Chapter 21
TERESA
The orchestra eases into something slower, a last ribbon of music before dinner is called.
Vlad guides me through the final turn, his palm a steady sensation between my shoulder blades. My pulse is still drumming from the confrontation with Volkov. I hate that he can get to me so easily.
We applaud with the others when the song ends, but Vlad’s eyes snag on a figure near the champagne fountain. He’s an older man in a midnight blue tux, white hair slicked back with precision, a cane capped in hammered gold. The crowd parts around him the way minnows slide past a barracuda.
“Konstantin Pavlovich Reznikov,” Vlad murmurs. “Owns the biggest port in St. Petersburg, not to mention a handful of our Bratva’s northern routes.”
“You need to talk to him?”
Vlad’s mouth tightens. “He’s easily offended and holds grudges that outlive governments. A brief courtesy call is mandatory.”
I reach for his arm. “I’ll come with you.”
He shakes his head. “I’m doing you a favor by letting you sit this one out, kotenok. Besides, I’ll need an elegant rescue. When conversation turns to Baltic shipping codes, I’ll give you the signal and you can come whisk me away.”
I laugh, nerves flickering into delight. “So I’m the getaway plan?”
“We’re a good team.” He leans in, lips skimming my earlobe, then nips just hard enough to make me gasp. His whisper vibrates through me, “Later, I’m going to unwrap you like the last gift under the tree.” A quiet growl, then he’s gone, cutting through onlookers with predatory grace.
I stand there a moment, breathless, watching the dark prince of New York bend in courtly greeting to a czar of the old world. The chandelier light finds the silver in his hair and turns it into starlight. Mine, I think to myself. My pulse hums; it’s both exhilarating and terrifying.
A swirl of waitstaff cuts across my view—black vests, white shirts, trays of vodka shots. One server hesitates, turning, and the tilt of his jaw hooks my attention. Copper-brown hair, familiar cheekbones.
Jack.
My blood turns to ice. He’s shaved and dressed like the others, but his hazel eyes hold the same restlessness from the other night.
He pivots toward a staff-only door near the exhibit wing.
Instinct screams to fetch Vlad, but Jack is already slipping through the door, and if I don’t move now, the chance is gone.
I gather my skirts and glide after him, head down, avoiding eye contact with the crowd.
The corridor behind the ballroom smells of lemon polish and cold stone. Jack moves quickly, tray abandoned on a marble pedestal.
“Jack!” I hiss.
He spins. Recognition flares, then panic. “Teresa, you shouldn’t be here,” he whispers, grabbing my elbow. “This isn’t a good time.”
“Why are you here?” My voice trembles between fury and fear. “Are you working with Volkov?”
His eyes dart over my shoulder. “I’m trying to fix things. You have to trust me.”
“Trust you? You broke into my apartment!”
“Lower your voice.” He shakes his head. “You weren’t supposed to see me here.”
Jack glances over his shoulder then turns, striding quickly down the hall.
“Jack—wait!” I follow, pulse pounding. He’s already at the corner, disappearing behind a column of mirrored glass. I quicken my pace, breath fogging in the cool air spilling from somewhere ahead.
By the time I round the corner, he’s gone. A service door hangs ajar, the cold pressing in. I push out into a narrow, dimly lit stretch of the hotel’s grounds half-hidden behind the ballroom’s glittering facade. The wind’s sharper here, snow picking up in quicksilver flakes that sting my cheeks.
“Jack?” My voice carries, but there’s no answer. Just the crunch of my own steps over a thin crust of ice. My eyes sweep the hedges, the shadowed path toward the parking bays, empty.
I hear heavy footsteps thudding from somewhere to my right. Another set follows, closer. My breath catches. I turn—
Two men step out from between the dark trees, their suits too nice to be wait staff. One closes the distance in a flash, clamping a hand over my mouth. The other seizes my waist, hauling me back. The snow spins with the lights from the ballroom, my vision narrowing.
“Hey!”
