Page 24 of Crimson Sin
The way he emphasizes surprise makes it clear he's not surprised at all. He's been watching and waiting, aligning this encounter like pieces on a chessboard. I set my coffee down carefully, not wanting to let him see how his presence affects me.
“Can I help you with something?” I ask, proud that my voice remains steady.
He tilts his head, studying me like I'm a painting he's not sure is authentic. His gaze travels slowly from my face down to where the silk robe is cinched around my waist, then back up again with deliberate appreciation. “You know, I've been thinking. It's strange how quickly things happened. Daniil's sudden marital bliss. You arriving here like a gift no one expected.”
There's a sharpness underneath his casual tone that makes every instinct scream danger. “Is there a point to this?”
“There's always a point, sweetheart.” He leans forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping to an octave that grates against my skin. “You just have to be smart enough to find it.”
He's too close. Not in distance, since the table still stretches between us, but in presence. The air around him crackles like a coiled snake deciding whether or not to strike. His cologne is expensive, with notes of bergamot and cedar that should be pleasant but instead feel suffocating in the morning stillness.
“You don't seem the type to play gracious host,” I manage, trying to steady my breathing. “So why are you here?”
“Family breakfast,” he replies with mock innocence, spreading his hands wide in a gesture that's anything but innocent. “Didn't Daniil tell you? I stop by often. We're very close.”
The way he emphasizes “close” makes me want to throw my coffee in his perfectly groomed face. Instead, I grip the cup tighter, the delicate porcelain warming under my palm. “I can see that.”
His gaze slides over me again, unapologetic in its assessment. His fingers begin to tap against the polished mahogany, once, twice, a rhythmic pattern that sets my teeth on edge. He watches me with an intensity that needles beneath my skin, like he can see through the silk robe, through my skin, and straight to the vulnerable heart beating beneath.
“You're not like the rest of them, Naomi. You don't belong here.” His voice drops to an intimate, almost kind tone, which somehow makes it even more threatening. “Which makes me wonder what Daniil sees in you.”
The casual cruelty of it makes me gasp softly. I straighten my spine, drawing on every ounce of the Carter stubbornness that got me through scholarship applications, museum politics, and nights when I wondered if I'd ever be enough. “That's between me and my husband.”
Something dark flickers across Viktor's face. His fingers go still on the table, and the silence suddenly feels volatile. “Is it, though?”
He stands slowly, uncoiling from the chair like smoke given form. The movement is deliberate, intending to intimidate, and it works. Every nerve in my body screams at me to run, but I force myself to rise as well, meeting him on equal ground even though equal feels like a distant dream.
He comes around the table until he's beside me, close enough that I can see the flecks of silver in his blue eyes and count theprecise stitches in his expensive shirt. Every instinct screams warnings, but he's already invaded my space and claimed it as his own.
“You're beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a tone of admiration wrapped in menace. He raises one hand, not quite touching but brushing the air near my shoulder. I can feel the heat radiating from his skin. “But naive. And Daniil? He doesn't take chances unless the reward outweighs the risk.”
My pulse hammers against my throat. “What do you want, Viktor?”
He leans in, and I smell the scent of coffee on his breath. His voice is low and hushed when he speaks, his breath warm against my ear. “To understand what makes you worth it.”
The words are like ice water. I jerk back, anger flaring hot and bright, burning away the fear that's been building since he walked into the room. “Get out.”
His grin is all teeth, predatory and pleased. “I see why he likes you.”
“Get. Out.” Each word is sharp enough to cut, fueled by every ounce of fury I can muster.
And then, another voice shatters the tension like a gunshot in a locked room. “She asked you to leave.”
Lex stands in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, his eyes cool and unreadable as a winter sky. He doesn't raise his voice, take a step forward, or even change expression. He doesn't need to. Power radiates from him like heat from a forge, quiet and utterly unmistakable.
Viktor turns slowly, as if amused by the interruption. “Lex. Always so punctual.”
Lex doesn't respond. He simply stares, and there's something in that gaze that promises violence held on a very short leash. The scar that runs along his collarbone is visible above his dark shirt. His presence fills the doorway, as if he were sculpted from the very walls around him.
“Fine.” Viktor raises both hands in mock surrender, but nothing is surrendering about the way he holds himself. “I was just getting to know the newest member of the family.”
Lex moves closer. “She's not your concern.”
For just a moment, Viktor's mask slips. Gone is the charm and practiced mischief. What's left is sharper and meaner, glinting like a blade in moonlight. But it fades just as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that same infuriating smile.
“Of course,” he murmurs, inclining his head in a gesture that manages to be respectful and mocking at the same time. “Wouldn't want to overstep.”
He nods to me, a shallow, mocking bow that feels like an insult wrapped in courtesy. “Mrs. Zorin.”
