34. Nikolai
34
NIKOLAI
I lean against the window frame, studying Sofia’s graceful movements through the courtyard. Her silk dress catches the late afternoon sun, but the subtle shift in her bearing draws my attention. The warm smile she offers Antonio doesn’t reach her eyes.
My malishka has changed. The discovery of her father’s deception has awakened something in her—something dangerous and beautiful. Where before she wore her emotions openly, now she moves with calculated precision, each gesture measured and controlled.
“Good evening, Papa,” she calls out, her voice honey-sweet. Too sweet.
I press my palm against the cool glass, tracking her progress. Without my usual network of cameras and surveillance, I’m forced to rely on these stolen moments of observation. It’s like watching a butterfly emerge from its chrysalis—fascinating and slightly unnerving.
She pauses by the fountain, trailing her fingers through the water. The gesture appears casual, but I recognize it for what it is—a moment to gather herself to perfect her mask before continuing her performance.
Antonio doesn’t notice. He’s too relieved to have his daughter back to see the predator emerging beneath her polished surface. But I see it. The careful way she positions herself, always maintaining optimal distance. The calculated timing of her responses. The slight pause before each laugh.
My Sofia is learning to hunt.
Pride and desire surge through me as I watch her expertly manipulate the conversation, leading Antonio exactly where she wants him to go. She’s magnificent in her evolution and entirely mine.
A ghost of a smile touches my lips as she glances up toward my window. Our eyes meet briefly, and in that moment, her mask slips. The raw emotion in her gaze sends heat through my veins. She may be playing a role, but she’s still my Sofia.
I descend the ornate staircase, adjusting my cuffs as the scent of fresh bread and herbs wafts up from the dining room. The Castellano’s chef rivals mine, though I’d never admit it.
Sofia sits at the long table, a vision in deep burgundy silk that makes my fingers itch to touch her. Her posture is perfect, shoulders back, chin lifted – every inch the aristocrat she was born to be.
“Your father’s treatment went well today?” I keep my tone casual as I take my seat beside her.
Her fingers drift to her throat, that unconscious tell I’ve watched countless times through my surveillance feeds. The gesture means she’s about to lie.
“Yes, the doctors are quite pleased with his progress.” Her voice is steady, her smile precise. “They’ve adjusted his medication schedule, which seems to be helping.”
I take a slow sip of wine, savoring its complexity and the masterful performance. Two weeks ago, she would have flushed under my scrutiny, her emotions bleeding through every word. Now, she meets my gaze with practiced ease.
“I’m glad to hear it.” I place my hand on her thigh under the table, feeling the slight muscle tensing beneath the silk. “You must be relieved.”
“Exhausted, actually.” She touches her napkin to her lips. “If you’ll excuse me, I must retire early tonight.”
As she stands, her eyes flick toward Mario—a fraction of a second, but enough. The old man doesn’t notice, too busy with his pasta to see the predator his granddaughter has become.
I watch her leave, remembering the medical reports Alexi obtained yesterday.
I watch Sofia disappear up the sweeping staircase, her burgundy silk dress whispering against marble. The knowledge sits heavy in my chest—Antonio’s pristine medical records, the staged hospital visits, the elaborate web of lies they’ve woven to bring her here.
But there’s something in the precise angle of her shoulders, the careful placement of each step. My Sofia has changed these past weeks. The gallery owner who wore her heart on her sleeve has evolved into something far more dangerous.
I finish my wine, letting Mario prattle on about some business venture. My thoughts remain upstairs with her. I’ve been planning how to reveal Antonio’s deception and how to soften this latest betrayal. But watching her tonight, noting each calculated gesture and measured response, I suspect she’s already pieced it together.
Later, as I slip into our bed, she molds herself against me with practiced grace. Her body fits perfectly against mine as always, but there’s a new tension thrumming beneath her skin. When she turns to kiss me, her movements have a deliberate quality that speaks of distraction rather than desire.
I pin her beneath me, claiming her mouth, and she responds with desperate intensity. Her hands clutch at my shoulders, demanding more contact, more pressure. She’s trying to drive us both past the point of coherent thought, past any possibility of conversation.
Her kiss is hungry, her tongue tracing the seam of my lips until I open for her. She tastes like wine and simmering anger, which tightens my every muscle. I roll to pin her against the mattress, reveling in the press of her body against mine. My malishka is a symphony of need—each curve and plane of her body singing for me.
I rake my fingers through her hair, catching the silken strands at the nape of her neck. She shivers beneath me, her body arching into mine. Her head falls back, baring that exquisite column of her throat. I claim it with my teeth, marking her, tasting the salt of her skin as I suck hard enough to leave a bruise. She likes it a little rough, my wild girl.
“Nikolai,” she breathes, her fingers digging into my shoulders. “Daddy, please.”
That word spills from her lips, making my cock swell. I hesitate, my hands tightening on her hips. Her face is flushed, eyes half-lidded with desire, and she wants this. She wants me to be her daddy.
I lean down, my mouth against her ear. “Do you want me to fuck you, malishka ? Is that what my good girl needs?”
She trembles. “Yes, Daddy. Please.”
