Page 10 of Ruthless Heir

I lean forward and rest my elbows on the table, steepling my fingers in front of me. “Oh, you’ll find out soon enough,” I say slowly. “It will teach you the error of your ways and remind you who is in charge.”

She rolls her eyes and sits up straight in her chair. “You can't be serious,” she retorts.

“I'm dead serious,” I say, my voice like steel. “You need to understand that you can't just do and say whatever you want without consequences. I'm not your father. I don’t care about your stubbornness or your tantrums. Those annoyances will only escalate things.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but I cut her off. “You will submit to this punishment willingly,” I warn firmly. “Or you will be forced to submit. The choice is yours. You won't get many of those.”

“You think you're going to get away with this?” she asks. “How will you explain this treatment to my father when I tell him?”

I grin in amusement. “I'm an Irish Mafia heir. I hold the fate of your family's Bratva in the palm of my hand. Your father knew the life he was sending you to,” I say simply. “I don't have to explain myself to anyone.”

“This is ridiculous,” she mutters, looking away from me. “You have no right to do this.”

“I have every right,” I say menacingly, my voice rising slightly in volume, my patience wearing thin. “You will learn to respect me, even if you don't respect yourself. And you will learn to obey me without question. You will respect my every demand. You will obey every command. During your punishment, you will learn to be a good girl.”

“I will never respect you,” she hisses under her breath.

“Then you have a hard road ahead of you,” I reply coldly. “You can begin that lesson today.”

The tension during the remainder of breakfast is palpable. She works hard to remain poised and unaffected by my ominous promises, but the rigidness in her posture gives her away. She pushes the breakfast potatoes around her plate with her fork. I dare not insist that she eat up. It will make tonight's lesson more suitable. Instead, I quickly finish my omelet and toast, then rise from the table. I grab my coffee to take with me.

I summon Samuel with a gesture. “Ensure that she returns to her room once she's finished here,” I instruct. “Don't let her out of your sight.”

“Will do, sir,” he acknowledges.

I head toward my office to make a phone call. Vasilisa needs discipline. It’s time for her actions and disrespect to have consequences. She hasn’t learned anything from her time in isolation, but she will. After looking through some of my beginner thud tools, I had planned to put her across my knee, but I think I’d much rather rip the Band-Aid off. First, I need to update Lennon on everything he’s missed about the lead in our father’s case and tell him to keep a watchful eye on Callum.

After my call to Lennon, I think back to Vasilisa’s overt disrespect in my own home. My initial plans for her have changed. I call for Samuel and instruct him to bring thepain-in-the-arsetroublemaker to my office. She enters the room with a scowl on her face and her arms folded across her chest. My hand twitches at her insubordination. It’s time I introduce her to the man underneath all the Mafia bullshite. This punishment will simply be out of necessity. Pleasure has absolutely nothing to do with it.

CHAPTER TEN

Vasilisa

I'm escorted to the fucktard’s office by the one person with an even bigger stick up his ass than his employer. He follows every command without hesitation. I bet he's getting paid handsomely for his blind obedience ... well, I hope he is.

As I enter Kai's office, I find him leaning against his presumingly cherry wood desk. He does that finger motion thingy where the butler disappears, yet he is always lurking—waiting to be summoned again. The whole thing is idiotic to watch.

“Come closer,” Kai instructs.

I hesitantly approach him, knowing any attempts to refuse him will be futile. Once I'm in an acceptable proximity to him, he steps aside, revealing six shot glasses filled with a clear liquid.

“What is that?”

“Alcohol,” he deadpans.

“Clearly,” I retort. But who is it for? Why have you summoned me? UnlikeButler Suck-up, I'm not on your payroll.”

A small grin forms on his lips. But not the pleased kind ... it's the sinister kind that haunts you even while you're awake.

“These are for you. You want to be tough ... my equal in all things, so drink up.”

“What does one have to do with the other? Your logic makes no sense.”

His eyes narrow. “It doesn't have to. Just fucking drink up. You can drink them on your own, or I can waterboard you with them ... your choice. The choices I give are rare, remember?”

“You wouldn't.”

“You want to try me? Have I given you any indications thus far that I bluff?”

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