Chapter 5 - Emmanuil
Despite the fact that I didn’t have a lot to do in the office—not things that required me to be there—I stayed late, anyway.
I needed a break from Anya. Even though we’ve managed to avoid each other for the most part, just knowing she’s there, in the same house, in the next room, humming quietly in the kitchen, showering, sleeping, being—it’s driving me crazy.
I had her bedroom rearranged with things in her size.
I don’t know why I ordered her the perfume.
There have been so many moments in the past five years when I’ve seen it in a store window, or in the pages of a magazine.
There have been so many times when I’ve wanted to lift the lid off and inhale the scent.
But I never did. I knew it would be devastating.
Yet, when I placed the order for things I thought she might need, I included it.
Impulsive, intrusive thoughts.
She hasn’t worn it yet, and I’m almost dreading the moment she walks past me in the hallway and I catch the perfume drifting from her skin.
What will that do to me?
My fingers drum against the top of my steering wheel as I pull into the driveway of my mansion.
I had to come home eventually.
It’s late afternoon now, and I was just wasting time at the office.
My eyes lift towards the mansion, searching the windows for signs of her, but the house is quiet from the outside.
She’s been quiet since she got here, anyway.
Mostly hiding in her room. It’s better that way. That’s what I keep telling myself.
I don’t want to fight with her, and I feel that’s all I have to give her. Anger and resentment, and hatred for what she did.
It masks the other emotions. Emotions, I won’t admit it.
The door slams when I swing it. One of the security guards nods at me, smiling politely.
“Afternoon, sir,” he mutters.
“Afternoon,” I mutter in response. “Was there any trouble while I was away?”
“No, sir. Your cousins stopped by, but they said they’d come back when you were home.”
“Cousin? Was it the girls?” I ask, every fiber in my being goes rigid with anxiety. What would they have thought when they came across Anya? Would she have come down and spoken to them? Perhaps she stayed in her room, out of sight.
“Cousins, sir. Both the girls, Katya and Kira.”
Fuck. This can’t be good.
“Where is the girl, Anya?” I snap.
“She’s inside, sir. She hasn’t left. She hardly shows her face at all.”
Relief washes over me, but I still run into the house. I need to confirm it with my own eyes.
I run up the stairs, taking them three at a time with long, urgent strides, racing towards her room.
I push the door open without knocking, and my heart sinks.
She’s not there.
She’s always in her room.
I hurry around the house, searching everywhere for her, but it’s clear—she’s not here. Did she leave with my cousins? Did she escape before they even arrived? Or after?
This is bad.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I see a few messages from Katya.
Katya: We’re on our way to visit. Are you home?
Katya: Hello, answer me, don’t be annoying.
There is another message from an hour ago.
Katya: We stole your ‘friend.’ She’s so much fun.
Why is friend written like that? What did Anya tell them? My fingers speed over the keys as I type a hurried reply, trying to come across casual.
I hurriedly type out a response.
Me: Where are you? Is she still with you?
Katya: We’re having cocktails at the mall. Want to join us? Silver Swan cocktail bar, on the top floor.
I spin around and bolt downstairs towards the car. There’s no saying what Anya’s plan is. She could be playing it cool and hanging out with them, just waiting for the moment she can escape. She might have told them anything.
She doesn’t even realize the danger she’s in, sneaking out like this. What if someone followed her? What if someone saw her leaving my house and assumed she was of value to me, only to take her and use her against me? How can she be this stupid?
This is so fucking risky on so many levels, it has my temper flaring out of control.
I drive like a maniac to get to the mall as quickly as possible. My tires scream over the tarred road when I turn corners and ignore traffic lights. I own this city, anyway. These roads are mine and I will drive them however I see fit.
Having Anya out there without guards or me—it has anxiety pulsing through me like poison.
I need to get to her as soon as possible. And she’s going to get a fucking earful from me. I never gave her permission to leave the house.
The mall is busy with afternoon shoppers. Katya is not answering my calls.
I push past the slow-roaming browsers, ignoring their annoyed glares as they spin towards me, but then enjoying the look of shock on their faces from the sheer size of me, not to mention the anger etched into my expression.
The girls aren’t at the cocktail bar. I grab the closest waiter and demand to know when the three women left. He stammers, tripping over his words, pointing at the door and whimpering, “They only left five or so minutes ago.”
I release him and storm out again, marching through the mall in search of them. I’m about to try calling Katya again when I hear Kira’s loud, familiar laugh.
The girls are in a fashion boutique. Through the window, I see Kira holding a dress against her chest and spinning to see how it flares.
Katya shakes her head. As I walk into the store, I hear her saying, “Blue instead. It makes your skin glow.”
My eyes are on Anya. Her smile is radiant, lighting her entire face. I realize it’s the first time I’ve seen her smiling since we were unexpectedly and forcefully reunited.
“Are you girls having fun?” I ask, my tone darker than I intend it to be. I adjust my expression, unknitting my brows to try and hide the anger simmering in my chest.
The three of them spin towards me, each with a different expression.
Kira looks pleasantly surprised. She rushes forward to hug me.
Katya rolls her eyes. “You’re a bit late,” she huffs, then hugs me as well.
Anya looks shocked and frozen in place, but quickly hides it with a smile and a shy, “Hello.”
Both girls look towards her, then at me. Kira giggles and mutters, “Friends.” Anya’s cheeks flush pink.
My heart beats a little faster.
“Are you done shopping? I can give you a lift home.”
“Yes, my feet hurt,” Katya says, nodding.
