Chapter 3 - Elisse
“This feels like a reckless thing to do.” I didn’t say it to stop myself. I said it because I liked the way it sounded between us.
Nikolai, because that was the name he’d given me and the one I’d chosen to believe for tonight, didn’t slow as we stepped out into the warm Miami night. His hand remained at the small of my back, steady, guiding but not forcing.
“Reckless implies regret,” he said calmly. “Do you regret it? Because if you do, we can turn around right now and forget everything.”
“No.” The answer came too easily. The way he kept giving me an option to leave whenever I wished made me feel safer. He could very easily just be manipulating me into believing him, but I no longer cared. I wanted to do this, and nothing was going to stop me now.
A sleek black car waited at the curb, the engine already running.
Of course it did. He opened the door for me without flourish, without performance.
Just quiet efficiency. I could see how he was used to controlling every situation and every room he walked into.
That was exactly what made him attractive to me.
I slid inside at once, the soft leather warm underneath me.
As the car pulled away from the estate, the mansion’s lights fading behind tinted windows, a strange awareness settled over me.
I was leaving with a man whose real name I didn’t know.
Whose history I hadn’t asked for. Whose intentions existed somewhere between dangerous and deliberate.
A man who could very well be kidnapping me right now, and I might be running into a trap. And yet, I felt safe.
In fact. I felt more alive than I had in months.
It was strange how I had never done this before, and today, out of nowhere, I had suddenly decided to take such a bold step.
I had already told Zhenya and Mila, so at least someone knew where I was, and if something went amiss, I could manage to get out of it. I had that much faith in myself.
He didn’t speak during the drive, and neither did I.
The silence wasn’t awkward. It was charged.
As if either of us speaking would somehow break the spell that had been cast around us.
The city blurred past in streaks of neon and glass.
Miami at night always felt like it was performing for someone, too bright, too polished.
But inside the car, it felt private and contained. As if the night belonged to us.
I was acutely aware of him beside me.
The line of his jaw. The way his fingers rested loosely on his thigh. The faint scent of something dark and expensive, wood and spice, and something warmer beneath it.
“You’re thinking,” he said quietly, breaking the silence that was thick around us.
“I always am.”
“About leaving? I can turn around right now. You just need to say the word.”
I turned my head toward him. Even in the dim interior light, his eyes were impossible to read behind the mask.
“No,” I admitted.
His thumb brushed lightly against my bare shoulder where my gown dipped low.
It wasn’t a claim. It was a question. I didn’t pull away.
The car slowed, then curved into a private underground entrance beneath a glass tower that scraped the night sky.
Security was subtle but unmistakable. The gates were lined with cameras, and I had already found discreetly positioned guards everywhere. My eyes were trained to do this.
This wasn’t just a house. This was territory.
It made Nikolai all the more interesting.
I was usually rather good at figuring people out, but I still couldn't decipher this man. I wasn’t even sure whether he was bratva-related or just another businessman.
The car stopped right, and he stepped out, coming around the side to open my door.
Another man appeared out of nowhere, and Nikolai casually threw the car keys at him, ushering me towards a panel in the wall.
We stepped into a private elevator directly from the garage, and the doors slid shut with a soft hiss.
Everything was efficient and effortless. And suddenly there was nowhere else to look.
The space was enclosed. Mirrored walls reflecting distorted versions of us. Me in my gold silk, dark suit, porcelain mask, and controlled breathing.
The air shifted, and Nikolai stepped closer. The movement wasn’t abrupt but deliberate.
“Last chance,” he murmured.
“For what?”
“To walk away.”
My pulse jumped.
“You’d still let me?”
“Yes.”
There was no hesitation in his answer, and that made it worse.
I reached up slowly and removed my mask, setting it on the narrow console by the wall.
Cool air kissed my cheeks. My reflection looked almost unfamiliar, with blue eyes brighter than they usually were and lips slightly swollen from earlier.
As if following my lead, he removed his mask next. His dark eyes matched his dark hair, and strong lines marked his face. There was something almost severe about his face up close. Every single expression was controlled.
But not unkind.
The elevator hummed as it ascended. Without waiting, I slowly stepped into his space first because I wanted to. I had no desire to leave. His breath shifted when my fingers slid into the front of his suit jacket, gripping the fabric lightly.
“Still patient?” I asked softly.
“No.”
That single word unraveled something in me. His hand came to my waist, pulling me closer, not roughly, but with purpose. My back hit the mirrored wall gently, cool glass against bare skin. His mouth found mine again, and suddenly this kiss was no longer measured.
It wasn’t testing. It was heat and pressure and the deliberate loss of restraint.
My fingers tangled into his hair, ruining its careful disarray.
His hand slid up the curve of my side, tracing the structured lines of my gown like he was mapping them.
The elevator felt smaller and warmer. My breath broke against his mouth when his lips moved down the line of my jaw, grazing the sensitive skin beneath my ear.
