Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Henry
My eyes blurred, a tension headache forming from the hours I’d spent staring at the screens in front of me, something I knew I should have been limiting, considering I was still experiencing mild side effects from the concussion.
But I couldn’t stop. I needed answers, especially after learning the man who attempted to abduct Ariana was Bratva.
The same man I saw in one of Sarah’s last videos.
I’d spent the better part of the afternoon cross-referencing Bratva activity across several continents. Names. Bank accounts. Laundered money. False charities. Offshore shells. All the usual suspects. I’d filtered for anything that might connect them to Victor Kane. To Ariana. Even to Sarah.
Nothing.
Over the past several months, I’d learned Victor Kane was many things.
Greedy. Power-hungry. A monster in a three-piece suit.
But reckless wasn’t one of them. If he had ties to the Bratva, they were buried beneath layers of proxies and plausible deniability.
No digital trail. No mistakes. No leverage.
Victor was clean.
Too clean.
In my experience, everyone had a few skeletons in their closet.
Victor Kane had none. At least, none that I could find. That didn’t mean he wasn’t connected to the Bratva. I’d find something on him eventually. I always did.
I pushed away from the desk and rubbed my eyes. The glow of the monitors bled into my vision, casting faint ghost-lights on the floor as I climbed the stairs and opened the door to the main house.
Ariana stood at the stove, wearing only a t-shirt and a pair of tiny shorts as she stirred something in a pan. The domesticity of it all soothed the chaos of my mind.
“Smells good,” I said, my voice rougher than I meant it to be.
The wooden spoon clattered against the edge of the sauté pan as she turned, her hand flying to her chest.
“Jesus, Henry,” she exhaled, eyes wide, pupils blown. “You scared me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She pushed out a nervous breath. “I just didn’t hear you. I guess I was lost in my thoughts.”
I moved toward her. “And what were you thinking about?” I crooned, pulling her toward me.
But she didn’t melt into my arms. Not right away. Instead, she stiffened.
“You okay?” I asked, releasing her from my hold and raking my gaze over her.
“Yeah. Fine.” She forced a smile. “Just…caught up in the past, I suppose. Sometimes I get stuck in my memories.”
The tremor in her voice said otherwise. So did the way her fingers toyed with the hem of her shirt, twisting it around her hand. So did the sheen of sweat at her hairline. So did the way her eyes kept flicking to the side, like she expected something or someone to come crashing through the door.
Before I could press further, she moved toward me, hooking an arm around my neck and hoisting herself onto her toes, her lips a breath from mine.
“But I know something that might help.”
“Oh, yeah?” I playfully waggled my brows.
“Yeah.”
“What’s that?”
“You,” came her breathless reply before her lips met mine.
Her kiss was tentative at first, almost forced before becoming hungrier. Her hand curled around the back of my neck, nails grazing the skin just beneath my hairline. There was something urgent and desperate in the way she kissed me.
Every voice in my head screamed at me that something was wrong. That I should stop. That this wasn’t just sex. It was a distraction. Or maybe even a weapon.
But the feel of her body against mine, the hunger and heat, overwhelmed everything else.
She broke away panting, her eyes never leaving mine as she slowly lifted her shirt over her head, allowing it to fall to the floor.
Her skin was flushed, her nipples tight and already pebbled.
I skimmed my knuckles down the curve of her torso, then back up again, cupping one breast in my palm.
She arched into me, mouth parting in a soft moan.
The need between us was combustible. It had only been mere hours since I last felt her skin, but it felt like days since I’d savored in her warmth.
Ripping my t-shirt over my head, I tossed it onto the floor and yanked her against me, shoving her shorts and panties down her legs. Once she stepped out of them, I hoisted her onto the counter with a growl, her thighs falling open to welcome me.
“Tell me what you want,” I rasped, slipping my fingers between her folds.
“You,” she moaned, her head falling back. “Now.”
“Beg for me, princess.” I teased her entrance with my thumb and she bucked against me. Leaning toward her, I nipped at the delicate skin of her neck. “Ask me to make you come.”
“Please, Henry.” She met my eyes for what felt like the first time since I stepped foot in the kitchen. “Please make me come.”
I freed myself, not bothering with finesse, and drove into her in one deep, claiming thrust.
She cried out as her body arched into mine, mouth open in a silent cry, legs locking around my waist. She clung to me like she was trying to climb inside my skin, her nails digging crescents into my shoulders as I fucked her with raw, punishing need.
I was completely lost to her, every thought evaporating from my mind. I wasn’t thinking about what the Bratva could want with her. Wasn’t thinking about her husband. Wasn’t thinking about Sarah.
All I could think of was how damn addicted to her I’d become.
This woman would be my downfall. I sensed it deep in my marrow. But I couldn’t seem to care. Not right now. Not when I had her.
Her hands tangled in my hair, her lips grazing my jaw. I drove deeper, harder, dragging her to the edge with me. The scent of garlic and sex and sweat filled the air as the sound of our bodies slamming into each other echoed through the room.
It didn’t take long for her to reach her climax. When she did, she came hard and silent, her teeth clamped on my shoulder. I followed seconds later, pulling out of her, my body jerking as I released onto her stomach.
For a moment, there was nothing. Just our breaths. Her forehead resting against mine. My heart slamming against my ribs like it wanted out.
But even as she curled into me, even as I stroked her back and kissed her temple, the unease returned. I couldn’t quite explain why, but I felt like something was off.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I brushed the damp hair from her face.
“Better now.” Her smile was soft. Perfect. Practiced.
I wanted to believe her.
But I’d spent a lifetime reading between the lines. And Ariana was hiding something. I felt it in her pulse still racing beneath my palm. Saw it in the flicker of hesitation behind her eyes.
“I should clean up and finish dinner. I’m starving after that.” She flashed me a sly grin that felt empty. Then she pushed against me, and I stepped back.
After collecting her discarded clothing and disappearing into the bathroom for a few minutes, she returned to the kitchen fully dressed, slipping past me and stirring the mushroom sauce bubbling in the skillet like nothing had happened.
Like we hadn’t just devoured each other in the middle of the kitchen.
I watched the tension creep back into her shoulders. Saw how she flinched when the sauce hissed and popped. Noticed how she stirred the pan too quickly, as if she couldn’t stand still.
Maybe I was just over-analyzing everything. Maybe my brain was still on edge from Salvatore’s news. From hours of coming across dead end after dead end.
But I couldn’t shake the feeling crawling up my spine.
Something was wrong.
Something that was about to change everything.