Owned by My Ex's Ruthless King (Billionaire Pakhan #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Evelyn

The damn bandage dress rode up another inch the second I sat down at the bar.

I tugged at the hem, trying to get it to cover at least three inches below my upper thigh. No use. The pathetic scrap of fabric barely managed to cover my ass.

Okay, okay, Evelyn. Drop the debutante act. Remember why you're here tonight. Be wild.

I lifted my drink and took a sip, pretending to casually turn halfway around. My gaze cut through the dim lights and curling smoke, locking onto the booth in the far back. There he was. Julian Moretti. New York's most notorious playboy, sole heir to mafia Don Victor Moretti, and my ex-fiancé.

Ex-fiancé I dumped, to be precise. The reason? Pretty much the same as what he was doing right now with three half-naked women. Three months into our arranged marriage, I'd walked in on him and his secretary going at it in his office.

My stomach twisted. That memory was vile enough.

But I wasn't here tonight to settle old scores.

I was here for my father, Richard. Three months ago, he vanished from the face of the earth.

Along with him went a little black book he'd treasured.

I'd suspected his political enemies at first—as a politician, he'd made plenty of noise.

Half of New York knew that black book contained secrets that could keep the elite up at night.

But after burning through half my savings on a high-end PI, I got a lead that made my blood run cold—my father's last known location was Victor Moretti's manor.

Victor Moretti. Mafia Don. King of New York's underworld. A man whose name alone could make judges reverse verdicts and grown men piss themselves.

I'd met him briefly once. He and Julian shared similar bone structure, devastatingly handsome, but no one would ever confuse them.

Julian was hot and flashy. Victor? More than his looks, what left an impression was his presence—mature, controlled.

He didn't need to do anything. Just standing there, you felt the danger radiating off him.

So even though Victor was the most likely person to know where my father was, I couldn't just show up at his door. He probably wouldn't even glance my way. I needed a way in.

And that way in was sitting in the corner, currently being used as a human sofa by three women.

"Hey."

A voice close to my ear broke my thoughts. I turned. The bartender. He'd leaned halfway across the bar, one arm propped on the counter in front of me, wearing what he probably thought was a charming smile.

"You need a date?" He lowered his voice like we were sharing some dirty secret. "I can ditch my shift tonight. Boss isn't here. No one's gonna stop me."

Before I could respond, his hand clamped onto my arm.

I didn't even bother rolling my eyes. I jerked my arm free. "Not interested."

Not that I was surprised. He'd been undressing me with his eyes since I sat down. But I hadn't dressed like this for some hookup.

The bartender flinched but wouldn't give up. He slid a bar card across to me with a number scrawled on it.

"Give me a chance. I think you'll change your mind—"

I didn't change my mind. But a vicious idea suddenly flared in my chest. I needed Julian's attention. What better way than making a scene?

"I said I'm not interested!"

I stood up and shoved the heavy bar stool backward with all my strength. It crashed to the floor with a deafening bang.

The music didn't stop, but the area around the bar fell dead silent. Every head swiveled toward me.

Including Julian's.

My gaze cut past the bartender's shoulder and slammed straight into Julian's. He froze, hand suspended mid-motion, eyes narrowing slightly.

Now.

I forced out what I hoped was my most seductive, inviting smile.

Honestly, I wasn't sure how it looked. I wasn't good at smiling at men. Thanks to my father's name, most of the time, it was men smiling at me like idiots.

But my first attempt at seduction seemed to work.

Julian shoved the dark-haired woman off his lap and headed straight for me, leaving all three women behind—I'd bet the daggers from their eyes were drilling holes in my back right now.

"Evelyn Gray?" He stopped in front of me, gaze climbing from my heels all the way to my face, a smirk playing at his lips.

The bartender vanished the second Julian approached. Everyone in New York knew what Julian—or more precisely, his father—represented.

"You, dressed like this, in a place like this... I almost thought I was dreaming."