A shout behind us—Vlad’s voice—lethal and sharp as a switchblade. My captor whips around, reaching inside his jacket. A silenced shot snaps off and the man’s head jerks. He crumples, grip loosening from my waist. The second attacker shoves me forward, lunging at Vlad with a serrated blade.
Vlad side steps, catching the man’s wrist and twisting until bone cracks. The knife clatters to the ground. With his free hand, Vlad draws a compact pistol and plants two rounds in the thug’s chest, the sound barely louder than a cough. Blood spatters the ice. The man folds like paper.
I stumble back, heart crashing. Dmitri barrels in behind Vlad, weapon raised, sweeping the area. “Clear,” he says. Vlad’s focus snaps to me, hands skimming my arms, checking for injury.
“I’m fine,” I manage, voice shaking.
Over his shoulder I see Jack sprinting toward the street. For a heartbeat, Vlad tracks the fleeing silhouette—calculating—but when he looks back at me, anger melts to relief.
“Later,” he says. He tucks the pistol beneath his jacket. “We leave. Now.”
Dmitri fishes a cloth from his pocket, wiping the handle of the discarded knife before dragging the bodies into the nearby brush, hiding them from view.
“Cleanup team in five,” he says. “I’ll stay here and make sure no one stumbles onto this mess. You two go.”
Vlad nods a thanks to Dmitri, then guides me toward a side door, arm an unbreakable band around my waist.
My knees wobble. “Jack… he was here,” I whisper.
“We’ll deal with your brother later,” Vlad says. He pulls the door open, light pouring out onto the snow-speckled dark. “First, I get you safe.”
Tremors rack me now that the shock is fading. Vlad guides me through the empty hallways of the hotel.
He suddenly stops and turns me toward him, tipping my chin, gaze fierce. “You’re not allowed to blame yourself. Understand?”
Tears threaten and I nod. He draws me into his chest, the steady thump of his heart anchoring mine. The ballroom’s music fades in the distance. I clutch his jacket, feeling the unspoken promise beneath the dark prince’s veneer—anyone who comes for me will bleed.
The fire in Vlad’s study crackles like static on vinyl, casting bright against the dark-paneled walls.
I sit curled in a leather wingback, palms still tingling from adrenaline.
The study doors behind me open, and Vlad steps in carrying two tumblers—amber in one, something pale and fizzy in the other.
His jacket is gone, shirt sleeves are rolled, tie hanging loose. Even after the blood and chaos at the gala, he moves as though nothing can ruffle him.
My gaze flicks to the far corner. A Christmas tree that wasn’t there this morning towers in silver-blue glory, glass baubles winking among icy white lights. Gaily wrapped boxes cluster around its stand.
“New addition,” I say, nodding towards it.
He chuckles, handing me the paler drink. “Realized it’s three nights before Christmas and I’d neglected seasonal décor. Dmitri made a bribe or two to get us something nice.”
“And the presents?” I arch a brow.
His mouth tilts. “You’ll wait until Christmas, kotenok.”
I laugh despite myself, lifting the glass. “If this is vodka—”
“It isn’t. Seltzer, rosemary, splash of ginger. I understand you said alcohol’s lost its appeal.”
Dmitri must have said something. I take a sip—bright, herbal, soothing. Vlad settles into the chair opposite me, his bourbon catching the firelight. For a moment we just sit, letting the quiet fold around us.
“Thank you,” I whisper after several moments of silence. “For saving me tonight.”
“You don’t thank a guard for stepping in front of a bullet,” he answers. “It’s my duty.”
“It feels like death follows me.” The words slip out, raw as scraped skin. “Maxim, my parents, Jack’s mess…”
He studies the flames. “I’m an angel of death by trade. I know the feeling. Can’t promise what the future holds, but I can promise this—any danger that finds you will end with me.”
The vow hangs heavy, real. I slide from my chair to the rug between us and lean my head on his knee, exhaustion catching up in waves.
He sets his glass down and threads his fingers through my hair, then gently draws me up beside him on the wide settee.
