Page 33 of Stricken

My feet pound a steady rhythm as sweat drips down my back. Costa's sitting in the corner, iPad in hand. Probably reading news. He likes to stay informed. Mostly for my sake. I have a lot of investments that need to be watched.

With each step, Vlad's message taunts me even more.Romeo. Clever motherfucker.

I slow to a walk, chest heaving.This is insane, I tell myself. But my hand is already reaching for the phone.

Sending cryptic messages, are we, my Juliet?

I immediately regret it. Too playful. Too revealing.

The reply comes almost instantly.

Pining for me already, Romeo?

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. This man is infuriating.

Possibly. Does that make you blush, Juliet?

I'm not the kind of maiden who blushes.

No? Shame. I so enjoy making you blush. Or make sounds.

Oh. I do like me a reckless Romeo.

Heat creeps up my neck as I continue my walk on the treadmill. Dammit. Even through text, he has this effect on me. I hesitate, fingers poised over the keys. There are a dozen reasons I shouldn't engage. But only one matters why I should—I want to.

You'll have to try harder than that, caro. This Romeo needs more compliments to risk his life for you.

As I hit send, a bitter taste fills my mouth.

What am I doing? This isn't some romantic play. It's a powder keg, and I'm striking matches.

My phone buzzes again, and I nearly stumble off the treadmill. Vlad's latest message reads:Challenge accepted. I've got a few tricks up my sleeve that would make even Shakespeare blush.

I grip the handrails, heart galloping from more than just the exercise. This dance we're doing— it's exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure. I slow the machine, stepping off to catch my breath and compose a reply.

Big words. Care to back them up?

I type, then pause. Am I really doing this?

Costa's watchful gaze burns into me from across the room. He doesn't say a word, but his raised eyebrow speaks volumes: I know what you're up to and it's dangerous.

I ignore his nonverbal cues and instead focus on crafting a response to Vlad's provocation by deleting the previous text and typing another one.

You talk big, Juliet. Show me.

With pleasure. Name the time and place, and I'll show you exactly what I'm capable of.

The promise in those words has my body buzzing.

I need to think. Need to take a moment before I say something I'll regret.

With that thought, I head for the shower again. My mind is racing with possibilities. As the cold water cascades over me, I try to rationalize this madness. It's just harmless fun, right? A distraction from the situation with the Armenians and the constant pressure of Uncle Tony's expectations.

But deep down, I know it's more than that. There's something about Vlad that draws me in, despite every instinct screaming danger.

Dressed and ready to face the day, I make my way to Uncle Tony's office. He's graciously allowed me use of the space while I'm here, a gesture that feels both like a test and a trap. I settle behind the imposing oak desk, firing up the laptop to check on my LA operations.

My phone lights up again.

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