Chapter Sixteen
Arkady
It’s been days since she walked through my doors.
Days of torture, watching her move through my house like she belongs here. Like she’s always been here.
I sit at my desk, documents forgotten under my hands, replaying the moment in my bedroom. The shock on her face when she looked up from my album. The way her eyes had widened, traveled down my body, lingered where they shouldn’t. The color spreading across her skin.
My cock throbs painfully against my zipper at the memory.
I don’t bother trying to will it away. Useless.
Since she arrived, I’ve lived in a state of constant, angry arousal that leaves me raw.
Each night, I take myself in hand, grinding brutal strokes along my shaft, and each night her face appears behind my closed eyes as I spill my load.
I should have fired her on the spot. Should have thrown her out for trespassing on my privacy, for touching what wasn’t hers to touch. For seeing Mishka.
Blyad.
When I saw her sitting on my bed, I nearly crossed the room in two strides.
Nearly grabbed her by the throat and pushed her into the mattress.
Nearly gave in to the hunger that’s been eating me alive since I first saw her at that farce of a wedding.
I could have spread her across my sheets, ripped away that prim uniform, and discovered if her skin burned as hot as mine.
If she’d fight me or yield. If she’d hate me for taking or hate herself for wanting.
The images cut through me—Mirabel beneath me, dark hair wild across my pillows, eyes glazed with surrender as I claimed what she’s been silently offering with every careful glance, every quickened breath when I enter a room.
I slam my fist onto the desk, the sharp pain centering me. This has to stop. She’s my housekeeper. Nothing more. You don’t fuck the help.
The intercom buzzes, yanking me back to reality. “Arkady,” Stefan’s voice crackles through the speaker. “I have information. In person.”
“Come.”
The door opens seconds later. Stefan fills the frame—hulking, tattooed, lethal. The only man besides Yanis I trust completely. He closes the door silently behind him, his expression grave.
“I have news,” he says without preamble. “Sergei Tulikov is working on a new project. He wants to build a casino.”
I lean back in my chair, forcing my body to relax despite the alarm bells ringing in my head.
“Not surprised,” I say. “He wanted to take Empire Royale as compensation for what I did to his precious daughter.”
“Greedy fucker.” Stefan moves closer, resting his massive hands on the back of the chair opposite my desk. “What do you want me to do, boss?”
I wave a dismissive hand. “Leave it, Stefan. He’s not going to find a suitable location.”
“Actually,” Stefan’s face hardens, “he already found one.”
“What?” That gets my full attention. I straighten, shoulders tensing.
“Da. He offered double the price to the owner and bought the site right next to Empire Royale.”
Pizdets!
The fucker.
My vision narrows, a familiar coldness settling in my chest. He’s obviously trying to take out the competition—me. He’s not even trying to be subtle about it. This is tactical. Strategic. A direct challenge I can’t ignore.
“Are you sure it’s his?” I demand, though I know Stefan wouldn’t bring me unverified information.
“Positive. Used a shell company, but I traced it back. His fingerprints are all over the transaction.”
“Fuck.” The word doesn’t begin to capture the rage building in my gut. “He wants to ruin my business as revenge for his daughter. Do you know where he is now?”
“Vegas. Meeting with suppliers, building his team. Word is he’s recruiting my old contacts.”
“How long?”
“Not sure, boss. Want me to look into it?”
I pause, considering. Sergei in Vegas means he’s already making connections, securing relationships, poaching staff. Moving against me on multiple fronts while maintaining plausible deniability. Clever, but predictable.
“Nyet. Get me a flight to Vegas.”
Stefan nods once, already pulling out his phone.
I need to speak to Tulikov in person. Need to look in his eyes when I tell him he’s crossed a line he can’t uncross. He needs to understand that there are consequences for coming after what’s mine—consequences that will bleed into every aspect of his life until there’s nothing left.
“Make it tonight,” I add, rising from my desk. “And tell Yanis to keep an eye on the Georgian situation while I’m gone.”
“Already on it.” Stefan’s fingers move over his phone. “You want additional security?”
“Just you.”
Stefan nods, accepting the order without further comment.
“One more thing,” I say as he turns to leave. “Tell Anfisa I need to see the new housekeeper.”
“Da.” He pauses at the door. “You’re sure about Vegas? Sergei won’t be alone.”
“Neither will I.”
The door closes behind him, and I’m left with the simmering rage that’s become my constant companion. Sergei thinks he can come after me? After my business? The business I built without my father’s help, without dirtying my hands with trafficking?
He’s about to learn what happens when you provoke a Laurov.
I move to the window, staring out at the forest surrounding Ashwater. My sanctuary. My fortress. The one place where I’ve managed to keep the darkest parts of myself contained.
A soft knock interrupts my thoughts.
“Enter,” I command without turning.
The door opens. “You wanted to see me?” Her voice is steady, professional, giving no indication of our earlier encounter.
I turn slowly. She stands just inside the doorway, her simple black uniform hugging her curves.
Her hair is pulled back, revealing the vulnerable line of her neck where it meets her shoulder.
I imagine setting my teeth there, marking her where anyone could see. Claiming her in the most primitive way.
Focus, doboyob.
“I’m leaving for Las Vegas tonight,” I say, moving behind my desk, putting distance between us. “Business. I’ll be gone three days, possibly four.”
“I see.” She clasps her hands in front of her, a picture of composure except for the slight flush crawling up her throat. “Should I prepare anything for your trip?”
“My man will handle it.”
She nods once. “Alright. Is there anything specific you need me to manage while you’re away?”
“Anfisa knows the routine.” I study her face, searching for any trace of our earlier interaction. Any sign that she’s still thinking about what she saw. “Maintain your regular duties. And stay away from the east wing.”
Her chin lifts slightly. A challenge. “As you wish.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion, Mirabel.” I step closer, watching her pupils dilate, hearing the catch in her breath. “The east wing is off limits when I’m not here. Especially to someone who can’t resist opening things that don’t belong to her.”
The flush deepens, spreading across her cheeks. Heat rising to meet heat.
“I understand,” she says, voice softer.
“Do you?” I move closer still. “Because if I come back and find you’ve been snooping again, there will be consequences.”
Her eyes flash with something dangerous—defiance, maybe. Or desire. “What kind of consequences?”
For a second, I let myself imagine exactly what those consequences would look like—my hand wrapped in her hair, yanking her head back to expose her throat.
My mouth on her skin, teeth scraping the tender flesh beneath her jaw.
Her wrists pinned above her head as I show her exactly what happens to people who challenge me.
Her body arching as I push inside her, taking what I’ve wanted since that dress split in front of me.
I’d make her say my name. Not Mr. Laurov. Arkady. I’d make her scream it until her voice gave out.
Instead, I step back. “Let’s hope you won’t have to find out.”
She swallows, the movement drawing my attention to the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. “Is there anything else?”
“No.” I turn back to the window, dismissing her. “That’s all.”
I listen to her footsteps retreat, the click of the door as she closes it behind her. Only then do I exhale, loosening the grip I’ve maintained on my control.
Three days away. Three days to deal with Sergei Tulikov. Three days to remember why Mirabel McLeod is off-limits.
No matter how badly I want her.