Chapter 21
Cecilia
Deep, vibrant R&B music reverberates against my skin, pulling me into Mikhail’s world—a dimly lit Bentley that races through time and space as if there’s no tomorrow.
Tendrils of burning nicotine curl along my face like an intoxicating caress.
It’s clinging to my tongue, forcing me to admit I like the taste.
Maybe it’s because my husband is smoking the cigarette.
He’s splayed across the leather seat, head tilted back to the ceiling, a lazy smile hanging from the corner of his mouth at something Rodion says. His knees are parted wide, his left one almost touching mine. The air around me crackles with my heightened emotions.
It’s euphoric, but it’s maddening to be around him like this, in this environment. I don’t know who I am here, though that thought alone feels incredibly liberating, at least for now.
“For some reason, Damien’s little sis keeps blowing up my fucking phone,” Rodion complains from the driver’s seat. He extends his hand over the backrest, throwing his phone at Mikhail.
A pack of cigarettes is handed to me. “Hold this,” my husband says casually while adding a lighter to the mix. “And this.” I take both objects, holding them as if my life depends on it.
Mikhail works Rodion’s phone, texting as he mutters the words out loud over the music. “I’m an idiot with low self-esteem, so I cannot love you. There,” he says, throwing the phone back to the front of the car. “Problem solved.”
Rodion laughs. “You fucking asshole. Not only will that not work, but now, she’ll think she can fix me.”
“Maybe she should try,” Niko growls. “It’s our last hope, honestly.”
“Ah, fuck you,” Rodion says.
I don’t realize I’m grinning until I catch my husband’s gaze on me. His lashes lower, as if they’re hiding a forbidden fire—a scorching, living blaze that’s beginning to burn him. My breath stutters. To the outside world, he’s just looking. To me…he’s seeing—seeing me.
Something pulls at the edges of his relaxed mask, at that sharp jaw and his wicked mouth. It’s subtle and dark and...and sultry, maybe. I don’t know. My skin tingles, calling out for another touch. I want him to touch me, even if it’s only by accident.
Stop this. Look away, I tell myself.
A strained sound echoes from my throat in protest. I don’t hear it over the music, but I feel it shaking my chest.
Suddenly, the car comes to a stop, and the music, the lights, the smoke, everything dissipates like a drop of rain in the ocean. Rodion and Niko get out while my husband cocks his head at me, as if something just dawned on him.
“Cecilia…” he murmurs, his voice a little rough at the edges. I wait for the rest, clinging to the silence between us as my heart soars. The continuation, however, never comes, and this fickle heart of mine sinks as the door to the backseat is yanked open.
From the car, we go straight into a high-end club.
More loud music and dim red lights welcome me, as if the earlier atmosphere was just a prelude.
The place is crammed with people looking like a million bucks, spineless dancers and pretty waitresses delivering drinks to the VIP booths in the corners.
I’ve never been to a club before. As a teenager, my father forbade it, and I never got the chance to experience it. Now, the thought of being the center of attention, of dancing, feels terrifying. Which is why, when Mikhail pulls me through the crowd, I tense, digging my heels into the floor.
I shake my head, and he lowers his to me so he can hear me. “I—I can’t dance. And my heels are killing me.”
My words cause a smile to appear on his face. Not a sarcastic one, but sympathetic. Without question, his direction changes, and I’m led into a semi-occupied booth across the room, where I can breathe a little easier.
The men sitting there—Bratva, I assume—take me in as we approach, but only for a second. As soon as they see Mikhail’s arm snaking around the small of my back, they don’t spare me another glance. He shakes hands with two of them, and then we take our seats just as Rodion and Niko find us again.
“So this is where you disappear when you’re not home?” I ask, roaming my eyes around the crowded space.
Mikhail makes himself comfortable, hand extended across the couch’s backrest behind me.
“Not exactly,” he says, leaning in. “This is one of Niko’s clubs. We come here sometimes to celebrate, but mostly, we’re at the warehouses.”
“Warehouses?” I ask.
He nods once but doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to, because the shiver running down my spine says it all.
Since the incident with Enzo in the basement, I forgot what Mikhail does for a living.
At his core, he is a killer, a criminal.
He made me forget every time he looked at me with those curious eyes, just like he makes me brush it off now, as if it means nothing.
What is wrong with me?
Before I get to question my mental faculties, a brunette waitress comes to our table. Her hair is long and straight along her shoulders, and when she walks, it sways from side to side, like a supermodel on a runway.
