Page 59 of Konstantin
This man is cruelty in its finest form. He’s never been soft with anything in his life.
My gaze wanders down his large form. His suit jacket is gone, hung neatly in the walk-in closet, and the top buttons of his crisp white shirt are undone, revealing a sliver of the chest that made me lose my mind just hours ago.
My attention drags lower. His belt. That expensive diamond-encrusted gold watch. The strength in his arms. It all gleams in the dim light. He exudes power and he knows it, so why is he looking at me like he’d protect me from the world if I asked?
When I glance up and meet his stare, the shift is instant. The room seems smaller, the tension louder, the draw between us impossible to ignore.
No matter how much I tell myself to fight these feelings, he’s still the man who pulled a trigger without blinking.
And I’m still the woman who liked it.
“Was that…uh…normal for you? To do that?” My voice comes out shaky, discomfort woven through each word, making a show of unease.
His lips press into a thin line. “You mean do I normally kill people in front of my assistants?”
I nod once, keeping my gaze guarded, trying to look like I’m in over my head.
“Surprisingly, that was my first time.” A half-grin spreads across his face while his fingers rise to graze my jaw. “But I’d happily do itagain for you.”
“I don’t want you to.”
His expression doesn’t change. “That really isn’t up to you.”
The words strike me like a slap, yet when his touch falls away, I sense the absence like a cold draft, part of me irrationally wanting it back.
He takes a step closer, his presence eclipsing everything. “I know you’re not a stupid woman. You know who I really am. What I really do behind the pretty façade of this empire I’ve built. Don’t you?”
My throat tightens. I nod again, slower this time.
“Then say it.” His tone dips lower. “Tell me what I am.”
Shit.
Panic flutters in my chest. Is this a trap? Some twisted loyalty test I’m destined to fail? A tremor races through my limbs, and of course, he notices.
“This isn’t a test.” His fingertips glide up and down my hand. “I promise you. I just want us to be honest with each other.”
I hesitate for only a second before whispering, “You’re…you’re Russian Mafia.”
His grin spreads—slow, seductive, and treacherous, the glint in his eyes saying he enjoys hearing me admit it.
“Maladetz.” He leans in, the heat of his body stirring the air between us. “And how does that make you feel, working for someone like me?”
“Not great?” I cringe a little. “Terrified?”
His chuckle bursts out. “There are no wrong answers here.”
“May I ask a follow-up?”
“Of course. You can ask anything you want, dorogaya.” With a twist of his hand, he gestures for me to continue, the gentleman in the devil’s skin.
“Do you…kill a lot of people?”
His eyes flash with humor. “Maybe more than others in myposition. I haven’t really crunched the numbers. I could if you’d like.”
“No, that won’t be necessary.” I glance down for effect just as he chuckles again, like it’s all so casual.
But nothing about this is funny. Not to the girl who once feared for her life every night in a roach-infested home, and definitely not to the woman who puts men like him behind bars.
