Chapter 26
IVAN
I surface from sleep by degrees.
The first thing my brain registers is warmth, curved and pressed against me in a way that makes no sense at first. Then it catalogs the rest: the weight of a soft tit in my palm, the insistent pressure of my cock against a luscious ass, the mouthwatering scent of jasmine and smoke wrapping around me.
I know who I’m holding before I’m fully awake.
And my heart whispers her name before thought can catch up.
Melani.
My eyes snap open to a cloud of brunette hair. She’s fast asleep with her back tucked snugly against my chest, her head resting on my left arm—which seems to have gone numb.
Have we been like this all night? My left hand squeezes her tit on reflex, and she moans sleepily, pressing herself into my body even more. That small movement jolts me fully awake. The blood in my head rushes to my cock in one quick swoop. Fuck.
I release her tit and slowly extract myself from around her, carefully drawing out my right arm from beneath her head. The pins-and-needles sensation that follows is excruciating, but I barely notice. Jesus, I never cuddle with anyone. Ever.
I sit up and glance around, taking in the reality of what I’ve done.
I definitely never bring women into my room—my sanctuary—and fuck them.
That’s why I have another room two floors down, specifically for that purpose.
Women have a habit of thinking they’re special when you bring them into your personal space.
They start reading meaning into walls and furniture and the particular way the morning light hits your sheets, and then you have a problem on your hands that’s harder to get rid of than a business rival.
I know all of this. I’ve always known it.
And yet… I look down at the woman in my bed.
Wrong move. My breath fizzles out, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe as I watch her.
Her eyes are closed, her face relaxed. She’s obviously still deep in sleep.
But her lips—swollen from my mouth, from my cock—are curved in a faint, satisfied smile.
My cock stirs eagerly at the sight. With a low curse, I swing out of bed before I do something stupid—like wake her up by burying myself inside her again.
Fuck me. I shouldn’t have let it get so out of hand last night.
If she was under my skin before, she’s in my brain now—woven into the very chemistry that makes me tick. Dangerous. This is dangerous ground.
I give her my back and start towards the bathroom when my phone starts ringing.
I lunge for my discarded pants, yanking the phone out and hitting end call before I’ve even registered the name on the screen.
Then I switch it to silent mode, just in case.
Heart pounding, I glance towards the bed and blow out a breath of relief when I see she’s still asleep.
I woke her up enough last night; she must be exhausted.
My brows pull together as I realize what I just did. What the hell? I’m so fucked.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I glance down at it with a scowl. Dimitri.
“What is it?” I snap, already moving towards the bathroom. I pull the door shut behind me and listen.
He’s silent for a beat, then, “Don’t tell me my call woke you?”
“I was already awake,” I bite out. “What do you want?”
Another pause, this one loaded with skepticism. “So you ended my first call while you were fully awake and aware?”
My jaw clenches at his question. He’s right to sound confused.
I never end calls from my brothers, no matter the circumstances—not when I’m elbow-deep in a problem, not when I’m balls-deep in a woman, not when I’m dead asleep at three in the morning.
In our line of business, a call from either of them could literally be the difference between life and death.
And yet, I ended his call without a second thought—hell, I didn’t even check the caller ID before ending it.
Because Melani’s sleep mattered more to me than anything else in that moment.
Fucked. Fucked. Fucked.
“What the hell do you want?” I growl. When he doesn’t answer immediately, irritation spikes. “I swear to God, if you don’t get to the point, I’m ending this call.”
“Well, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” Dima says flatly. “Turn on your TV.”
“Hold on.” I change course towards my closet and pull on a pair of sweatpants. Before I go, I steal one last glance at Melani. She’s migrated to my side of the bed, face buried in my pillow, one hand splayed out and patting around the mattress like she’s searching for me.
A weird melting sensation spreads through my chest—one I don't have language for and no intention of acquiring. Without thinking, I start walking back to the bed, my hand reaching for her—then I realize what I’m doing.
I fist my hand mid-air, forcing it back to my side, then spin away from her and walk out of the bedroom without another glance back.
Fucked. Fucked. Fucked.
I try to shove the insistent mantra out of my head, and mostly succeed, but the echo lingers.
I may have claimed her last night, but she also claimed me. My hand drifts to my side, to the marks where her nails broke the skin as she came.
