me.
I breathe deep, closing my eyes, trying to lock this scent in my memory. When I open them again, I catch her watching me. Her pupils are blown wide, and knowing my touch affects her only feeds this madness growing inside me.
This compulsion to touch her isn't right. Sure, I'm curious. More than curious.
It's like staring at a puzzle where none of the pieces fit, no matter how I turn them. And I don't do unsolvable puzzles. Every piece needs to lock into place.
What if I'm missing lies because I'm too caught up in her?
I close the distance between us, watching her freeze in place. Her fingers still trapped in mine, I lean in until I can feel her breath on my lips.
"Are you lying to me, Luna?" My words are barely a whisper as I analyze every feature of her face.
I could lean in closer, could find out what she tastes like. I watch her swallow hard and wet her lips.
"No," she answers in a husky tone.
Those lips, that voice - my sanity walks out the door.
I claim her mouth, swallowing her surprised gasp. We're both wide-eyed, and I wait for the push, the rejection, the fire of anger. But after two endless seconds, her eyes flutter shut, and that's all I need to deepen the kiss.
Her lips are silk, and though I know better, I can't stop. She tastes sweet, hints of champagne making her addictive.
Her free hand lands on my chest, and the touch makes me nip her bottom lip. I feel her fingers curl into my shirt, pulling me closer instead of pushing away.
For one moment, I want to lose myself - in her scent, in how she melts against me, in the pulse I can feel racing because of me.
When my tongue meets hers, she shivers, and I know if I don't stop now, I'll have her on the nearest couch, drawing out every secret she's keeping. But before I can find my self-control, she goes rigid. I don't need to do anything more.
Luna breaks away, one hand pressed to her flushed chest, her voice shaky as she says, "Don't ever do that again."
With a calculated gesture, I run my finger over my lips, wiping away any trace of lipstick, while answering her, looking straight into her eyes.
"Next time you'll beg me to do it."
Fire blazes in her eyes. I expected rejection but not how much it would sting. Still, I prefer this - her ready to fight me - over that terror I saw earlier.
I try not to think about how she responded, that husky voice that I bet sounds like heaven after sex. Just the thought pushes my control to its limits, feeding this hunger she sparks in me.
"I'm sorry, Luna."
A lie, and judging by her frown, she knows it.
I felt how much she wanted that kiss, but for her sake, this is probably too much, too soon.
"You have my word it won't happen again. Unless you ask."
She takes a step toward me, and I marvel at how this woman can be so shy with others yet so fierce with me. I can't help the smile that spreads across my face.
"Don't hold your breath, Mr. Borisov. Wouldn't want you passing out from waiting." Her voice drips sarcasm, and I nearly laugh.
This woman needs to be spread across that couch and made to scream until every trace of sass leaves her body. Not now. But at least I know she's not immune to me.
"Do you need any other details from me?" she asks.
I shake my head.
"No. Thank you for the information, Luna."
The bastard's secured downstairs. Once I get him to the warehouse, he'll spill everything. Even the secrets he doesn't know he's keeping.
Before I leave, I turn back to those emerald eyes - the most beautiful I've ever seen. When I speak, my voice comes out harder than I ever wanted to use with her. But she needs to understand.
“What happened with Tim tonight stays buried.” I shut the door behind me.
Standing in the hallway, there's this hollow feeling in my chest that throws me off balance. I replay it all in my head - everything was by the book. Luna needed the warning. Nobody can know about Tim or the whispers will grow louder.
So if I did everything right, why the hell does using that tone with her make me feel like the worst kind of monster?