I burn my possessive mark into her neck as I thrust my hips against her. She’s wet for me, eager, and I want to lose myself in her. But her eyes trap me—those green-gold depths holding such trust and raw need. Trust I’ve earned and need I’ve awakened.
“Look at me.” My voice is a low command, one she instinctively obeys. Her eyes, luminous in the low light, lock on mine as I enter her. “That’s it, my good girl. Hold my gaze.”
I thrust deep, claiming her. Her back arches off the bed, and she bites her lip to hold back her cry. “Daddy,” she moans, her nails digging into my skin.
I groan as she tightens around me, her every fiber thrumming with need. I want to spill myself into her, brand her as completely mine. But this word, this request, demands something more. I need to see her fly apart for me, her barriers shattered.
I reach between us, my thumb finding her swollen bud. “You’re so wet for me. So tight. You like it when I call you my good girl, don’t you?”
She nods frantically, and I reward her with a sharp slap to her ass. She cries out, her eyes never leaving mine. “Again, Daddy.”
“So demanding, my beautiful malishka . But you haven’t come for me yet. Have you forgotten your manners?” I taunt her, even as my fingers circle her sensitive nub, even as I know my teasing strokes her toward the edge.
“Please, Daddy,” she begs. “Please let me come.”
“Come for me. But remember who you belong to. Remember who makes you feel this way.”
The command tears an orgasm from her, her body arching as she shatters around me. Her walls clench and release, pulsing with her orgasm. I shatter right along with her, releasing my seed deep inside her as I roar her name.
We lie tangled together, my forehead resting against hers. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair wild, and her eyes shine bright with unshed tears. My beautiful Sofia.
I trace my fingers along Sofia’s spine as our breathing steadies. Her skin is flushed and warm beneath my touch. “When did you figure out Antonio was lying about his health?”
She stiffens against me, then props herself up on one elbow. Her eyes narrow. “How long have you known?”
“Alexi obtained his medical records yesterday. Perfect health.” I cup her cheek, studying the calculated shift in her expression. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
“You had no right to access those records.” Her voice carries an edge of steel that makes my cock stir again.
“I have every right to protect what’s mine.” I tighten my grip on her hip. “You’ve been playing them, malishka . Leading them exactly where you want them.”
“Like you played me? With your cameras and surveillance?” She presses her palms against my chest in resistance, but I cage her against me.
“That was different.”
“Was it?” A dangerous smile curves her lips. “At least I learned from the best.”
The casual way she wields that truth, sharp as any blade, sends desire coursing through me. My wild girl has learned to hunt, indeed. The power suits her and how she carries herself now, the calculated grace in her movements. She’s embraced her Castellano blood with natural ease.
“You’re angry that I investigated your father.”
“I’m angry that you didn’t tell me immediately.” She traces a finger down my chest. “We’re supposed to be partners, Nikolai.”
“I could say the same thing, malishka .” I brush her lower lip with my thumb. “When did you discover the truth? And why didn’t you tell me?”
Sofia’s eyes flash with defiance, but a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Yesterday afternoon. I found his records in Mario’s study.”
“You broke into his study?” Pride surges through me at her initiative.
“The door was unlocked.” She shrugs one elegant shoulder. “He really should be more careful with sensitive information.”
I can’t help but laugh, pulling her closer. “And you didn’t think to share this discovery with me?”
“I wanted to see how long it would take you to tell me.” Her fingers trail down my chest. “I suppose we’re both guilty of keeping secrets.”
“We are.” I capture her wandering hand, bringing it to my lips. “No more secrets between us, Sofia. Not anymore.”
She molds herself to my chest, tension dissolving. “I love you, Nikolai. Despite your ridiculous need to control everything.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. Three simple words that change everything. All my feelings are poured into the kiss. Her tongue seeks mine in response as she presses closer.
“Say it again,” I demand against her mouth.
“I love you.” She breathes the words between kisses. “God help me, but I do.”
“I love you too, malishka .” The words come easier now than the first time I spoke them. Her body relaxes against mine, and I pull her closer, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair.
Sofia’s fingers sketch delicate patterns on my chest as she settles into the crook of my arm. The silk sheets whisper beneath us with each small movement. Her breathing starts to even out, but I can tell she’s fighting sleep.
“Rest.” My lips brush her temple as she settles against me.
“I’m not tired,” she mumbles, even as her eyes drift closed. The stubborn set of her jaw makes me smile.
I run my fingers through her hair, remembering how many nights I watched her through cameras, longing to touch her like this. Now she’s in my arms, claiming me as completely as I’ve claimed her.
Her leg hooks over mine as she burrows closer. The weight of her, the warmth of her skin against mine—it grounds me in ways I never expected to need. The mighty Nikolai Ivanov, undone by this woman who matches me in every way.
“Sleep, malishka .” I adjust the sheets around us, cocooning her in warmth. “I’ll be here when you wake.”
She makes a soft sound of contentment, her body growing heavier against mine as exhaustion finally claims her. I stay awake, memorizing every detail of this moment—the flutter of her eyelashes, the way she breathes, and her hand rests possessively over my heart.