Chapter 3
Alexei
Her whole body shakes where it’s trapped against mine, and I’d bet money it’s from being pissed off, but the scent of coconut and caramel sugar hits my nose so strongly it almost distracts me.
She molds right into my frame like we’re puzzle pieces that fit perfectly, and I hold her tighter until her breath hitches in her throat, making damn sure she understands who is running things here.
The fact that she said yes feeds something primal and hungry in my gut, but she doesn’t waste a single second before she starts jamming her hands into my chest, fighting to put distance between us.
She’s fucking adorable. I want to crush her against me, bite that pouty little mouth, squeeze her until she squeaks. She’s too goddamn cute when she’s mad and squirmy. I have to lock every muscle in my body to keep from doing exactly that.
“Let me go,” she demands.
I refuse to move, my arms staying wrapped around her without loosening at all. “Is that how it is?” I drop my mouth right next to her ear, where I know she can feel my breath on her neck. “You’re running away now that you squeezed a yes out of me?”
She pushes harder against my chest, and I feel every curve through the thin fabric of her dress. The friction sends heat straight to my groin.
Then she tilts her head up, and those big brown eyes meet mine with an intensity that momentarily steals my breath. “Why don’t you let me go,” she says slowly, “so I can get dressed for our little dinner?”
Her gaze catches me completely off guard. For a split second, I find myself stunned by the boldness radiating from those eyes. She uses that moment of weakness to slip away, sliding out of my arms.
I chuckle. She’s as sly as a fox.
“Seven pm tomorrow, beautiful.” I watch as she smooths down her dress. “Don’t keep me waiting.”
The Next Day
One of my guys walks in and puts a phone on my desk. “Pakhan Romanov, the Yakuza are on line two.”
I take the phone without looking up. “What?”
“Mr. Romanov, we need to discuss compensation for last night’s misunderstanding.”
“The misunderstanding where your men shot up my venue?”
“They were acting in self-defense…”
“They’re lucky I haven’t killed them yet. One million dollars, wired. You’ve got twenty-four hours.” I end the call before he can respond.
The phone rings again. This time it’s one of my lieutenants.
“Pakhan, we’ve got a problem with the Georgians. They hit one of our shipments at the port.”
“How much did we lose?”
“Two million in merchandise. They also left some bullshit about territory being temporary.”
I lean back in my chair, sighing in annoyance. Dato is getting bold, and I’m getting bored. “Find the Georgian who thinks he can steal from me. I want him brought to the warehouse. Alive.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And make sure Dato knows exactly who he’s fucking with.”
I end the call and check my watch. Three PM.
I’ve got five hours before I see her.
I hit the intercom button. “Get me a car ready in ten, and I want sixty thousand euros, all hundred euro bills.”
“Yes, Pakhan.”
I sit back with my phone and think about the last twelve months of watching her, tracking where she goes and what catches her eye when she’s out shopping.
Every Thursday, Zoya walks past the Hermès store, and she can’t help but pause.
Two weeks ago, I watched her stand there for four minutes straight just staring at some black Birkin bag.
She collects images of luxury bags and designer heels online but can’t afford to actually purchase them. Expensive taste with a broke bank account.
But cash, cash is what she really loves. I’ve observed her sorting through earnings after finishing a stream and noticed how she reacts to large donations. She’s obsessed with it.
Perfect.
My guy walks in carrying a black bag. “Sixty thousand euros, sir.”
Nodding, I pick it up and leave for the car downstairs.
There are customers everywhere when I enter Hermès, but a saleswoman still comes over right away with a polite expression.
“Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you today?”
“I need a black Birkin 40.”
Her smile tightens just slightly. “The Birkin collection has quite an extensive waitlist, I’m afraid. Typically six to eighteen months, depending on…”
“Mr. Romanov!” A manager appears from the back, cutting off the sales associate mid-sentence. The woman’s expression shifts instantly, her eyes widening in recognition before she smooths her features back into professional neutrality.
The manager extends his hand. “It’s good to see you again, sir.”
I shake his hand briefly. “I need a black Birkin 40.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. We have one set aside.” He turns to the saleswoman. “Ana?s, retrieve the black Birkin from the VIP storage.”
The woman disappears without a word.
She returns moments later, carrying it with care and lays it on the counter, black with gold hardware, the exact one I watched Zoya stare at for four minutes straight.
“The Birkin 40 is the largest size we offer, very roomy, perfect for…”
“I’ll take it.”
“Wonderful choice.” The manager steps in smoothly. “Let me process this for you personally.”