“I’m just going to pay for this. I’ll meet you guys out front.” Kira hurries off, carrying the dress.
I’m doing my best not to glare at Anya. I don’t want my cousins to sense anything off between us. I don’t want questions. I have no idea what she’s told them either.
All through the mall and as we climb into the car, Katya and Kira are chatting non-stop, but not to me; they’re talking to Anya as though they’re all long-lost friends who have known each other their entire lives.
Anya is laughing, often and freely. She’s sitting in the passenger seat, right next to me. I remember when I used to reach out and brush my hand over her leg when we drove around together.
The sound of her laughter hurts my heart.
It reminds me of everything I lost.
And the worst possible scenario—she’s wearing her perfume. I caught a breeze of it in the mall, light, a tease. But now it’s all I can focus on. The feminine, beautiful scent that aroused me so many nights, through so many embraces. So many times I buried my face into the curve of her neck.
I can’t even escape the enticing smell of her when she’s right next to me in the car.
It only adds to my anger, making me angry at myself on top of everything else. Why the hell did I buy it for her? I knew it would only antagonize me.
I chat, making small talk, being pleasant with the girls, all while keeping my eyes off Anya. The anger is simmering, held just below the surface, hidden.
We get to Kira and Katya’s hotel, and they tumble from the car, but before leaving, they both lean in through the passenger window to hug Anya.
I can’t get over how quickly they became friends. How quickly they came to adore her.
Katya leans over Anya and punches my shoulder playfully. “Invite us for dinner. We like hanging out with your friend.” She winks at me.
“I’ll make plans,” I say, smiling warmly, keeping up the act.
The girls walk away, and I wait until they are both safely inside the hotel before I pull back out into the road and head towards the mansion.
As the city rushes past us, I don’t speak to Anya because my temper is not under control. I know the moment I open my mouth, it’s going to turn nasty.
Instead, I grip the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white. I’m not driving like a maniac anymore; there is no urgency since she’s right here next to me.
And I don’t know if I want to get home.
Once I get home, I’ll have to deal with her rebellion.
Anya walks into the house ahead of me, ignoring my mood as though she hasn’t noticed it. Why does everything she does aggravate me even more?
“I did not give you permission to leave the house,” I snap.
She shakes her head, rolling her eyes ever so slightly.
“I don’t need your permission, Emmanuil. I’m not a child,” she says calmly.
The front door closes behind us. Anya turns towards the stairs to head up to her room, and I grab her arm and pull her towards me. This conversation is not over. She doesn’t get to walk away like that.
“What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” I snarl, pushing her against the wall and pinning her there, forcing her to face me.
My eyes pierce into her like daggers.
“I’m not playing at anything. I don’t play games, despite your accusations.”
“You were playing games with the lives of my cousins. Even if you have no regard for your own safety, how dare you put them in danger like that?” I growl, the scent of her perfume even more intoxicating with her body pinned beneath mine against the wall.
She squirms, trying to get away, but all she manages to do is rub herself against me, flaring my desire. “Get off me right now. You have no right to speak to me like this,” she hisses.
I grab her wrists and pin them above her head. “I have every right to do whatever I please to you, kitten.”
Her eyes flare wide, pure horror flashing over her face. “Don’t call me that,” she whispers.
“Why not? You used to love it,” I say darkly, my eyes on her lips.
“Let me go, Emmanuil. I didn’t do anything wrong.” She squirms again, and my cock stirs.
“You did. You put yourself and them in danger.”
“No, I didn’t,” she says, her anger growing.
“Any of my enemies could have followed you. You didn’t even have a guard with you.
” My anger is growing, too. She looks so tempting, her arms pinned against the wall, her body pressed beneath mine, her breasts against my chest, and her face turned up towards me.
The look in her eyes is fierce. Challenging.
It makes me want to punish her—those games we used to play.
She would push her luck, doing what I told her not to, and she’d end up with my handprint on her ass cheek.
“Do you forget that I’ve grown up with a brother who is a Bratva leader? I’m not as dumb as you think I am, Emmanuil. I know how to handle myself and stay safe.”
I barely hear her answer, because all I can think about is the heat from her body, the shape of her, how easy it would be to take her.
My eyes lock with hers as we stare each other down. The tension between us shifts into something else, electricity builds, her breathing becomes sharper, quicker. I can feel her heart beating through her chest.
Leaning down, I move closer to her, her lips only inches from mine. I can almost remember her taste, and in this moment, all I want is to know it again.
I want to feel those smooth, perfectly plump lips locked with mine.
A soft sound escapes her as her lips part. Her cheeks flush red immediately.
My cock stirs, growing harder, and in an instant, I realize what’s happening.
Hurriedly, I step back, furious that I’m still so uncontrollably attracted to her. Furious that all I want is to kiss her. Furious that I forgot why I was angry with her in the first place.
How fucking stupid am I to fall for her temptation again?
Anya stays with her back against the wall, her eyes bright with shock. She looks as taken aback as I am. Would she have let me kiss her?
Does it matter?
No, it doesn’t fucking matter. There will be no kissing.
I sneer, glaring at her one last time.
“Do not leave the house without me,” I snap.
Her lips purse as she furrows her brows, scrunching her nose in defiance. “Don’t tell me what to do,” she snaps back.
My hand is itching to sting across her ass cheeks.
My mind is racing, telling me to throw her over my knee and remind her of who was in charge back then—and who is in charge now.
I have to leave. My cock has a mind of its own, and I can’t let her see what she’s done to me.
I am not meant to still be attracted to her.
This is all wrong.