Page 49 of Trapping His Darling

“I will.”

“No,” I reiterated.

She had the gall to stomp her foot at me. “Yes.”

I put a finger in her face. “Tiffany, you promised me obedience.”

“I’m taking my promise back.”

I frowned. “You cannot do that. It’s dishonorable.”

Her lifted brow spoke volumes. “Really? You are worried about honor?”

“Yes,” I countered, utterly dismayed. “I’m Russian. And Bratva.”

“Well, I’m American. We don’t play by the rules.”

Before I knew it, she spun and ran away from me.

“Get back here, you little brat!” I bellowed after her.

Her laughter rang out as she dashed into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her. My head tilted at the audacity of her attempt to thwart me.

I heard glass repeatedly breaking.

With a sigh, I warily approached the bedroom door. “This better not be locked,” I announced.

Of course, it was.

I used my foot to forcefully kick in the door.

“Oh, my littlemilyy,”I purred, stepping into the dark bedroom. “Has no one ever told you that running from a beast is a futile endeavor?”

I flicked the wall switch, but nothing happened. Apparently, the shattering I heard was from Tiffany breaking all the light fixtures.

Being that it was late morning, I could just as easily open the blackout curtains and ruin her fun, but I decided to play her game. This was her way of maintaining some level of control when I gave her none. And her acting out was kind of cute…

So I closed the bedroom door, casting the room in pitch darkness. Where would mymilyyhide? Under the bed? In the bathroom?

The crunching glass beneath my feet muted when I stepped onto something sticky. I then smelled the blood.

Well, this wouldn’t do.

“Tiffany, you naughty girl. I am going to have to punish you yet again. How many times have I had to do this in the short time we have known each other?”

The room’s eerie silence was broken by her soft giggle.

I tsked. “I do not like it when you injure yourself, and I know for a fact that you are barefoot. Shattering all the lightbulbs was foolish.”

I heard her gasp, coming from a closet. Was it one of surprise? Of anticipation?

Shaking my head, I removed my cell and typed in new orders. I guess we were getting married here in the flat. She was injured, and I would not have her harming herself more by walking in heels.

After I was satisfied with the new course of action, which included removing the dead seamstress’ body, before my men dragged over whoever needed to be here to make a legal matrimony happen. I slowly approached the closet.

I opened the door and turned on the only light she’d left intact.

“You caught me,” she whispered.

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