Page 97 of Inked Adonis

“I’m sorry. I truly am.” I kiss her forehead more tenderly than I’ve ever done anything in my whole cursed fucking life. “I was in Moscow.”

She nods and sniffles. “Yeah, I dragged that much out of Myles after I accidentally wandered into Ilya’s office. But what were you doing there?”

“Business.” I brush her hair away from her face. “Bratva business.”

She goes perfectly still against me, and I can only imagine what she’s thinking. The darkest places her mind could go probably aren’t dark enough.

Her breath is hot against my chest. I feel it coming in quick, desperate bursts. Her heart is thrumming.

I feel the moment slipping away, and all I want is to hold her close.

So I give her words. Stupid, reckless words I’ve never said to anyone else. Because I’ve never meant them before.

“I missed you, Nova,” I whisper. “I thought of you every day and every night. You can’t know how sorry I am that the tears in your eyes are because of me.”

She raises her chin an inch and it feels like a reward.

And so I keep going.

“I left because I had to. To protect my business, yes, but more importantly… I had to go to protect you.” I clutch her tighter, my hand smoothing along the curve of her spine. “You’ve seen it for yourself: my brother is a dangerous man. I want to protect you from him, but I have to play the long game.”

She lifts her teary eyes to mine. “I don’t like playing games.”

“Business is a game. The Bratva is, too. I have to play to win. But I assure you—” I tuck a finger under her chin and pull her face upto mine. “—youare not a game to me. This—us; you and me—is not a game.”

“Do you promise?”

I catch her mouth with mine and kiss her slow and deep. She doesn’t bite me again, but I feel the ghost of it in my lip—a reminder of how careful I need to be with her. Of how easily I could lose whatever this fragile thing between us is.

As my hands trail down her body, she melts into me. I roll her over and finally part her legs around my waist. She’s wet and ready, and she cries out wordlessly as I take her in a single stroke.

I leave my kisses on her body like silent vows, and she clings to me as though she plans to hold me to them.

“Sam…” She touches my face, her eyes wide and vulnerable as her body tightens around me.

I follow after her, spilling into her until we’re both spent—sweaty and entangled in the sheets and each other.

She’s asleep before the sweat has dried, her body still hot with her orgasm, her fingers still intertwined with mine.

It’s a level of trust few people have shown me. The problem is, I already know I can’t return it. Not in full. Not in the way she wants.

There are things I can’t tell her. Secrets I have to hide.

If only to keep her around a little longer.

34

SAMUIL

TAP. TAP. TAP.

Every time Ilya drums his fingers against the granite table top, I imagine taking my Swiss army knife and sawing off each offending finger in turn.

Next to me, our father slouches in his imported Italian leather chair, radiating boredom as Ilya wraps up his presentation.

If it had been up to me, Leonid wouldn’t have stepped foot in the Litvinov Group office until his last day in Chicago. It would’ve been a quick shuffle down the hall on his way to the airport, barely enough time for a wave and a sip from the water cooler.

I’ve devised a foolproof system to keep him distracted and as far from me and my life as possible. The usual itinerary is a string of Michelin-star restaurants, a steady flow of alcohol, and, when desperate times call for unclothed measures, renting out one of Chicago’s most exclusive strip clubs.

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