Page 8 of Savage Surrender

There’s no hope, anyway.If I couldn’t find the courage and know-how to take out my father, he’d arrange me in a marriage I wouldn’t want. Mafia bosses were notorious for picking who would be their sons-in-law, another method of transacting business and making deals.

I sipped my drink the rest of the way toward the huge building where my first class would be held. If I could fake interest in any of the classes I took, this one would be easy. English was my first love, and combining history with it made it even better.

I chose my classes randomly, though, never permitted to assume all this time here would amount to a degree.

With such low spirits, reminded as always that I would have no say of anything in my life until I killed my father, I sighed and continued down the wide corridor. A poster hung behind a glass case caught my eye.

I paused, sipping my coffee and relishing the burn of the coffee down my throat. It almost thawed me out from the walk here.

Inside the case was a graphic illustration for a Nancy Drew book. The department was running a theme on the series, and I smiled at the comforting scene that covered the first book of that collection. Maxim and I loved mysteries, and I’d lost count of how many times I’d read that book to him. It was a favorite, one I’d read with him on my lap when he was younger. He’d feel the vibration of me talking and read along.

Oh, Max.I shook my head as I carried on toward the hall entrance, hating for the nth time that my younger brother had to suffer from the one and only diabolical mind of Igor Petrov. Our father was a bastard of the highest order to ever try to punish him just because he was deaf and weak. He was the devil himself for ever trying to hurt his child. For ever using me in a game against his well-being.

As I stepped inside the hall, I glanced down at the solitary man standing on the stage where the podium stood for the lecturer.

In this case, the professor of American English History.

Specifically, the extremely sexy brute of a man, looking so dapper and dashing in a black button-up and slacks, a bold red tie hanging from his neck.

Oh. Whoa.

I paused with my coffee cup midway to my mouth. I couldn’t swallow even if I tried right now. My mouth was dry. Yet, my heart raced and my breath quickened.

Never say never…

Because looking at my new professor, I felt that lightning bolt of lust strike me down, rendering me speechless as I checked out a man I definitely would havenoright to want.

5

VIKTOR

Students filed into the lecture hall. The mass of men and women displayed a variety—young and old, sophisticated and sloppy, all shapes and sizes. If the university didn’t put a lot of emphasis on catering to a diverse group, it would be a surprise. Then again, it might’ve just been representative of how highly sought-after this university was, even if it was borderline considered Ivy League.

One thing that remained consistent across all the people entering the cavernous auditorium was how they perceivedme.

More than a few checked me out with interest that burned hotter and lasted longer than scoping out who their new professor was. So many of the women seemed so damn young, childish and too immature to even be here where adults were supposed to learn and prepare for a career.

It was a stark difference from what I was used to. Before I was tasked with going to Moscow to follow the leads about Sonya, I saw older women, experts who could manipulate a man and then fuck them ten ways to hell. Prostitutes and dancers. Those were the kinds of women who were more my speed. I’d tired ofthat speed, and I was grateful for a break from going back to the whorehouses to supervise there, but it didn’t diminish the stark contrast to what I’d see here.

I waited at the podium, not smiling but not scowling either. Without revealing what kind of a prof I would be, I scanned the throngs of students entering for the face of Irina Petrov, the one person I was supposed to pay attention to and follow the best that I could.

And there she was. At last.

There she was.

Tall. Slender. Straight chestnut hair hanging down over her shoulders. Light blue eyes that sparkled despite the distance yawning between us as she delicately walked down the aisle. She sought a seat, not looking up at me once. Placing her high leather boots over the carpeted aisle that directed down toward me at the base of this room, she emitted the aura and confidence of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted. Cool, collected, and poised.

God. Damn…

I huffed out a long breath, needing to vent the pent-up feelings that bottled up in me so suddenly. My first look of this woman shocked me, rendering me slightly awed by her beauty. Sure, she looked young. I knew from her file that she was only twenty-three. Shewasyoung, but unlike the rest of the students in here, she exuded an old-soul kind of maturity.

I’d counted on her being elegant, a woman used to the finer things in life and within the means of affording any beauty product, any hairstyle, and any designer garments.

But the utter sexiness in her graceful stride distracted me. The slender curves of her definitely non-childish figure gave me pause.

It was the attitude in her haughty pose and lift of her chin that had me wanting to smile.

She was no meek Mafia princess. She wouldn’t be a peer of Eva.

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