Page 20 of Dancing With Delusion

“No, just like something died,” I tease.

As I reach the door, she calls my name. “Tori, a letter came for you the other day. I left it by the door.”

I flick through the pile of letters on her side, grabbing the one addressed to me. “Thanks,” I shout, leaving.

Nik opens the back door of the car the second he spots me leaving the building. I slide in, wondering why the hell he never speaks. He’s so fucking rude.

I turn the letter in my hand, noticing the address label is printed and it’s arrived by post. I frown, wondering why someone would send it to Phoebe’s. I rip it open and unfold the letter, my frown deepening at the small poem printed in the centre of the paper. Fear grips me as I stare at the words. My throat feels tight, and for a second, I forget to breathe.

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

Marcus is pig feed,

All thanks to you.

The tears I’d battled to keep at bay all day begin to flow freely, dripping from my cheeks onto the paper.

Dmitry

“Has my father left London yet?” I ask Leo.

My Sovietnik shakes his head. “We’ve had men tailing but nothing. He’s lying pretty low.”

“I don’t understand why he’s still hanging around London.” I tap my fingers on the desk in frustration. He’s overstayed his welcome and it’s putting me on edge. “We need to anticipate his next move.”

There’s a loud bang outside my office, and I instantly grab my gun from the drawer and approach the door. It swings open, knocking into the wall behind it. Victoria’s eyes land on me and she throws herself into my arms. Her eyes are red and puffy as she sobs uncontrollably. I stroke her back as her tears soak through my shirt, and I guide her over to my desk.

Nik’s large frame stands in the doorway, and I frown at him. “What the fuck is going on, Nik?”

“Sorry, Boss.” He approaches me cautiously, placing a folded piece of paper on the desk. “Another note, this one addressed to Victoria.”

Lifting the paper off the desk with Victoria still wrapped around me, clinging for dear life, I stare at the note. “Fuck, where did this come from?” I bark, and Victoria flinches.

“I don’t know, Boss.”

I sit back down, pulling Victoria with me. “Calm down, my krasota,” I whisper, lifting her head so she meets my eyes. I wipe her tears away with my thumb. “Tell me everything.”

She squares her shoulders and takes a steadying breath like she always does when she’s battling with herself. “It was posted to Phoebe’s flat. She gave it to me on my way out.” She pauses, rubbing her chest. “Dmitry . . . someone knows. I’m going to prison.” She cries out the last bit, and my men exchange a smirk.

“Stop fucking smiling. Do you know what this means?” I yell while trying to soothe Victoria by running my hand up and down her thigh. “One of my own men is behind this . . . some fucker I trust with my life is trying to fuck me over.” Both men fidget uncomfortably. “This does not leave this fucking room, do I make myself clear? And do some digging. I want the mole found.” They both leave without a word. “It will all be okay,” I whisper to Victoria.

She looks down, chewing on her lip. “Dmitry,” my name barely even audible, “I . . . erm . . .” She runs her hands over her face and swallows hard. I wait patiently for her next words, even though I’m certain I know what she craves. “Please, Sir.”

“Stand,” I command, releasing her. She rises to her feet, her eyes downcast, ready to play.

“Yes, Sir,” she whispers.

I grab her hand and pull her behind me, heading for the dungeon. Right now, she needs me. She needs this.

“Strip,” I order once we’re inside, and she does so without any complaint. No smartarse comeback. No resistance. She knows what she craves, and I’ll give it willingly if she plays by my rules.

She eyes my belt, licking her lips as I remove it slowly, and I arch my brow. “Do you want to feel my belt across your bare backside, my krasota?” She nods. “Words!”

“Yes, Sir,” she says breathlessly.

“Do you remember your safe word, Vict?—”

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