Page 30 of The Devil's Thorn
My pulse kicks once. Hard.
Not because I wasn’t expecting this.
But because I was.
Because the second I stepped into this place, Iknew.He already saw me.
And now…
He wants to see mecloser.
My name sits silent on my tongue. Not Natasha. Not Isabella. Not anything.
Just breath.
I stare at Nikolai, his unreadable face cast in shadow from the chandelier above us, his voice still ringing in my ears.
Mr. Romanov’s table.
My fingers twitch slightly at my side, but I don’t move.
Not yet.
Because this is it. The moment I’ve been burning toward for fifteen years. And somehow, it feels too quiet. Too still.
“What if I don’t want to?” I ask him, my voice calm but cold.
Nikolai’s mouth twitches—something between a smirk and a dare.
“If you’re afraid of him,” he says, voice smooth as ice, “this isn’t the right place for you.”
My spine snaps straighter. “I’m not afraid.”
“Then go,” he says simply. “Serve your table.”
He turns before I can answer, walking away without a glance back. Like he already knows I’ll follow the order.
Like he already knows he wants me to.
I exhale through my nose, slow and steady.
I don’t hesitate again. I move.
The casino stretches out in front of me like a dream designed to trap people in velvet cages. Golden lighting pools in soft halos over tables where million-dollar games are played with half-second glances and smiles dipped in poison. Glasses clink. Laughter murmurs. Every person in this room is someone or belongs to someone.
Eyes glance my way, then slide past.
Good.
Let them think I’m no one.
My heels don’t falter as I walk across the floor, weaving between tables. My skirt doesn’t ride up. My blouse stays perfectly in place. I make myself forget how the silk sticks to the tension beneath my skin, how my hands are colder than they should be.
Then I see him.
Rafael Romanov.
He sits at the corner of Table Thirteen, arm resting casually over the back of the velvet seat, suit jacket open like he owns every inch of the oxygen in the room. His shirt is black. No tie. A crystal glass in one hand, untouched.
