Chapter 4
Artem
I take a deep drag from my cigarette and absently exhale the toxic smoke toward the immaculate window of my office.
I stare into nothing, but the point I’m fixed on is a stone that has slipped out of the landscaped area and landed on the paved driveway where the cars pass.
In my mind, I can see how one simple stone can trigger a chain of unpleasant events.
If it is sharp enough, there is a good chance it could cut a tire.
A flat follows, then the inconvenience of changing the wheel.
Or worse, the cut goes unnoticed at first, but slices deep enough into the rubber to make it give out while the vehicle is traveling at high speed, leading to an accident that could have fatal consequences.
Everything starts with a stone that is not where it belongs.
Just like the creature I am waiting for, the one due to appear any moment now.
The stone whose danger I did not understand until I realized who she truly was.
When my father told me about Vor’s daughter’s wedding, something clicked inside my mind, but the conversation continued and dragged me too far from that memory for me to make the connection.
The revelation came during the night, a few minutes after I had gotten into bed, after a tense day that had, fortunately, ended with a successful transaction and no incidents.
I was going through my ritual of reviewing the day’s most important moments when everything lit up, and for the first time in my life, I jumped out of bed as if it were burning beneath me.
I went to the window, ran my hands through my hair several times, then drank water from the bottle on the nightstand beside my bed.
And, also for the first time, I smoked in my bedroom.
Contrary to what one might expect, I hate when certain things smell like tobacco, no matter how much I prefer losing myself in this vice.
My bedroom is my pure sanctuary, dominated by a scent completely different from the filth that surrounds me in the warehouses where most of my meetings with various business partners take place.
It’s the place where no one enters except to clean, though my brothers do occasionally stick their noses in.
But even they have learned not to cross the threshold, even though we live in the same house.
It is a lesson our men know as well, the ones who never go upstairs and who leave quickly after the meetings we hold in my office.
Which is precisely why the situation becomes even more complicated now, when a stone is moving into the house.
I take another drag, then put out the cigarette, burned almost down to my fingers, in the nearby ashtray. The last trace of tobacco spreads around me with the strong scent of something scorched just as a car turns onto the driveway.
Mercedes S-Class. Latest model. Tinted windows.
A muscle jumps in my cheek.
It stops in front of the house, parking slowly, and a solid man in a black suit gets out from behind the wheel. An almost identical copy of him climbs out of the front passenger seat. The second man opens the rear door, but no one gets out.
I wait.
Apparently, so does he.
He bends down and speaks to the person in the back seat, then I see the exasperation on his face when he glances at his colleague.
I stop myself from raising an eyebrow, intrigued by whatever is happening, because I have no reason to react to her.
Especially when I know exactly who is supposed to get out of that car and is stubbornly refusing to do so.
I rub my forehead with two fingers and exhale quietly, though a little too sharply.
What were the chances that the woman I have to shelter inside my own house would be the exact woman I saw half a year ago at a Christmas party, the one I wanted to...?
Only the Devil knows which direction I leaned toward that night, but one thing is certain: none of my preferences should ever be fulfilled.
Not fucking her.
Not strangling her with the strand of pearls that decorated her throat and back.
Especially since she is Mikhail’s sister.
Fate is determined to fuck me in every way if I make the smallest mistake.
Even though that night I jerked off twice, imagining how I would take her while stealing the air from her lungs, I have only thought about her a few times since then. And fortunately, my body seemed to react less and less as time passed.
That is why I am curious now, to see whether I still have that same dangerous response I had that night.
My attention is pulled to the bodyguard straightening his back, and this time, the tsarina princess seems to decide to step out, but she refuses to accept the guard’s extended hand.
When he moves aside to give her space, I take a deep breath and forget to let the air out of my chest.
Not until a woman appears, with long brown hair, styled perfectly straight.
I thought she was blonde at Christmas...
I need to see her eyes, but she is wearing a pair of large black sunglasses.
I need to confirm my condition.
She is wearing a thin cream blouse and a pair of navy tailored trousers, paired with stilettos. But it isn’t the clothes that catch my attention. It is the long, bare throat I see when she pushes her hair behind her shoulder.