“Lovely for you to show up. Where have you been, Mr. Rykov?” she asks, shifting her weight from one hip to the other. I don’t fail to notice the way she purrs his name—as if it’s a shared secret, a dirty pleasure, maybe something he asks her to call him when they’re in private.
Something tightens in my chest, and I can’t help but wonder if he brought me here to humiliate me. Clearly, he’s sleeping with this woman, and I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t, and yet…
Mikhail sighs. “I know you’re short-sighted, Sienna, but surely you can see the four hundred thousand dollar wedding dress wrapped around my wife. It’s Vera Wang.”
Sienna laughs, her lips thick and carnal. “Hmm. Maybe congratulations are in order, then. Except…” She leans in, displaying her cleavage for him to devour. “You’re not fooling anyone. We both know this kind of woman isn’t your type at all, don’t we?”
My pulse bangs against my veins. How dare she?
“Cheer up, doll face,” Rodion says from across the table. “Plenty of cocks to choose from at this table. Take your pick.”
She ignores him.
When I lean forward, her sharp eyes immediately glide over to me—a bitter, hollow sight that would’ve otherwise been a beautiful pale blue.
“You are a stunning woman, Sienna,” I say, planting my chin on my palm. “And I’m sure you’re nice, but my husband won’t be seeing you again, no matter what promises he may have made you. He’s married now.”
Her eyes dart between me and Mikhail, as if she’s waiting for him to contradict me. I hold my breath, praying to God he doesn’t choose to humiliate me in front of all his friends. I couldn’t take it. Not from him.
I can tell he watches me even though I refuse to break eye contact with this woman, his gaze burning into the side of my face. The one second of silence stretches, and then—
“You heard her,” my husband says.
Relief courses through me like oxygen. Slowly, Sienna straightens, nodding with disdain. “Whatever. I’m taking my break. Bring your own goddamn drinks.”
But we don’t have to. Another waitress steps in, going around the table for our orders, but I’m completely tuned out of the conversation.
“Jealous much?” Mikhail asks, puffing out smoke from another cigarette.
Here, I decide to make myself heard. “Just because I want nothing to do with you doesn’t mean I’m fine with you breaking our wedding vows. If I’m trapped in this marriage, so are you.”
“Who says I’m breaking them?”
“Please. As if you weren’t thinking of sleeping with her again.”
“Come here, Cecilia,” he commands.
Three words, and my body clings to them so effortlessly. They coil around my will, bending until only the frown on my face expresses my refusal to appease him. My arms, however, extend across the couch, bringing my upper body closer to him, betraying me.
“I said—” I enunciate, telling myself he asked me closer only so he could hear me.
But then, his hand wraps around my chin, warm and possessive, and I stop moving.
My eyes widen, pupils shifting rapidly across his handsome face.
He doesn’t pull me to him. Instead, he inches toward me.
Within a fraction of a second, we’re the closest we’ve ever been, his breath brushing the swollen seam of my lips.
“I never slept with her,” he murmurs. “I wouldn’t have brought you here if I had.”
I resist the upward pull of my mouth. “How thoughtful. And here I was, thinking I was only your—”
His eyes lower to my lips, allowing flames of that inner fire of his to reach outward. I can feel the lick of heat on my skin. It takes to his mere sight like dry timber.
If he can do this by just looking at me… Oh, God.
“My what, Cecilia? What are you to me, exactly?”
“—an accessory,” I say.
“Wrong.” He circles my lips with his, a velvety, subtle touch that never truly reaches me. It’s delirious, infuriating, and it turns my knees to water all at the same time. I’ve forgotten all about the people at this table, at this club, and everything else that isn’t him.
“W-What then?” I lick my lips.
“My wife. My equal. And right now, my plaything.”
He pulls back just a little, inhaling a breath of nicotine from his cigarette before pulling on my lower lip. Immediately, my mouth parts for him, and then—
Smoke dances around his sharp jaw as he exhales.
It crawls to me, entering me, teasing me with a hint of what he’d taste like.
My lashes flutter closed as my lungs cling to the vapor, sucking it in.
It floods my mouth, my thoughts, my entire being, until there’s nothing but the low music and the tantalizing feel of Mikhail surrounding me.
“Good girl,” he says, a hint of awe in his voice. A flutter of excitement pulses inside me. It’s frightening how good it feels to please him, my thighs clamping together in response.
“It’s not good for you, you know. Smoking so much,” I say, swallowing.
“I don’t normally, but—”
“What?” I ask.