I open the duffel bag and begin placing stacks of hundred euro bills inside the Birkin while he watches. His composure doesn’t crack, but the saleswoman’s eyes widen slightly before she glances away.
“That’s quite a generous gift, sir,” the manager says.
“She’s worth it.”
“I’m certain she’ll be delighted,” he adds, finishing the transaction. “Would you like the box and dust bag?”
“Yes. I want it to look perfect.”
“What a thoughtful gesture.” He completes the wrapping with a decorative bow. “She’s going to be over the moon.”
“Thank you for your help.”
My next stop is the florist, a couple of stores over. The woman behind the counter notices me entering.
“Good afternoon,” she greets enthusiastically, getting out from behind the counter. “What can I get for you?”
“I want a bouquet of red roses,” I answer. “Nothing but your best.”
“Coming right up.” She moves to gather them, a spring in her steps. “What’s the occasion?”
“A date.”
She grins. “That’s sweet. What else do you need?”
“Do you have lily of the valley?”
“Yes!” She wheels around, an impressed look on her face. “Not many people ask for it, but it’s gorgeous.”
“Add some to my order.” I drop what’s left of the cash in front of her. “Also, turn this into a bouquet.”
She peers at the bills and pauses. “You want flowers made from cash?”
“Yes. Can you fold them into roses? Make it look elegant?”
She loses her composure for a moment, then pulls it back. “I’ve made cash bouquets for events, but nothing this big. I’ll need an hour. Will that work?”
“That’s perfect. Take your time. I want it to look beautiful.”
“I’ll make it stunning for you, sir.”
I leave her with the cash and head across the street to the toy store.
I find the plush toys toward the rear and search until I spot what I want - a huge brown bear, nearly three feet high, fluffy with drooping ears. The kind of thing girls take photos with. Picking up the bear, I head to the register where the girl working there smiles at me.
“This is the sweetest thing!” she squeals. “They’re going to be so happy.”
“That’s the plan.”
“You want a gift bag?”
“No, that’s alright. Thank you, though.”
When I get back to the flower place after an hour, the florist shows me the completed money bouquet, and it turned out better than I expected. The euros are folded into rose shapes, sitting among real leaves and delicate blooms, packaged in dark silk and metallic ribbon.
“This looks incredible.” I’m genuinely impressed. “You really outdid yourself.”
She grins widely. “Thanks so much! This has been the most unique arrangement I’ve made in ages.”
I grab the flowers from her. “Thanks for putting in the effort.”
“Good luck on your date!”
I pile it all in the back seat: the Birkin box full of euros, both flower arrangements, and that massive brown bear.
My driver glances in the rearview mirror. “Everything go well, sir?”
“Yes. Let’s head back.”
I glance at the time. Five o’clock. Three hours to go.
Once I’m home, I clean up and put on a black suit and white shirt, leaving the tie off, and I look at my reflection while I fix my sleeves. I don’t usually spend this long getting ready for a woman, but for Zoya, it all has to be flawless.
By the time I change cars and fill the trunk up with the items, it’s already seven forty-five.
Time to go.
My ride to hers is one of the longest I have ever been on. I enjoy driving, but this time, it’s different. I keep speeding like I have a death sentence, pulling my car through narrow spaces while I try to imagine what she’ll have on tonight.
I pull the Bentley up in front of her place almost fifteen minutes later. Keeping the car idling, I send her a quick text saying I arrived. She doesn’t answer immediately, so I place the phone in the cup holder, taking my time to look around the neighborhood from the mirror.
I resist the urge to grimace from the sight.
Her gate swings open a moment later, and she walks out wearing a black dress that reveals enough skin to drive me crazy. Fuck, she sure knows how to make a man mad and hard at the same time. Zoya sees my car and freezes completely before spinning around and heading the other way.
Is she really ignoring a Bentley right now?
I get out and follow her down the sidewalk. “That dress looks good on you, beautiful. Nice pick.”
She doesn’t acknowledge me. Instead, her footsteps get faster on those ridiculously high heels.
“Where exactly do you think you’re going?”
“Catching a ride. Text me where we’re eating.”
I catch up with her in two strides. “Get in the car.”
“No.”
“Stop being difficult. It’s freezing out here.”
She spins around to face me. “I said I’d have dinner with you. I didn’t say you could stalk me or pick me up like some…”
I don’t let her finish. In one swift motion, I haul her up over my shoulder like a bag of potatoes.
“Let me go, you brute!” she screams while struggling in my grip. “You don’t get to…”