An almost royal elegance radiates from every inch of this woman, like a delicate perfume surrounding her.
It makes it impossible not to be hypnotized by her.
As she walks toward the large front door, I lose myself in the elegance of her stride, but the angle from where I am standing doesn’t give me the chance to notice any other details.
Which reminds me that I am supposed to play the welcoming host and greet the guest I should be treating like a princess.
Fuck. I hate this.
I straighten my shoulders and tug lightly at the edge of my jacket to smooth out any crease, then start toward the entrance hall. It seems my two brothers and Dimitri, somewhere behind them, are already there, welcoming the woman who is currently shaking their hands and introducing herself.
“We’re happy to have you here,” Sasha tells her brightly, as he always does, a huge smile on his face.
Fucking liar.
Compared to him, the girl still has her back to me.
For a moment, my mind goes back to that night four months ago, when I could not see her face but waited for her to turn around.
And she does it right now, when she hears my footsteps approaching her.
A year ago, I was shot in the chest, very close to the heart. There was a fraction of a second when I thought my heart had been pierced, because the vibration from the bullet tearing through my flesh had reached it.
That is the same sensation I experience now, when the girl turns fully toward me and I am pierced by a blue gaze, clear as the waters of Greece.
Fuck…
My body locks up as if hit by that same fatal impact.
My steps slow for a second, but I regain control of myself before I reach her and extend a firm hand.
It is worse than that night, because now she is so close, and the voices in my head are shouting, clawing, screaming for release.
YES. Ours. Let us play in her
blood. We want her.
I clench my teeth and draw a slow breath, focusing on the beat of my heart, trying to calm it before I speak.
“Miss Borislova, welcome,” I say in a neutral tone, because I am a damn good actor trying to hide the madness that has exploded this time even more violently than the first. “My name is Artem Koronov. Welcome to our home.”
For a moment, she says nothing.
Doesn't even sketch anything.
Only her gaze moves across my face, from one eye to the other, but I see neither fear nor fascination, the way I usually do in those who meet me for the first time.
But there is something there, and I can’t figure out what it is.
What is she thinking?
If I could crack her skull open just enough to peek inside and see what thoughts are passing through her mind right now, I would do it without hesitation. Unfortunately, anatomically speaking, it is impossible to satisfy my great curiosity unless I make her tell me.
Preferably by force.
No.
Fuck...
If I do that, something tells me there won’t be a wedding with a corpse dressed in a bridal gown.
“Please call me Ekaterina. Or Katya,” she says in a serious voice, taking my hand with her long, slender fingers and pulling me out of my morbid fantasy.
“I truly apologize for the inconvenience my arrival here has caused. I said from the beginning that this was a bad idea, and I still stand by that opinion, even if no one seems to care.”
She withdraws her hand immediately, and the warmth of her palm produces a roar inside my mind.
But I try to focus on her words and understand what she means by the dissatisfaction she is clearly displaying.
She seems to be a woman who speaks her mind without a filter, and I appreciate that, even if it can be dangerous in our world. But it is precisely her instinct to rebel against clear orders that stirs the voices in my head even more.
She will fight us.
She will struggle when we make her
bleed.
I feel myself losing control over the voices.
Even though on the surface I am as calm as possible, on the inside my blood is boiling while my skin begins to prickle.
Never have I felt such a violent reaction toward someone I am touching for the first time.
And God, I hope this will not become a habit around her.
All I can do is hope I will grow more comfortable while she is in the same house as me, and that these impulses will quiet with time.
“Let’s try to make your stay as pleasant as possible and avoid disrupting your schedule too much,” I tell her as simply as I can.
But she frowns slightly.
“Why would my schedule be disrupted? Is there a specific lights-out time?”
There isn’t an ounce of innocence in her question, only a small dose of sharp irony that makes Sasha fight back a grin. One cold look from me brings him back to the seriousness the moment requires, while I try to cling to the reality I live in now, not the one inside my head.
That’s when I notice something important. She isn’t wearing an engagement ring. Not on her left hand. Not on her right.
Interesting.