by Sophia Henry
He reaches between us, lining his cock at my entrance and pushing into me.
I sigh.
His arm snakes around my stomach, bringing me as close as possible, and pressing his lips to my neck. He breathes in deeply, inhaling sleep and sweat.
His fingers move to my clit, rubbing it as he keeps up his slow, rhythmic thrusts. I moan and press into him, my breath catching as he moves faster. Four fingers up and down, then two fingers in circles—he switches it up, stoking my orgasm in the cadence I love until I explode all over him.
He kisses my shoulder as he slides out of me. His heavy footsteps smack the floor, and I hear the water run in the bathroom. If it weren’t for my throbbing pussy, I might have thought the encounter was a dream. My eyelids flutter shut, exhausted and satiated.
About a half-hour later, I shuffle into the kitchen wearing the outfit he loves to see me in: disheveled sex hair and one of his white button-down dress shirts.
“Do you have any plans today?” he asks, scooping a soft-boiled egg out of the saucepan and delicately placing it into an egg holder.
I stretch my arms above my head, giving him full view of my naked body under his shirt. “It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever, Kirya!” I say after a yawn. “I think we should spend the day in bed.”
He’s been gone so much recently, I’m getting a complex. I fold one leg under me as I wait for him to join me at the table. I can tell he’s staring at me, but I don’t let on that I know. I’m used to it—and I love that he takes the time to stop and appreciate me. It makes me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.
“Not today, my love! I have a surprise.” He brings our plates to the table and hands me a spoon. While I lift a piece of buttered rye from a plate of toast in front of me, he winks at me. “We’re going for a walk down memory lane.”
“Really?” I ask with an interested smile, wondering what kind of memories he could possibly be talking about.
“Yes. And I’m going to quiz you on your English! So, you better grab that dictionary from your desk.”
Well, I hope he’s teasing, because I’ve gotten a little behind on my studies. I can say hello, yes, and no.
“Do I have time to finish my breakfast?” I ask.
“Yes. Fill your stomach, my love. But be quick, because I’m going to fill your pussy once more before we go as well.”
His voice lifts me out of the memory. “Everything was on track the day you left for America. I got word that Sobakin was coming, but you were supposed to be on the plane long before he got there.”
Everything that happened that day was a blur—even though I’ve replayed it a million times in my head.
“I was prepared for him, Stasya. I was wearing a bullet-proof vest.”
“A bullet-proof vest?” I pat my chest, trying to understand. “Like a soldier?”
He nods.
“A vest doesn’t cover everything!” I exclaim. “It doesn’t cover your head!”
“I know,” he says calmly.
Kirya has always been the calm one. While I stress and overreact, he keeps his cool, bringing my heart rate down with his unruffled demeanor. “But it wouldn’t have mattered, Stasya. Don’t you understand? I would have jumped in front of bullets for you even without it.”
“Did the vest take all the shots? There were so many.” I shake my head, still traumatized by the memory. The deafening sounds. The smell of gasoline and fear.
“It didn’t. They shot me in the upper thigh—and the throat,” he adds sheepishly.
“The throat?” I study his neck, looking for a scar, fighting the urge to reach out and touch him.
“Here,” he says, placing two fingers on the lower right side, a few inches above his shoulder. “It didn’t hit anything major, but it kept me in a hospital in Moscow for six weeks. When I was well enough, I flew to Charlotte for physical therapy on my leg and to regain my strength.”
“You were here? In America?” It’s a rhetorical question since he just said he was in Charlotte. Is there no end to his deception? “You were in America recovering from the gunshot wounds I thought killed you and you didn’t tell me you were here. You didn’t even tell me you were alive.”
“I wanted you to think I was dead. That last day in Moscow was my wake-up call. You were right by my side and you were almost murdered. You will never be safe with me.” He crosses his arms over his chest as if that explains everything and I should accept it, but I don’t.
“You’re so fucking arrogant, Kirill Konstantinovich.”
“Arrogant?” His voice is hoarse with surprise. “You call admitting my weakness arrogant? I think it’s one of the most vulnerable and real things I’ve ever done.”
His calm demeanor slips because he doesn’t know how strong, self-confident, independent I’ve become.
He thinks he’s talking to the person he knew—hysterical Stasya who needs to be saved—be he doesn’t get her.
Not after what he just told me.
Not after he let me think he was dead.
Not after he let me grieve for him like a widow for three years.
“Your arrogance almost got you killed. What will it take for you to be completely honest with me? If you are transparent, we can work through things together. Instead, you put your ego above everything.”
He jumps to his feet, his chair falling over in haste. “I’ve always had to make the decisions, Stasya, because you wouldn’t make them for yourself. You’d still be sitting in that tiny fucking room on Ya Kabel’naya Ulitsa getting beat by your father if I hadn’t made the decision to get you out.”
My jaw tightens, but I don’t respond because he’s right. Some of his decisions have helped me.
“Why can’t you understand how much losing you would hurt me?”
I press my lips together and stare at him. Ears burning as rage builds inside. “I understand the weight of losing someone you love all too well.”
He hangs his head as if he’s sorry, but I’m not falling for it. I’m not the weak girl on Ya Kabel’naya Ulitsa. I don’t need to be saved anymore.
My head and my heart are in a dueling match and I can’t even pick a side.
My first instinct was to bury myself in his arms.
