Page 37 of Twisted Empire: King's Gambit

His gaze flickers to my lips, then back up to my eyes and he bites his bottom lip, smirking. I can literally feel my pussy clenching at the gesture… Why was that so hot?

Then he lets go of me, stepping back, and I try to ignore the way my skin tingles in the absence of his touch.

“Run along now. I’ll be home late this evening,” he says, his lips curving into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. Weird, he’s never had to tell me he’s going to be home late before.

I manage a weak smile, my cheeks warm despite the air-conditioned room. “Thank you, I... See you.” I say, feeling stupid because why is this man suddenly turning my brain to mush?

He nods, his attention briefly flickering to the open office door where Natalya disappeared moments ago. But then his eyes widened slightly.

“Oh, I have something of yours,” he says, then he walks back to his desk and pulls something out of his drawer. “It was in your apartment in Seattle.”

I look down and see my old cell phone and my breath hitches. How long has he had this? “Thank you, I thought I lost it.”

“Well, my men did grab you right off the street that morning, so you wouldn’t have remembered what happened to it,” he deadpans, as if he was just reciting the weather report, then he turns back to his desk. “See you later, Gabriette.”

Okay, I know a dismissal when I see one.

I walk out of his office and close the door behind me before I rush out to Natalya, finding her leaning by the wall next to the elevator. She presses the call button and walks inside while I join her, along with Viktor and Alexei.

The drive to the restaurant is filled with an annoying silence, and it persists even when we’re in the restaurant. After a while I can’t take it anymore.

“Okay, did I make a mistake of coming out with you, or are you going to tell me why you’re moping?” I say, crossing my arms as I watch her.

Natalya looks up at me and frowns. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right, and you weren’t just a ball of energy a few minutes before talking to your brother,” I scoff.

She regards me for a few minutes with that frown on her face, then her shoulders sag and she sighs. “It’s nothing, just family stuff I didn’t agree with. Sorry if it soured the mood, Gabriette.”

After deciding that she genuinely looked remorseful, I nodded my head. “I get family stuff, you don’t even need to go further,” I say with a chuckle and tap on the menu in front of me. “Now, are we going to order something to eat? I’m starving.”

That smile on her face is back, but this time it’s guarded, and it leaves me wondering just what the hell Mikhail told his sister to upset her like this.

* * *

That morning spent with Natalya drifted into an afternoon shopping and blowing off steam, only for us to end up in another one of Mikhail’s restaurants for an early dinner.

I must admit that I haven’t had fun like that in a long time, just shooting the shit with someone who I could actually be myself around.

Granted, I had Emma and Lucy back in Seattle, but I couldn’t do the things I wanted to do around them, couldn’t talk about my family and the expectations I had growing up. Turns out Natalya has it harder than me.

“I can’t believe they’re teaching you how to successfully torture a man without killing him too soon,” I say, raising a glass of wine to my lips. “Fuck, I wonder if Sophia had to learn that, too.”

She chuckles. “With Cosa Nostra, I doubt it. Normally, women don’t have a say in Bratva business, but my great grandfather made sure even the women in the family knew the ins and outs after they nearly killed my great grandmother.”

“Yeah, my father probably had her trained to be the perfect bride, knowing I wouldn’t ever be called that,” I say, chuckling but feeling a pang of guilt in my chest.

Sophia was always the perfect one, the eldest who could do nothing wrong while I was the afterthought. I never held it against her, though, because that’s just how my parents were. They could control her, but never me.

“Yikes, seems like you have some underlying seething there,” she jokes as she eats her pasta.

“We’re mafia princesses, when isn’t there an underlying seethe?”

Lifting her glass, she shoots me a toast and sips her wine, only to nearly choke as she takes a sip. “Oh, fuck,” she says, looking down at her food. “Shit.”

“What—” I frown and am about to turn back when she grabs my hand across the table and shakes her head.

“Wait, don’t—” she says

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