Page 40 of Stolen By The Bratva King

My father.

I haven’t spoken to Dad since he let go of my arm at the altar. He must be worried, but then again, I’m still unsure what happened between him and Leon.

I scramble out of bed and grab the first thing I find in the closet—a blush-pink satin robe. I knot the belt tightly around my waist and follow the sound of movement toward the lounge.

The scent of Leon hits me first, shower-fresh and clean. Then I see him standing at the counter, his back to me as he pours water into the coffee machine.

He’s completely bare-ass naked.

“Oh my God!” I say. “Are you serious right now?”

He glances over his shoulder, utterly unbothered, a slow smirk spreading across his lips. “Hello to you too,moya zhena.”

“Put some clothes on!” I snap, heat rushing to my face.

He chuckles. “This ismyhome. I pay the bills. If I want to air out the goods while making coffee, I will.”

“You shouldn’t want to, that’s my point!”

He turns to face me, leaning on the counter, and I look away.

“I enjoy the feel of the breeze on my business,” he says. “Do you not? If you have a problem, you’re welcome to take it up with the management. Which is me.”

I groan, mortified, and keep my hands firmly over my eyes. “Leon, please get dressed. We need to talk, and I can’t focus withthatall up inmy?—”

“Fine, fine.”

I hear the faint rustle of fabric. When I lower my hands, he’s tugging a pair of gray sweatpants over his hips.

He’s still unfairly gorgeous, and I try not to let my jaw hang as I take in his chiseled body and the intricate artwork that decorates it.

His joggers are slung low, drawing my eye to the Vs cut into his hips. It’s enough to make me question if being half-dressed is more distracting.

“You’re impossible,” I mutter.

“That’s a new one,” he says, his smirk softening as he turns back to the coffee machine. “I’ve been called relentless, ruthless, even psychotic, but impossible is a first.”

“Are you always like this?” I ask. “Or am I the only one lucky enough to see the weird side of Leon Vasiliev?”

He pretends to think about it. “I suppose I could’ve put on a three-piece suit and practiced brooding in the mirror before you walked in. But this feels more authentic.”

I roll my eyes, but he says nothing, focusing instead on preparing the coffee. He adds cream and one brown sugar cube to the first mug, stirring it before handing it to me.

I take it, surprised. “How did you know?”

“I watched you all week. At work, at home, out and about. I stood behind you in the queue when you ordered your drink on the way to work and observed you failing to get around to drinking your late-night caffeine fix when you were snowed under in the hospital.”

He smiles. “Or maybe it was a good guess. You have cream and brown sugar in your kitchen.”

The mug is warm in my hands, and another kind of warmth blooms in my chest despite my resolve to stay guarded.

He noticed details about me, little things no one else ever cared to pay attention to. True, it’s because he had me under constant surveillance, but still.

“You’re tenacious, I’ll give you that,” I say.

Leon shrugs. “Faint heart never won fair lady.”

“I’m sure that’s what Ted Bundy told himself as he put his murder kit in the trunk.” I sip my coffee, trying not to stare at his delicious body. “This is the problem with you stalking types; you find ways to justify yourselves.”

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