“Is your TV on now?” Dima’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
I increase my stride and head straight for the console, grabbing the remote and turning it on. “Yes, now what?”
“Go to channel 65.”
“What’s happening on channel 65?” I ask as I follow his instruction, but the question answers itself the moment the image appears. Daniel Salvi’s ugly face fills the screen, smug and polished. He’s doing an interview. “I’m sick of this fucking bastard.”
“Better get used to that feeling. We’re going to be seeing a lot more of his face during election season. Turn up the volume.”
My lips thin as I increase the sound, forced to hear the slimy words spilling from his mouth. Dima goes quiet on the line so I can listen without distraction.
“---You know, older parties are filled with men who are used to power and set in their ways. They find change hard and are naturally resistant to it. Just like we all are.” Daniel flashes a confident smirk.
The male anchor nods with a small, sympathetic smile. “Change can be scary.”
“I agree with you, Peter—change is scary. Especially a change as big as the one I want for our city. But we need to embrace it because change is constant. And on that note—” Daniel leans forward, like he’s letting the audience in on something intimate, “—I’m going to announce a big change I recently orchestrated. ”
“Are you talking about the primaries coming up?” Peter asks.
“Yes. I know many of my supporters won’t be surprised, but a few might be.” He pauses for dramatic effect—the bastard. “I’ve left the Democratic Party and created something new, something untainted to carry forward our vision of change.”
“A new party? Mr. Salvi, that’s quite a bold move. Launching a new political party just a year before the election?”
Daniel laughs, and the sound creates a fist of rage in my gut. I’d like nothing more than to wrap my hands around his thick throat and squeeze until that laugh dies permanently.
“It is a bold move. A bold and scary move. But I can't be afraid to take risks when I want to change the status quo. In fact, that’s the very thing we need if we want to challenge the powers that be.”
“I like that very much, Daniel.”
“Thank you, Peter.” Another calculated smile. “I created the New Order NYC as a Clean Slate Coalition. It isn't just another political party. It's a resistance to everything that’s infected our city—crime, corruption, cowardice. I won't bow to mafia dons or political ones.”
Peter practically glows. “I have to say, I’m looking forward to this election more than I have in years. I’m eager to see how you and the New Order NYC fare against the big dogs.”
The two men shake hands before Peter turns to the camera. “Well, you heard it here first, folks. Thank you for tuning in to—”
I turn off the TV. “Fucking hell.” We already knew this was coming, thanks to the audio Dima captured of Daniel speaking with Senator Cole, but seeing it play out publicly is a different ball game.
“Fucking hell is right,” Dimitri agrees. “Daniel isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. We need to start taking him seriously.” But, right now, there’s not much more we can do than push our own candidate forward.
“Have you touched base with James Salvatore?” Smooching with the politicians is strictly Aleksei’s forte, but sometimes Dima and I need to step in—like when I had to kill James’ old partners to prevent future scandals.
“Not directly. But I've wiped his digital footprint and have been pushing his campaign online with polls and other tactics. He’s rising in popularity, but Daniel is still way ahead.”
“Fuck.” I heave a heavy sigh. We can’t even fucking kill Daniel or make him disappear.
Not only is he a former U.S. Attorney, but he’s now also a popular mayoral candidate whose entire platform is built on destroying us.
Any foul play involving him will be linked to us, even if we aren’t the culprits.
So until the election is over, the fucker is untouchable.
“I’ll speak to Aleksei about it,” Dimitri assures me before switching gears. “How’s the investigation into the missing men? Have you been in contact with Vasily? Word is Jordan and Harvey haven’t been seen or heard from in over twenty-four hours.”
No. Jordan and Harvey are our men stationed at the port—they ensure our imports make it into the country without attracting unwanted attention from the authorities.
If they’re gone too… “Fuck,” I repeat. “Let me get in touch with Vasily.”
I end the call and dial his number. It rings, but he doesn’t answer.
My eyes narrow as I lower the phone. It’s time I visited him to remind him what’s at stake and what he stands to lose. His life.
I return to my room, moving quietly to gather clothes from my closet. Then I carry everything back to my office so I can shower and dress there without waking Melani.
After pulling on my jacket, I leave the office, eager to get to the thick of things and regain some semblance of normalcy. But something stops me. The thought of her still asleep inside tugs at my chest.
I look for Boris, who’s stationed at his usual post near the door, and beckon him over.
Melani requires special instructions.