Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
It takes me a moment to realize that I’m standing in a kitchen. Bright lights gleam off spotless stainless-steel surfaces.
“Mari,” Lev says kindly, his demeanor a complete one-eighty from the last time I saw him in his office. “I thought we could have this talk somewhere more private.”
A laugh tears out of me, almost hysterical.
“Are you sure you didn’t want to have this conversation on the moon?” I quip. “It might have taken less effort to get there.”
He smirks and holds up a bottle of wine for my approval. “Is white okay? If not, I can send someone down to the cellar and pick out something else. I also have liquor if you’d prefer.”
I’m not sure if he’s goading me or just genuinely trying to be a good host. It’s all very unsettling.
“White is fine.” I shrug and approach a huge prep table to accept the glass from him.
He leads me out of the kitchen and into a huge dining room. It’s set only for two, with lit candles on the table. Salmon, roasted potatoes, and a fresh caprese salad greet me when I sit down.
“You cook?” I ask, caught off guard.
“I burn water.” He chuckles. “I have an excellent chef who lets me choose the menu.”
I nod, because that’s the first thing that’s made sense in the last hour. He likes to be in control. That’s no surprise.
“Do you actually live here, or do you just bring people here to intimidate them?”
“I grew up here,” he says. “And sometimes I spend a weekend or two when I need to get out of the city. It’s quiet. Peaceful. Private.”
His eyes drop to my mouth before meeting mine. A shiver runs down my spine because I remember exactly how his lips felt on mine, and despite my apprehension about this entire situation, I suddenly want nothing more than to feel them again.
I shake my head to clear it and pick up my fork, but I don’t take a bite until he does. I think I’m being subtle, but he smiles again. It’s such an odd look for him.
“You would do well in the Bratva,” he says quietly. “You’re naturally distrustful. But you don’t have to worry, Mari, I didn’t bring you here to poison you.”
“Then why did you bring me?” I ask bluntly.
He sets his fork down and wipes his mouth before meeting my gaze with his sharp, ice-blue eyes. I feel glued to the spot.
“Because I’m going to tell you the truth,” he says evenly. “You have carte blanche to ask whatever you want, and I will answer honestly.”
“And then you’ll kill me?” I say, only half-joking.
“No, Mari,” he answers with a condescending smile. “I’m not going to kill you. No one in my organization is going to lay a finger on you. But I do need you to understand that if you share any of this information with anyone, including Agent Cole, I can’t guarantee your safety.”
“You wouldn’t be able to guarantee my safety anyway,” I say thoughtfully.
“Precisely.” He nods. “So, ask away.”
“You’re really a mob boss?” I cut to the chase.
He takes a sip of wine, watching me carefully. “A pakhan,” he finally answers. “That’s what we call it in the Bratva. And Bratva is the Russian version of the mob.”
“So yes?” I ask petulantly.
“So, yes,” he agrees.
He takes a bite of his salmon, and now I’m the one staring at his lips. At his hands. Thinking about licking his Adam’s apple.
“Do you…” I falter, so distracted by my lustful thoughts. “Do you kill people?”
“Only when I have to,” he answers simply, and damn it if it isn’t sexy as hell.
I bite my lip, and I know he sees it. His eyes linger on my mouth, and even though there’s a decent distance between us, I have a feeling it would take nothing to close it.
“Would you like a glass of water?” he asks, and I can only nod.
He gets up swiftly and heads back into the kitchen. When he comes back, he offers me a glass, and our fingers brush as I take it from him. My hands shake so hard I almost drop it, but he’s quicker, catching it and setting it safely on the table.
“Tell me to send you home,” he says gruffly, his voice thick with an emotion I can’t quite name.
“Do you want to?” I ask.
“No,” he answers honestly.
“Then don’t,” I say. My voice is steady. My heartbeat is not.
He pulls me up against him, his arms immediately wrapping around my waist to steady me.
“How far away is your bedroom?” I ask presumptuously.
“Too far,” he says before his lips crash into mine.
Heat rolls up my spine. I reach for his shirt. He meets me halfway. His hand slides to my jaw and holds me still. I open my mouth for him because I need to taste him, to pull him in even closer. He tastes like wine and cedar.