Page 47 of Twisted Empire: King's Gambit

She hesitates, and I can tell she’s weighing how much more to reveal. “Being in that world, it wasn’t easy. There were rules; rules we didn’t like, but had to abide by. As girls, we were supposed to be the perfect daughters, meant to marry well, to strengthen alliances.”

The similarities between our worlds are not lost on me. The Russian Bratva and the Italian Mafia may have their differences, but at the core of it all, the family dynamics, they are strikingly similar.

“It’s... complicated,” she continues, “I loved my family, but there was always this looming shadow over everything. The danger, the expectations, the weight of carrying the family name.”

“I understand,” I reply, my voice filled with sincerity. Because I do. Every word she says resonates with my own upbringing, my own struggles with the life I was born into.

I was always going to take over from my father. I knew that from the moment I killed my first man at nine years old.

My father didn’t seem to like how elated I looked after the man took his last breath, as if he didn’t truly want me to be in this life. But it was the moment my childhood ended and his legacy began.

She looks up, her eyes meeting mine, a mixture of vulnerability and strength shining through. “I’ve spent so much time trying to escape it, trying to be my own person. And now here I am, in this world again. With you.”

She continues, sharing stories of her childhood friends, the joy she felt during her first big performance. But even as she speaks, I sense the omission. It’s like reading a book and realizing pages have been torn out.

The story she’s not telling, who hurt her, what made her flinch at the touch of another, it hangs in the air; unspoken.

Pushing my plate away, I lean in. “You’re holding back,Malyshka. I can feel it.”

She drops her gaze, looking anywhere but at me. “There are parts of my past... things I’m not ready to share.”

There it is. The wall. It’s the same one I have, the one I feel crumbling every day around her. And god dammit, the irony isn’t lost on me.

I leave it at that and change the subject to something easier. She can see my own deflection, but I won’t push if she’s not willing to share.

It’s not lost on me how unlike myself I’ve become around her. Normally I would force a confession out of anyone not willing to tell me what I want to hear, but with Gabriette I find that I cannot do that.

No, not can’t … I won’t.

Walking into the bedroom later on, I see her standing there in a silk nightie. With her back to me, the dim light casting a soft glow on her skin, I can sense her anxiety. The urge to bridge the distance between us, to pull her into my arms, to protect and possess is fucking overwhelming.

But I hold back, watching, waiting. The distance, the quiet turmoil, the push and pull — it’s driving me insane.

Then she turns and looks at me, and I feel the last slivers of my self-control snap.

The tension in the room had grown to an almost unbearable level. The very air feels charged, every stolen glance, every unintentional touch between us loaded with unspoken emotions.

Every moment we shared seemed to lead up to this.

Before I can even blink, I’m right behind her, close enough to feel the warmth emanating from her body. My hands reach out, cupping her face, making her turn towards me. The surprise in her eyes is clear, but it’s quickly replaced by an emotion I can’t quite place—anticipation, maybe, mixed with a hint of fear.

Our lips met tentatively at first, a gentle exploration, tasting, testing. But the dam of restraint broke, and the kiss deepened. Her lips are soft and pliant beneath mine, and a suppressed moan escapes her as I pull her closer.

The world around us blurred and faded, leaving just the two of us. My hands traveled down her back, pulling her into me, feeling the curves of her body pressed against mine.

Every emotion, every unspoken word, every lingering doubt and hope, they all poured into that kiss. It was raw and passionate, a whirlwind of feelings that threatened to consume us.

She doesn’t hold back when I deepen the kiss; she doesn’t even push me away. Instead, she molds herself to my body as if she’s let go of all her apprehension. With her arms around my neck and her fingers tangled in my hair, gripping tightly. As if she was anchoring herself to me and pulling me even closer.

That small show of need makes me go feral and I pick her up before pushing her against the window. She lets out a gasp when I grind myself against her, my cock thickening with need.

I know I’ll live to regret this, taking advantage of her guard being down. But if she wanted to push me away, to stop whatever was about to happen, then she would have by now.

Then she does.

She pushes me away, one arm still around my neck while the other rests just above my beating heart. Out of breath, she peers up at me with those whiskey eyes that never fail to take my breath away.

“Wait…” she trails off. “What is … what is happening right now?”

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