Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Then he speaks, breaking the stillness. “The gala is in three days.”
I look up from my phone. “And?”
“And my family will be there. All of them.”
Oh my god.
His family.
His whole mafia family.
My stomach lurches. “You didn’t mention that part before.”
He gives a casual shrug of his massive shoulder. “You didn’t ask.”
“Rodion…” I grip the edge of my phone, suddenly on edge. The thought of meeting his family—their sharp eyes, their inevitable judgments—it’s overwhelming. But there’s another thought creeping in, too, one I’ve been avoiding.
And if he’s mafia, that means…
What does that mean?
Are they as ruthless and possessive as he is?
And if Shawn… wait. I haven’t heard from Shawn. A sudden thought crosses my mind.
“Did you do something to Shawn?” I blurt, my heart pounding.
His head turns slightly, his expression unreadable. Not sure I like how good of a poker face he has. “Why?”
“Because he hasn’t texted me. It’s not like him to stay quiet this long.”
Rodion’s smirk is slow, deliberate. “Maybe he finally got the message.”
“Rodion. What message?”
He doesn’t answer, just turns onto my street, the tires crunching softly against the pavement. As we pull up to my apartment, I can’t decide whether to be relieved or more freaked out.
“We’ll talk about it later,” he says smoothly, parking the car. “You’ve got bigger things to worry about. And no, Ember. I haven’t touched Shawn.” With a scowl I feel straight between my legs, he mutters, “Not because I didn’t want to.”
I glance over at him, my pulse thrumming in my ears. The way he’s looking at me—like he owns every thought in my head—is both thrilling and terrifying. I’m so into him, and it’s making me feel raw and exposed. Vulnerable in a way I’m not used to.
How can I hate and love it?
The door to my apartment feels wrong before I even touch it. The faintest shift in the air, like it’s been disturbed. My stomach knots as I reach for the knob, but Rodion’s hand closes over mine, firm and steady.
“You look nervous.”
I lick my lips. “Something is… off.”
“Wait,” he says softly, his voice a mix of command and reassurance. He pushes the door open, stepping in first like he’s daring whatever’s inside to come for him. The sight of his broad shoulders—tense, ready for anything—shouldn’t calm me, but it does.
The apartment looks normal at first glance, but as we step inside, the air feels heavier. My gaze lands on the corner of the coffee table, where my packages are piled neatly. Too neatly. My breath catches.
“Someone’s been here,” I whisper, my voice trembling. I walk to the bathroom, Rodion trailing me. Unlike the packages, here it’s a mess, like someone’s come in here and deliberately mussed things up.
I look away from the mess, bile burning the back of my throat. When I was a child, I always tried to keep things tidy and neat. It made me feel like I had a semblance of control. My mother would tease me, and even the teachers at school would write notes about my “borderline obsessive need for order and tidiness.”
Shawn loved to mock me.
I stare at the rolls of toilet paper scattered on the floor, the towels disorganized, and my toiletries opened and tipped.
Rodion’s jaw tightens. “Not someone,” he says, scanning the room with predatory precision.
“What-what do I do?”
He turns to me, those dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that steals the air from my lungs. “He was probably looking for evidence that I live here,” he says, his tone as calm as if he’s discussing the weather. “Now that he knows I don’t, he’ll be back.”
Shit.
A chill races down my spine. “When?”
“Tonight,” he answers, no hesitation. “That’s why we’re leaving.”
“Leaving?” My voice pitches higher. “Where—”
“New York.” The word drops like a stone. His hand reaches for mine, grounding me in the storm brewing inside me. “I need you to trust me, kotyonok.”
My pulse races under his steady grip. Trust him? I search his face, looking for something—anything—to make this less terrifying. And there it is: the softness that shouldn’t belong to a man like him. It lingers in the curve of his mouth, the faintest tenderness in his voice. It almost fools me.
But when he mentions Shawn, his entire expression shifts. That softness hardens into something dark, dangerous. Protective. And somehow… it makes me feel safer than I ever have in my life.
I know my answer.
I nod, my voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah. I trust you.”
His thumb brushes over my knuckles, a fleeting touch that sends heat spiraling through me. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and just like that, my knees go weak.
“New York,” I say, more to myself than him. “I’ve never even left California.”
Rodion’s gaze cuts to me, softer now but no less intense. “Maybe it’s time you see what the rest of the world has to offer.”