Page 30 of Wicked Embers

RADOMIR

The soft click of the estate’s front doors echoes behind me as Leigh walks silently at my side. She hasn’t said a word since we stepped out of the car, but I can feel the tension radiating off her in waves. Her gaze flickers around the sprawling foyer, taking in the soaring ceilings, the marble floors, and the crystal chandelier dripping from above.

“This way,” I say, my voice firm as I place a hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the grand staircase.

She stiffens under my touch but doesn’t pull away. Her lips press into a thin line, her posture stiff as she meets my gaze, not backing down but not quite challenging me either—she’s biding her time. She doesn’t think I know exactly what’s going on in her mind. The way her eyes dart slyly around the room suggests she’s looking for weaknesses.

At the top of the stairs, I lead her down a wide corridor lined with antique sconces and oil paintings of Russianlandscapes—scenes of snow-covered forests and icy rivers that always remind me of my childhood home.

Leigh’s pace slows, her gaze lingering on one of the paintings, and for a moment, I wonder what she’s thinking. But I don’t ask. I can already feel her resistance, and I won’t give her the satisfaction of prying.

We reach the double doors to my bedroom—our bedroom. I push them open, revealing a space that’s as much a statement of power as it is a place to sleep.

The room is massive, with floor-to-ceiling windows that flood it with light during the day and offer a view of the sprawling gardens below. A four-poster bed dominates the room, its dark wood polished to a gleaming finish and dressed with luxurious linens.

Leigh hesitates at the threshold, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Is this my room?” she asks, her tone sharp.

“This isourroom,“ I correct, stepping aside to let her enter. Her gaze sharpens, but she crosses the threshold cautiously, like a cat entering unfamiliar territory. “Don’t worry, you’ll have your own space,” I say, gesturing to a smaller set of doors to the left of the bedroom. “Come.”

Her shoulders stiffen, but she follows me, her curiosity getting the better of her. I push open the doors to reveal a lavish sitting room, complete with a writing desk positioned by the windows, a chaise lounge upholstered in soft cream fabric, and a private balcony that overlooks the gardens. The room is bright and inviting, a stark contrast to the darker tones of the bedroom.

“This is for you,” I say, turning to face her. “A place where you can write, think, and be alone when needed.”

Her eyes widen slightly, but the look of surprise is fleeting, quickly replaced by suspicion. “Why?” she asks, her voice laced with mistrust. “Why would you do this for me when you’ve made it quite clear I have no privacy where you’re concerned?”

“I don’t recall saying that,” I murmur, reaching for the desk drawer to pull out the leather-bound songbook and hand it to her. “Because I know your writing is important to you, ptichka.”

Her eyes flicker to the book, then narrow as they dart back to me, her expression clouding over with outrage. “You’ve been through my things,” she accuses, snatching it from my hand. Her cheeks flush with anger.

“I wanted to understand you better,” I say, my voice low, the weight of my words hanging in the air between us. “Your songs are good, Leigh. I can see why you’d want to pursue music.”

Her eyes narrow. “How do you know about that?”

“Like I’ve told you, I make it my business to know,” I say simply. “And before you get any ideas, your belongings from your apartment have been put into storage. You don’t need them here.”

Her anger flares, her eyes flashing like green fire. “You had no right—“

I step closer, cutting her off. “Your life is my life now,” I say, firm and unyielding. “An open book to me. You can be angry if you want, but it doesn’t change anything. It will only make you miserable.”

Her breath catches as I take her chin in my hand, tilting her face up to mine. For a moment, the fight in her falters, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. I lean in, brushing my lipsagainst hers in a kiss that’s both a promise and a warning. The taste of her stirs that dark primal instinct in me, a need that burns hotter every time I’m near her.

“I have business to attend to,” I say, my tone hardening slightly as I pull myself away from her. I can’t let myself get lost in her—there is much to do today. “You’re free to explore the house and the grounds,” I tell her. “But don’t do anything foolish. You won’t get far.” My words are a challenge, daring her to test me. Her jaw tightens, and I can see the wheels turning in her head, but she says nothing.

I point to a door next to the closet. “Through there is your own private bathroom and dressing room.” I give her a slight bow of my head. “I will see you later.”

I leave her standing in the center of the room, her songbook clutched tightly in her hands, and head to my office. Her scent lingers on my skin. It’s a constant reminder of the temptation I just walked away from.

When I enter the office, Viktor and Dolph are already waiting for me. Morning sunlight streams through the windows, illuminating the heavy wood paneling and the large desk—an imposing centerpiece that has witnessed more deals, and more bloodshed, than I care to count.

“Who is watching Leigh for the day?” I move to my office chair.

“Fredrik’s on Leigh-watch duty for now,” Dolph reports. “I’ll take over later this afternoon.”

“Good.” I sit behind the desk, motioning for him to proceed. “What do you have for me?”

Viktor leans forward, sliding a folder across the desk. “Luca Fabri’s intel checks out. The Greek Special Forces are tracking Mark Dalton, but they’ve started asking questions about Leigh.”

His words land like a hammer. “How much do they know?”

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