“You’re not afraid,” he murmured against my neck.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I chose this.”
The elevator chimed softly, and the doors slid open.
He didn’t step away immediately. He looked at me for one suspended second, something darker flickering behind his eyes.
Then he took my hand and led me out, his touch steady and firm.
It almost felt as if he wanted to hold me and had never been more sure about his touch.
The penthouse that spread before us was clearly expansive.
The floor-to-ceiling windows framed the ocean in endless black and silver.
The city lights glittered below like scattered diamonds.
The space was minimalist but unmistakably expensive, with clean lines, dark marble, and low modern furniture scattered artistically in shades of charcoal and cream.
Art hung on the walls, and I immediately noticed how they were not generic pieces but intentional ones.
The strokes were bold with stark contrasts.
I immediately knew Ilana, my sister-in-law, would love analyzing each one of them.
She knew art better than anyone else I knew.
Although what mattered was that everything felt like him. As if every wall in the room was a representative of the man who owned it. It was controlled chaos disguised as simplicity.
“Do you live alone?” I asked, my voice quieter now.
“Yes.”
“Always?”
“Yes.”
There were no family photos, no personal clutter, and no softness. The place had never felt a woman’s touch. It was a bachelor’s territory. He stepped closer again, his hand lifting to trace a slow line down my bare arm.
“You’re observing again,” he said.
“I told you. I notice everything.”
“And what do you notice now?”
“That you don’t bring people here often.”
Something in his expression shifted, almost imperceptibly. For a brief second, surprise flickered in his gaze, but he hid it just as quickly. As if he were too afraid of me finding out something personal about him.
“No,” he agreed.
The honesty of that settled low in my stomach.
He wasn’t performing, and he wasn’t trying to charm me with a carefully curated image. He was simply being himself rather intentionally. My pulse quickened again when he reached behind me and unzipped the back of my gown slowly. Not rushing. Not tearing.
Every movement deliberate.
“Are you always this controlled?” I said softly.
“I am. Usually.”
“And tonight?”
His fingers brushed over bare skin as the structured silk loosened around me.
“Tonight,” he murmured, “I’m choosing not to be.”
The gown slipped from my shoulders, the air against my skin beginning to feel electric. His gaze didn’t roam greedily all over me. Instead, it lingered appreciatively with focus as if he was admiring a painting with softness in his gaze.
“You’re beautiful,” he said quietly.
The words weren’t exaggerated. They were factual.
“I know.” A slow smile curved his mouth at that.
“Of course you do.”
He stepped closer until there was no space between us.
My palms flattened against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath.
This was reckless and indulgent, but it was mine.
At least for this one night. His hands moved with increasing urgency now, tracing, memorizing, and pulling me closer.
My thoughts blurred into sensation as heat took over every sense that once existed.
I forgot all about alliances and enemies and how angry my brother would be if they found out about this stupidity.
I forgot about expectations stitched into my name.
There was only this. Just him and the sharp, intoxicating knowledge that I had chosen this.
When he lifted me into his arms and carried me toward the bedroom, I didn’t protest. I didn’t hesitate.
The city lights blurred behind sheer curtains as he lay me down on cool sheets that smelled faintly of something dark and clean.
He hovered over me for a second, studying my face like he was committing it to memory.
“Elle,” he said quietly.
The name felt lighter than my real one.
“Yes.”
“If you want me to stop—”
“I thought you were finally done asking me that question.”
He chuckled. “I don’t want you to do something you might end up regretting in the morning.”
“Will you regret it?” I asked, my eyes trained on him.
“Not for a single second.”
“Then I won’t either.”
And then I pulled him down to me. The rest unfolded in heat and intensity, kisses turning to gasps, hands exploring, boundaries dissolving piece by piece.
It wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t careless. It was all-consuming.
Sensation narrowed my world until there was nothing but him and his mouth, his hands, and the way he said my name like it mattered. I didn’t think about tomorrow.
I didn’t think about consequence.
For the first time in a long time, I existed without calculation.
And when the world finally stilled, when breath slowed, and the city lights softened beyond the windows, I found myself wrapped in his arms. His fingers traced absent patterns along my spine almost protectively.
The weight I carried every day, the surname, the expectations, the invisible chessboard of my life, felt distant.
As if his presence had muted everything that was once displayed boldly on the poster of my life.
He didn’t speak, and neither did I, both of us inhaling one another.
But his arm tightened slightly around me, as if it was instinctive.
I could feel the possession he felt in that touch, and rather than making me want to run away, it made me feel safe.
My eyes drifted closed slowly.
This version of me, the woman without obligation, without strategy, without the constant awareness of what my existence meant politically, could only exist here. With him.
In this bed.
In this penthouse.
In his arms.
For one night.
And as sleep pulled me under, I let myself believe that was enough.