Chapter 10
Kirill
Five hours later, I’m sprawled on an expensive leather couch inside Giovanni DeLuca’s club, The Vault.
After a steak dinner and too many vodka shots, Kostya is on the dance floor, grinding with three women who will no doubt end up back at my penthouse.
I’m not exactly excited to fall asleep to the soundtrack of my little brother’s fuckfest, but after being confined for so many days back at the Triad safe house, I understand his need to blow off some steam.
I, on the other hand, am in no mood to follow suit. And I have only one person to blame for that—Stella-fucking-Romano.
It’s been eight days since I’ve laid eyes on the red-haired temptress. Eight whole fucking days with no word, no unannounced visit, not even a damn text.
I told myself she had to be the one to make the first move, especially after that little stunt she pulled, leaving me wanting and aching in a fucking garage lot.
But like a sucker, I drove up to her school a few days ago just to catch sight of her, only to find out classes were closed for winter break.
I must be coming down with something if my last-ditch effort to see her brought me here, to her father’s consigliere’s club, no less.
Yeah, I’m coming down with something alright, because every time I close my eyes, I swear I can feel her on me again…
the sweet torturous heat of her mouth… the way her body vibrated with need on top of me…
the small, helpless sounds she made against my lips when she came on my lap.
Blyad. One kiss and grind, and the woman bewitched me completely.
Rumor says her mother, the Red Queen, has the same kind of magic running through her veins. Magic potent enough to take her husband’s consigliere and his head assassin to her bed, with Romano’s blessing.
If Stella thinks she can cast that same spell on me, she’s sorely mistaken. I could never share my woman. Least of all Stella. But she’s not mine, I try to remind myself. She’s just a means to an end. A doorway into finding Kira. That’s what I tell myself, even though the words ring hollow.
One kiss. One fucking kiss and she’s all I can think about. Because we both know that first kiss at the lake changed things. Hence her reluctance to kiss me again the night I killed Sergei, and why I fought so hard to respect her wishes, only to fail in the end.
One thing is clear, though. Neither of us is brave enough to confront what that one kiss awakened between us.
“Kill! Come on! Come play with my new friends!” Kostya calls out, slapping one blonde on the ass, then grabbing the other two by the throat so he can suck on each of their tongues as they dance around him.
Kostya’s young. He’s at an age where he’s entitled to make such stupid mistakes. We’re only three years apart, but somehow, I feel decades older. Responsibility and obligation have a way of hardening you from the inside out.
It’s been different for Kostya. The minute Misha became Pakhan, he sent Kostya away from Moscow, afraid our enemies would kidnap him and use him against us.
Kostya has been bouncing in and out of fancy boarding schools all over Europe since he was fourteen.
It wasn’t until he got accepted to Stanford that he was finally able to stay in one place for more than a few months at a time.
Misha only brought him into the Bratva fold a couple of years ago, after he earned his degree.
And even then, he shielded Kostya from the true weight of the job, never giving him the full reins that the underboss title demands.
Which makes him still too green. Too trusting. Too damn American. Give him a few more years in the field, and whatever naivety he clings to will be stripped clean.
Unlike my brother Sasha, I’m more than happy to let Kostya live out his life the way he wants for now. Soon enough, he won’t get that choice. The Bratva will own him. Just like it owns the rest of us.
Having had enough of the loud music and watching my brother get to second base with his dance partners, I rise from my seat and walk over to him. Kostya cheers when he sees me, throwing an arm around my shoulders.
“That’s more like it! I thought you were going to act like an old man all night.”
“Actually, I’m heading out.” I clap his shoulder. “You still have the keys to my place?”
“What? No! The night is still young!”
“It’s three in the morning,” I point out. “And unlike you, I have work tomorrow. Enjoy yourself. I’ll have the driver swing back for you after he drops me off.”
“You sure? I don’t mind staying at a hotel tonight,” Kostya says, eyeing the girls practically undressing him with their stares.
“It’s fine. Just don’t wake me up while you’re having… fun.”
“No promises.” He lifts his vodka bottle to his lips and takes a long pull. He then grabs one of his dates and pours the liquid into her mouth, licking the spill off her neck and cleavage.
I shake my head with a chuckle and leave him to his foursome on the dance floor.
I begin to weave through the crowd, ready to head home and call it a night, when a flash of red catches my eye.