He tilted his head, one hand casually resting on the bar, half-caging me between him and the counter. His other hand lifted, knuckles brushing against my bare collarbone.

"I remember you being a different style.

" His gaze slid down the curves of my chest. "In my memory, Miss Evelyn Gray was all about turtlenecks and knee-length skirts.

Uptight as a nun." Then slowly back up. "Who knew?

Turns out even nuns keep this kind of thing in their closet. Guess deep down you're just—"

He didn't finish the word, but that smug smirk said it all.

That grin was so punchable I nearly swung. God, I almost did. But I swallowed the nausea and forced the flirty smile to stay on my face.

"I wore it for you, Julian."

Julian raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"I've been thinking a lot lately." I lifted my glass and took a sip, then deliberately ran my tongue over my wet lower lip.

"After we called off the engagement, I met a bunch of guys.

You know what men out there are like." I wrinkled my nose dismissively.

"Compared to them, you're at least... not a bad option. "

Julian didn't answer right away. His head tilted slightly, those dark brown eyes studying me. Then his lips curved upward.

"Interesting." He finally spoke, those eyes burning slowly down my body. "I have to say, you succeeded. You're still fatally attractive to me."

He turned and snapped his fingers toward the booth. A man in a black suit immediately walked over.

"Those three. You guys can have them."

He didn't even look back.

I heard the women's disgruntled murmurs from across the room. They complained but stayed obedient, following the guard away from the booth.

Julian held out his hand.

"I cleared my schedule for you, sweetheart." Confidence dripped from his smile.

Of course. That was the point. I smiled sweetly and placed my hand in his. He yanked me into his arms, his other hand sliding to my waist, fingers wandering restlessly between my waist and hips. His lips pressed against my ear, hot breath crawling down my neck. "You still drive me crazy, Evelyn."

Disgusting.

I could smell different women's perfumes on his shirt. This asshole's private life was as revolting as ever.

But I didn't push him away.

I even leaned closer, lips grazing his earlobe, voice dropping. "Let's do something fun. But not here—if Alexander and Richard find out I came to a bar, I'll be in deep shit."

"Then let's go back to my place," he said.

My heart hammered. But to keep this idiot from noticing, I controlled my excitement and kept the smile steady.

Julian's place. The opulent Moretti Manor. Where I really needed to go tonight.

When Julian pinned me against the wall and kissed me, I almost threw up. I actually did.

I shoved him back and bent over, clutching my stomach.

"Wait—" I frowned, forcing a pained expression. "Let me hit the bathroom first... my stomach's killing me."

Disappointment flashed across Julian's face. A man with a hard-on getting hit with pause probably hurts almost as much as getting kicked in the balls, but he managed a gracious smile.

"Go ahead." He released my waist, hands sliding into his pockets. "I'll wait for you in bed. Don't make me wait too long."

I threw him an apologetic smile and headed down the hallway. The instant I heard his bedroom door click shut behind me, the smile vanished. I kicked off my heels, grabbed them, and ran barefoot in the opposite direction.

According to my intel, Victor wasn't at the manor tonight. He should've boarded his private jet to Washington three hours ago for a friendly cooperation meeting with some senator. That senator's name was also in the black book—but that was another story.

The important thing was Victor was gone. Tonight was a golden opportunity.

I made straight for the room at the end of the hall, checked for witnesses, and slipped inside.

Victor's study was massive. Towering bookshelves lined up in perfect rows, dark walnut radiating expensive, understated power.

A huge desk dominated the center, its surface neatly arranged with stacks of files and a closed laptop.

No fire in the fireplace, but the air held traces of cigar smoke and leather.

It fit my impression of Victor. Cold. Imposing. Lifeless.

I didn't have time to admire the décor. I went straight for the desk drawers, the files on the surface, the leather-bound books on the shelves that clearly weren't meant to be read. Where? Where was the clue to Richard's disappearance?

Panic threatened to swallow me.

But as I searched, my hands started shaking. Soon, I was pulling out financial records with numbers terrifyingly large, photos clipped to folders with cleared stamps.

