Page 10 of Imperfect Desires

Viktor narrows his eyes slightly. "No."

Yelena raises an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Because you’re not having whiskey at breakfast."

Yelena’s mouth twists into a scowl. "I’m eighteen now. I can drink what I want, whenever I want."

Viktor’s gaze sharpens. His mouth tightens, yet his voice stays cool. "No."

Yelena sighs dramatically and leans back in her chair. "What is the point of being an adult if I can’t choose my damn drink."

“Language young lady.” Viktor says. And that’s when Lev laughs.

A low, husky sound that rumbles from his chest like a threat wrapped in velvet. It cuts through the air, rough and dark, but somehow intimate. His mouth curves faintly at the corner, and something in his eyes softens—just slightly.

Heat curls low in my stomach at the sound.

I’ve never heard him fully laugh before. It’s not loud or careless—it’s quiet and deliberate, and it makes my pulse flutter unevenly beneath my skin.

Yelena’s eyes flick toward him, her mouth curving in amusement. She has that effect on people. She can make them smile even when they don’t want to. She’s fearless—sharp-tongued and bold. People are drawn to her because she effortlessly commands attention.

I wish I had that kind of confidence and charisma. If I had, perhaps it would have been me that Lev was laughing with.

My gaze drops to his hand, still wrapped around the drink. His thumb rests against the curve of the rim, and his knuckles tighten slightly as Yelena’s smile deepens. I wonder if he even realizes the effect he has on people. Or perhaps he does, and he simply doesn’t care.

I sit perfectly still, forcing my expression to remain neutral even though my pulse is pounding hard enough to make me feel lightheaded. Lev’s gaze lifts, cutting toward me for the briefest second. My breath locks in my throat. And then he looks away, and the moment is gone.

Yelena’s laugh cuts through the silence, light and teasing, as she leans back in her chair. She’s already moved on. But I haven’t. My body still feels overheated. My skin still tingles where Lev’s gaze brushed over me.

And that laugh—God, that laugh—is still echoing through my chest.

I lift my glass of juice to my lips and take a slow sip, hoping the cool sweetness will settle the heat simmering beneath my skin. But it doesn’t. It just makes me wonder what it would have felt like if he had been laughing with me. What it would feel like if Lev’s gaze lingered on me the way it lingered on my sister. Andthat thought — that dangerous thought —is enough to make my whole body tense with restless energy.

I’m not like Yelena. I don’t know how to draw Lev’s attention.

But maybe I’ll have to learn.

4

Lev

Zasha and I arrive at the safe house ten minutes ahead of schedule.

The men stationed at the perimeter barely look at us as we step through the steel doors. They know who we are. It’s not the first time we’ve been here. Igor likes to keep things low-key, but nothing about the safe house is casual. State-of-the-art security system. Bulletproof glass. Underground exit tunnels. If anyone tried to come for him here, they’d be walking into a death trap.

We pass through the front hall and head toward the dining room. I hear voices—low, steady. Viktor’s, for sure. And another one, deeper. Rougher.

Igor.

The moment I step through the doorway, I see them.

Viktor sits at the far end of the table, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. He’s relaxed, but that doesn’t mean shit. Viktor’s never fully relaxed. He’s always watching. Calculating. That’s why he survived when everyone thought he was dead.

Igor sits at the head of the table, his expression sharp and impassive. He’s dressed in a tailored black suit, with his graying hair neatly combed back. He exudes the same air of authority that Viktor does, but with more weight behind it. Igor isn’t just a powerful man—he’s the man. ThePakhanof the Makarov bratva.

Beside Viktor sit his two sisters. I’ve seen pictures of them over the years, but the reality is… something else. They’re both stunning. They share the same raven-dark hair, the same electric blue eyes, and the same delicate features. However, the resemblance ends there.

Yelena sits with her legs crossed, stirring her coffee with a faint smile on her lips. Confidence radiates from her. She’s sharp. Controlled. Knows exactly how much attention she commands and wields it like a weapon.

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