My chest tightens, then drops when it disappears again.
I push deeper into the crowd, eyes scanning every face, every shadow, desperate to find her.
Relief hits me hard when I finally spot Stella cutting through bodies toward the ladies’ room.
I don’t think. I just react. I shoulder my way across the club, but the hallway leading to the bathrooms is thick with men and women, either talking, giggling, or stumbling, drunk on booze and bass. But still no sight of her. Where the hell did she go?
Where are you, milaya?
Never one to give up easily, I keep searching until I catch sight of a pair of long legs and those familiar fuck-me heels heading up the narrow staircase to the second-floor balcony. A moment later, a door with an Employees Only sign on it slams shut behind her.
I take the stairs, two at a time, and push through, stepping into another dimly lit hallway, blue and purple light bleeding in through the glass windows from the club below.
Still, it’s not that sight that steals my breath—it’s Stella, standing by the glass, looking down over the crowd like a queen surveying her kingdom.
“Milaya,” I breathe out softly, before reaching out a hand to touch her.
However, I never get a chance to reach her, since my arm is yanked behind my back, and my cheek is slammed against the wall before I can even blink.
“Kill?” she blurts in confusion, once the low light catches my face, revealing my identity.
“Were you expecting someone else?” I chuckle, only for Stella to raise my arm higher around my back in an attempt to inflict some pain on me. “Are you going to let me go,” I ask calmly, “or do I need to extract myself from your grip?”
“Hmm… Not sure yet. I think I like you this way,” she taunts, tightening her hold. “Obedient.”
Before she has a chance to say anything else, I shift sideways, twist out of her grip, and pin her to the wall instead. Her wrists end up above her head, my hands locking her in place.
“Actually,” I murmur, “I like this version better.”
She doesn’t struggle. She doesn’t even try to. She just stares straight into my eyes as if she were the one still in control.
“What are you doing here, Kill?”
God, I love how she says my name like that.
“I could ask you the same.”
“This is my club,” she deadpans.
“Really? And here I thought this belonged to your father’s consigliere.”
“Semantics. If it belongs to the Outfit, it’s mine.”
I could remind her she’s not in the Outfit—yet—and therefore none of this is technically hers, but that would be pouring salt into a wound I have no intention of opening further. Getting on Stella’s bad side is the last thing on my mind.
“So, I’ll repeat the question,” she says, clearly uncomfortable with the electricity humming between us. “What are you doing here?”
“Same thing as you. Enjoying a Friday night out.”
Stella’s jaw flexes at my reply, her green eyes like two bullets aimed at my head. And then it dawns on me what she must be thinking. When a man like me goes clubbing, it’s usually for one of two reasons—to impress a woman, or to find one. Neither seems to sit well with her.
“I’m here with my brother, Konstantin,” I explain, needing to set her at ease. “He just flew in and wanted a taste of Chicago nightlife.”
“And you chose my club of all places? Why?” Her expression pinches with suspicion.
It’s a fair question. Out of all the places I could’ve taken Kostya tonight, why here? Why this club? Why a well-known Outfit establishment? If she doesn’t know the answer to that, then I haven’t been making my intentions clear enough.
“Maybe because this was the only way to get your attention,” I say quietly, leaning in. “I knew the odds of seeing you tonight were slim, but my instincts dragged me here anyway. Looks like they were right.”
“Congratulations. You found me. Big-fucking-whoop,” she counters sarcastically, adding a little roll of the eye just to make her point. “I’m all out of gold stars, Kill. So you’re shit out of luck.”
I can’t help but chuckle at her sass and smart mouth.
This all feels like a recurring theme with us.
We fight like enemies. We touch like lovers.
We lie like it’s our favorite pastime. This is exactly how I like her.
I don’t want her obedient. I want her wild.
Just wild enough to fight me, and just weak enough to fall apart in my arms.
Hmm. One of us is definitely going to end up ruined tonight. And for once, I’m not sure I care if it’s me.
“What do you want then?” she asks, after the weight of my stare begins to get too much for her.
“Why have you been avoiding me?”
“Who says I have?”
“I say. Me.”
“Well, you’re not exactly a reliable source,” she taunts, that sly sparkle in her eyes coming through. “Besides, you can’t avoid someone you were never really friends with.”