The deeper I dug, the more I realized what a massive, terrifying monster I was dealing with.

But I had no time to be scared. I just kept searching frantically, scanning every corner.

A storage cabinet!

On the side of the room was an inconspicuous walnut cabinet, blending into the bookshelves. Easy to miss if you weren't looking. I pulled open the door and felt around the compartments—my fingers touched cold metal. A safe.

My heart raced. A surge of wild hope hit me. This was it. Had to be.

Footsteps shattered the moment.

Clear. Steady. Unhurried. Heading straight for the study.

My brain blanked. Who? A maid? Security? Julian?

But the approaching footsteps left no time to think. Survival instinct kicked in. I yanked open the cabinet door and stuffed myself inside. Knees against my chest, back pressed against the panel, hand over my mouth and nose, desperately suppressing every breath.

The study door opened.

Through the crack, I saw a silhouette.

Even in the dim light, that outline was unmistakable. Tall. Broad. He wore a dark three-piece suit, tie loosened halfway, revealing a strip of bronze neck.

Victor Moretti.

Why was he back? Coincidence? Had something gone wrong? Did he know? Had he already discovered I was here?

Panic made me dizzy. I could barely breathe.

Victor Moretti was beyond my comprehension.

Honestly, even during the time I almost became his daughter-in-law, my interactions with this man were pathetically few.

Saw him twice at the engagement ceremony, sat across a long table at formal dinners three times—that was it.

But those handful of meetings were enough to form a clear, bone-deep impression.

Victor Moretti was the kind of man I absolutely did not want to be alone in a room with.

The only thing I knew for certain about Victor was one thing: this man was extremely dangerous.

And my father—most likely died by his hand.

Victor's footsteps continued moving through the room, then headed toward the storage cabinet.

Shit.

My breathing stopped completely. Cold sweat slid from my temple down my cheek, itching as it crawled, but I didn't dare raise a hand to wipe it.

I didn't dare make any movement. Didn't dare blink, breathe. I wished I could pause my heartbeat.

In the silence, the rustle of turning pages was especially clear. Was he just here to read? Okay, please, finish in five minutes, stand up, walk out the door. God, please.

But God didn't answer my prayer. Soon, the regular page-turning sounds changed. First a soft click, like a metal button being undone.

Then, I heard a rough, raspy exhale.

My brain took a full three seconds to process the logic of these sounds.

Wait.

Wait, wait, wait.

He was—

Oh my God!

Was that a porn magazine? My face burned to my ears in the darkness.

Victor Moretti. New York's mafia Don. Right now, in his own study—

Okay, I couldn't even finish the sentence in my head because every phrasing made me feel like a voyeur. But the objective fact was I was trapped in a cabinet less than six feet from a mafia boss who was jerking off.

What the actual fuck.

I felt a wave of absurd disbelief—this man ruled New York's underworld. Couldn't he find an actual person to help him with this? Half his contacts would willingly—no, gratefully—provide this service.

But whatever. Just hurry up. Please. Finish and leave.

Another rough exhale came from beyond the crack. Low. Controlled... sexy.

Damn it. Was I seriously finding my ex-fiancé's father's jacking-off sounds sexy?

I clenched my thighs together. Worse, a shameful wetness was spreading along my inner thighs. My body was reacting to the sounds of a man I should fear, hate, who possibly kidnapped my father.

This was the most disgusted I'd ever been with myself.

Then—

"Evelyn."

My name rolled out of that man's throat with a muffled groan.

I froze. Who did he just call? Evelyn?

Did I hear wrong?

I'd tracked Victor Moretti's social circle for months, combed through every known and suspected lover on his list. No Evelyn. Not one woman named Evelyn appeared in any of his records.

The only Evelyn in his orbit was me.

His son's ex-fiancée. A woman he theoretically shouldn't have any inappropriate interest in.

And right now, this man was in his study, doing that, while calling my name.

My brain completely crashed processing this information.

Then he said a second thing.

"Come out."