My head nestles against his shoulder as his arm curves around me, solid and protective.
Firelight paints gold on his neck, copper darts in his eyes. When I tilt my face up, our noses almost brush. I breathe him in—the smell of pine and ginger and faint gunpowder clinging to his shirt.
“Teresa,” he murmurs.
I answer by touching my mouth to his. The kiss is tentative only for a breath, then deepens.
His hand cups my jaw, my fingers slide beneath his loosened tie.
Outside, sleet patters against the windowpane, but inside the world narrows to deep kisses, bated breath, and the steady promise of his heartbeat beneath my palm.
His lips, firm and warm, taste of bourbon and raw desire, igniting my pulse. My fingers clutch his undone bowtie, silk slipping as I pull him closer, needing his heat. His hand slides from my jaw to my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, possessive yet tender.
“You’re mine,” he whispers. “And I swear I’ll kill any man who tries to hurt you.”
His words cause a spark within. I slide off the settee and kneel between his legs, my dress pooling around me. His eyes darken, tracking my hands as I undo his belt, the leather snapping free. I tug his trousers down and his cock springs free—thick and hard, precum at the tip.
My mouth waters and I lean in, licking the head, tasting. He groans, low and guttural, hand fisting my hair as I take him deeper, lips stretching around his girth. I swirl my tongue, sucking hard, bobbing until his breath hitches.
“That’s it, kotenok,” he says, voice husky. “Just like that. God, you’re so good.” I push him to the edge, feeling him throbbing against my tongue, but he pulls me off, panting, eyes wild. “Not yet. I want to feel you first.”
He yanks me up, then lowers me gently on the rug before the fire, the heat licking my skin as he strips my dress off, leaving me in nothing but lace panties.
His fingers hook the fabric, tearing it away.
He spreads my thighs, diving in. His tongue laps my pussy, slow and deliberate, circling my clit until I’m writhing and moaning his name.
“You taste so sweet,” he murmurs, sucking hard, fingers sliding inside. “Come for me, Teresa. Let me hear you.”
My first orgasm hits fast, my pussy clenching around his fingers as I cry out, firelight dancing on his focused face.
He doesn’t stop. “Again,” he murmurs, flipping me onto my stomach and pulling my hips up. His cock teases my entrance, slick with my arousal. “You want this, don’t you?” he growls, voice thick with need. “Tell me, kotenok.”
“Yes, god yes,” I gasp, pushing back, desperate to feel him inside me. He thrusts in, moving slowly, deeply, each stroke landing perfectly, his hands gripping my hips.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans. “You feel that? How well we fit together?”
I moan, nodding, lost in him. The words push me over the edge and I come again, trembling, his name a sob on my lips.
“God, Vlad, don’t stop. I’m yours,” I whimper, voice breaking. “I’m so yours.”
“I’ll never stop,” he promises. He pulls out and rolls me onto my back, eyes locked on mine, soft, almost reverent.
“I need to see you,” he says, sliding back inside, slow and deep, filling me completely.
My legs wrap around him, pulling him closer.
He kisses me, tongue stroking mine, hands cupping my face like I’m precious.
“Feel me, Teresa,” he whispers, thrusting steadily. “You’re my fucking world.” His thumb circles my clit, gentle but relentless. “Come for me one more time, kotenok.”
I shatter a third time, my orgasm crashing through me, tears pricking my eyes from the intensity. He groans, thrusting deep as he comes with me, his body shuddering as he buries his face in my neck, his warmth draining into me.
We collapse, tangled on the rug, the fire’s warmth wrapping around us. His arms encircle me, pulling me against his chest, lips brushing my temple.
“You’re my everything,” he murmurs, voice raw, and my heart clenches, the words I love you burning in my throat.
I swallow them, terrified by their weight, by how much I feel for this man, this killer who holds me like I’m his salvation. I burrow into his warmth, his heartbeat steady under my cheek, my mind racing.
This love, this need, it’s too much, too real, and I’m scared it’ll consume me before I can make sense of it.