Page 46 of Twisted Hearts

Now, I’m not so sure I’ll ever be able to “cast her away” once I’ve had her like that. It’s the same reason I haven’t feasted on her pussy yet.

Just hermouthis already a drug I’m spiraling into addiction with. So are her whimpered little moans and the way she chokes out a gasp when she comes.

Any deeper down the rabbit hole with my littlesolnishka, and—truthfully—I’m not so sure I’ll ever be able to climb back out again.

But for the time being, I make a valiant attempt to shake Eilish out of my head as I wrap a towel around my waist and step into the warm, steamy fog of the bathhouse on 78th. I hear Korol flush the toilet after taking a piss in the changing room behind me. Soon, he joins me in the steam, also clad in a towel as we move through the empty, tiled rooms toward the back of the place.

Which I own. That’s why it’s empty today.

I like having meetings here with those I trust. It’s secluded, private, and it’s pretty much impossible to bug or otherwise eavesdrop, what with all the steam and humidity dripping down the tiled walls, white with blue Imperialist Russian designs.

Also, having a meeting soaking in a steam room while wrapped in a towel is fuckingfantastic. I’m honestly not sure why corporate America hasn’t caught on to this yet.

“Hey, Boss-man,” Korol’s dark brow furrows when I turn to him. “I just got a message from my buddy Pytor. You know, Yuri’s guy.”

I frown. “And?”

“One of Yuri’s shipping tankers just caught fire docked in port, in France. Suspected arson.”

My jaw grits.

Fuck.

“Let me guess…”

Korol nods darkly. “Yeah. The rumor mill says it’s Drazen again.”

Goddammit.

Here we are trying to stop a psycho warmonger like Abram from usingOkhrana Sovetato basically turn the High Council into his own personal fucking army. And now the temperature just went up even more.

Fucking great.

I’m still scowling as Korol and I step into the last steam room. From the looks on their faces, I can tell that Ilya and Misha have already heard this little tidbit.

“How bad?” I growl at Ilya.

His eyes flicker with the venomous, brooding edge he’s known for. “The fire? Not totally terrible, as in no loss of life or merchandise, and the ship itself isn’t even that damaged. But bad, because it’s thrown a giant spotlight on our operations out of the port of Marseille. Local authorities that we’ve never even had to pay off because they’re coasting at the job anyway are suddenly swarming all over our shit like flies.”

Next to him, Misha nods slowly. “I’ve got some connections in the French government. I’ll reach out after we finish up here, see if I can pull some strings and get the rug smoothed back down over all this.”

“Much appreciated,” Ilya sighs.

At well over six feet tall and built like a rugby player, Misha Tsavakov cuts an imposing figure. The ink covering something like ninety percent of his body certainly doesn’t hurt, either. I mean, we’re all tattooed—Ilya and Lukas a bit, and Konstantin and I both fairly heavily. But Misha’s in another league with his body art.

His ink goes from his sharp jawline down to cover every finger and every toe. And yes, I’ve changed with the guy. That inkreally doesgoallthe way down.

While not technically from a Bratva family, Misha’s massive empire is firmly entwined with Bratva business. He’s also got legitimate connections that the rest of us could only dream of. Misha’s wife, Charlotte Bergdendem, is the crown princess of the small European kingdom of Luxlordia. This makes our cocky, tattooed friend a literal prince who will one day be an actual King Consort of a nation. Ink and all.

Misha lifts his eyes to me and grins. “Shitty news aside, it’s good to see you, brother. It’s been a while. How’s that crown sitting on your head?”

I roll my eyes as I walk over and shake his hand and then Ilya’s before Korol and I sit down on the slick tile benches diagonally opposite the other guys.

“It’s fine. Easy transition.”

He snickers. “Man, Konstantin’s in for it. I’d take helming the entire Reznikov empire solo any day over wrangling fuckingtwins. Jesus Christ.”

I grin. “Any second-borns on the horizon for you and Char?”

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