Chapter 21
LEANNA
I’m trying to shake the sleep off as fast as I can, and to think clearly, trying to ground myself.
Nikolai Ivanov is massive. I’ve always known that. The weeks in that room at Ahren taught me enough, but here, in this hotel suite, with our real names and faces between us, he seems even bigger.
And I know how fast he is. How strong. If I bolted, he’d have me in three steps. My pulse kicks harder just thinking about it.
I have a handgun in my bag, but it’s out in the kitchen.
Out of reach.
“Why are you in my room?” His voice is low and calm, but there’s steel in it.
“This is my room,” I shoot back, trying to sound steadier than I feel. “I could ask you the same thing.”
He lifts a key card, scowl cutting deep lines into his face. “They said the place was overbooked. Apparently, I was smart enough to check in online, so they didn’t give mine away. At least, that’s the story they fed me downstairs.”
I can’t stop looking at him. Not just his scowl, not just his height or the tension in his shoulders, but his lips.
Those lips that have explored every inch of me and made me forget everything else in the world.
“I’m not here to ambush you,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
He arches a brow, that cool, knowing smirk tugging at his mouth. “Oh?”
I gesture to myself, my disheveled state, eyes still blurry from sleep. “If I were,” I say slowly, “you really think you’d find me face-down in the pillows, wearing a nightgown, with no weapon, or backups?”
He chuckles, low and deliberate, and the sound vibrates through me, hitting someplace deep. His gaze doesn’t just land, it lingers, sharp and cutting, mapping every twitch, every breath. It crawls under my skin, lighting up my nerves.
My heart’s slamming. Nik is here.
Nik is here.
Nik is here.
And it’s bad. Bad on every level.
This is the Commission. He’s the enemy.
Rival family.
Yet here he is, looming in my room, looking as lethal as he does magnetic.
“And you’re not here to kill me?” I ask.
His mouth curves, infuriatingly beautiful. “Not at the moment.”
He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing just a touch, voice quieter, probing. “Did you know who I was when you came to Ahren every week?”
“I really didn’t know. It wasn’t a plant. What I told you about the dare was true. Everything I told you was the truth.”
“You knew I was Russian. That it was a Russian club.”
“Yes,” I admit. “But I thought it was… funny.”
“Funny?” He raises an eyebrow, incredulous, though the tension in his jaw betrays the faintest trace of amusement.
“At first, yes.” I shrug, trying to hide how much I’m shaking, “I often do things I know my dad wouldn’t like because I’m oppositional that way.”
“And you really had no idea who I was?”
I shake my head slowly. “No. I only figured it out a couple of days ago.” I pause, words tumbling out in a rush, compelled to explain.
“We were watching your game at my father’s house.
I kept thinking, that body, that way he moves…
I know that posture… that intensity. And then it clicked.
I can’t believe I never figured it out before, actually. ”
He leans back slightly, running both hands over his face, rubbing at his temples. He looks so tired.
“You called me Ana,” I say. “You didn’t know who I was?”
“No. I didn’t. I recognized the scent, that’s all. Ana has that distinctive scent.” He lets out a breath, “I never saw your face at the time, of course. But I’ve seen photos recently. Of you. Leanna Campisi.”
This statement does not help my anxiety in the slightest. Nothing good can come from the second-in-command of a rival family being briefed on who I am, what I look like.
Still, I can’t help it, I’m reveling in the sight of him. The raw masculinity of him. That dark hair, those darker eyes. The rough stubble that shadows his jaw. The regal line of his nose. He’s objectively gorgeous and enigmatic.
His body hums with power and strength. Broad shoulders. A chest so chiseled I can see its outline beneath his Reaper's t-shirt.
My mouth literally waters for him.
Even knowing who he is, I can’t stop my body from reacting the way it has for all of those weeks.
This is Nikolai Ivanov, heir to the Barkov family.
My father warned me that he likes to torture men for sport, that he’s ruthless and loves to inflict pain. There is a darkness to him, I know that from our interactions.
But my Nik and this Nikolai… are two different people.
Aren’t they?
He stares at me, no emotion on his face.
Here we are, people who have done incredibly intimate things with each other. Shared moments that stripped us bare in every possible way.
Yet now, he looks at me as if I’m nothing.
As if I never meant a damn thing…
Still, his eyes roam my body. I can’t help but wonder what’s going through that dark mind of his.
“What?” I ask.
“I’m trying to make a decision,” he says slowly, as if savoring every word.
“About?” I try not to sound nervous, but my stomach twists. God, I hope he’s not thinking about killing me. I’m supposed to graduate next week. I’m waiting for my fake ID so I can book a flight out of here.
I have plans.
“If this is indeed a clerical error,” he continues, his voice low and deliberate, “which it may very well be, I should go downstairs and raise holy hell until they give me a new room.”
“And what’s the decision you have to make in there?” I press, my pulse picking up.
His eyes fixate on my chest, and I realize my nipples have gone hard. I cross my arms in a futile effort to cover myself as if he hadn’t sucked and bitten my nipples more times than I can count.
I expect him to say that the decision is between asking for a new room or taking me straight to bed, and I’m honestly kind of down for the latter. I know that’s wrong of me, but this is Nik.
He doesn’t say that, though. Instead, his eyes darken in a way that makes my blood run hot.
“This situation,” he says, his voice a growl, “presents a unique opportunity. A boon, really.”
I raise a brow. “A boon?”
“Yes,” he says, stepping closer. “I have a true mafia princess in front of me. A mafia princess… is a good bargaining chip.”
I swear my spirit leaves my body. A bargaining chip? That’s… terrifying. Not surprising, I suppose. This is the Commission, and while direct violence during the meetings is forbidden, that doesn’t mean organizations aren’t plotting to fuck each other over at the earliest opportunity.
“And if I refuse to be your… bargaining chip?” I ask, testing him, even though my pulse is anything but steady.
His eyes flicker with a dark amusement. “Then, princess… You might find yourself in the wrong hands. But lucky for you, I’m feeling generous today. For now.”
Generous.
The word tastes bitter on my tongue. Still, the danger, the command in his voice, the sheer magnetic pull of him, is intoxicating.
It’s not like I didn’t know that Nik could be a dangerous person. And I did know he was Russian and that the club was probably mob-owned.
And I’m a Campisi. Fear isn’t something I’m supposed to show. I’ve made it this far without flinching, and I won’t start now.
He likes my body, I know that much, so I decide to use it to my advantage. He may be a Barkov. He may be a professional athlete. He may be powerful and dangerous. But he’s still just a man – and a man who finds me attractive.
I stand up straight and walk past him, making sure my breast grazes his arm as I pass. I walk straight out into the living room and to the kitchen.
I pour myself a glass of water and gulp it down, not bothering to pull the thin strap of my nightgown back up. I set the glass on the counter, and the sound fills the quiet space.
He has stepped out into the living room, but only barely. His arms are crossed over his broad chest like a bouncer, daring me to get through the door.
I grin, cocky, and walk out of the kitchen, back through the living room. I brush him again as I go back into the bedroom.
I pull my chemise over my head and let it flutter to the floor as I head into the bathroom.
As I start the shower and let it warm up, I refuse to look at him, but I can feel the darkness of his gaze settling on my naked body.
The air between us is thick, humming with everything we haven’t said, everything we’ve already done.
When I finally step under the hot spray, I know full well the invitation I’ve made by not closing or locking the door.
And I don’t know if I want him to take the bait—or not.