But now—I don’t know how to feel. I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know if I can trust him after this.
The time I spent with him taught me how to harden my heart and numb me to emotion. Maybe a little too well because the pain barely registers when I stand up and open the door. “Get out of my store.”
“Your store?” He gives me a tight-lipped smile. No teeth. No emotion. When his brows furrow above icy blue eyes it’s like I’m talking to a completely different person. The smile slides into a sneer. “You must pay your investors before you can call this your store.”
“I’ve been putting money away in a separate account since the day Prekransy opened,” I tell him indignantly. Then I bend down, open the top drawer of my desk, and pull out a checkbook. “I’ll write you a check to cover your investment right now.”
His expression softens slightly. “Is that how you want this to be?”
“This is what you wanted, yes? This is the choice you made for me—for us,” I say, looking him directly in the eye, letting him know I’m not under his control anymore. “You should have thought about the consequences before helping me become such a powerful, independent woman.”
He nods and moves to the door. “I love you, Stasya. Remember that. Everything I’ve ever done has been out of love.”
“Get out!” I yell as tears prick at my eyes. I grab the closest object I can find—a roll of expensive, delicate lace—and chuck it at him.
I slam the door behind him, then press my back against it, breathing heavily as I rub my face in my hands. I slide to the floor and knock the back of my head against the wood.
What’s wrong with me?
For three years, I’ve been praying for Kirill. Now he’s back and I push hi
m away because I didn’t agree with his decisions?
No. I’m pushing him away because of the lies and deception, all of which he did…to keep me safe.
He’s the same man I’ve always loved. The one who thinks he knows what’s best for me. I always trusted him before. Because all he ever wanted was to protect me.
Back home, I chose to be with him—to turn a blind eye to the heinous crimes he committed involved in for years in the mafia. I didn’t care about any of that, but turning him away after finding out he let me believe he was dead because he wanted me to have a better life—this is where I draw the line?
His obsession with keeping me safe is making me unsafe. The more he thinks about it, the more he brings about bad situations.
If he could just trust me and my choice to be with him—through good and bad.
Will he ever let me make the choice to be with him? I can’t
Before today, I thought Kirill’s death was the hardest thing I’d ever have to do in my life. But I was wrong.
Knowing he’s still alive and choosing to live without him tops that by a landslide.
11
Kirill
Though the Dining Room closed an hour ago, Drago and I are sitting at the bar having a drink, hanging out as the bartender finishes cleaning up the bar area. Pounding on the door puts me on high alert. Drago and I look at each other, both moving our hands to our hips, guns at the ready. I throw a quick glance over my shoulder, relieved when it’s Stasya’s tiny frame that I see through the glass.
“Boris’ brodyaga must have delivered the message,” I confirm as I slide off the high-back chair and stride to the door.
Drago laughs. “How can you tell?”
When Stasya ordered me out of her store, she surprised me. Never in a million years would I have thought she would stand up to me.
It was one of the most infuriating things she’s ever done—and one of the hottest.
Walking through her store to leave was almost embarrassing because of how hard my cock was after our meeting.
I know she still loves me. She doesn’t care that being with me is going to get her killed. I care. But she doesn’t.
My head is completely fucked up when it comes to her. Cutting off all contact and leaving her alone is the right thing to do.
And yet, I can’t stay away.
I need her like I need air. I’m stronger with her by my side. She’s my tether to humanity—a reminder of innocence and beauty. Things I have to dig deep to feel these days.
Nothing has changed. I’m still completely intoxicated by her.
As soon as I turn the key, she yanks the door open.
“You need to have a talk with that boy you sent to my store today.” She jabs me in the chest, sending me back a step.
“What boy?” I ask, trying to keep the smile off my face.
Feisty Stasya is one of my favorites. Sometimes, I’d feed into her agitation because I knew it would end with the best sex of our lives. I long for those days, even though I’m the one who put a stop to them.
“Don’t play dumb with me, Kirill.” She spits out, rising to her toes to lessen the height difference. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to pay for protection.”
“It’s how we do things, Stasya. You are a Russian business owner. Without protection, you will be targeted by thieves, mafia, crooked cops.” I shrug and spun around, leaving her huffing at the door. “Did he tell all the ways you could pay?”
Obviously, I have no intention of making her pay. Sending one of Boris’ underlings over was a ploy to get her to come to me. I knew she would be angry at the message and storm over here. Though it took her longer than I expected.
True to her word, she’s stayed away—hasn’t even had lunch at the RDR since she found out I was alive. She could, since I’m not here during the day. Too many people would recognize me and I haven’t come out of hiding in the criminal community yet. The only ones who know are my uncle’s Avtoritets and their brigades.
I return to my seat, knowing she won’t let it go. She may hold a grudge for a few days, but ultimately, she has to have closure. One of those don’t-go-to-bed-angry kind of people.
She follows me to the bar, irritation radiating off her.
Drago takes Stasya’s approach as a cue to leave. He clears his throat, and the bartender looks up. When Drago nods toward the stairs, my employee follows immediately. Since Slava left the mafia, Drago moved up as my right-hand man. He’s never far away, ears open to all conversations that happen in public. He knows Stasya—knows our business—so it doesn’t bother me. Let everyone hear what a fucking prick I’ve been.
“You think this is a joke?” she asks. Instead of anger, its pain seeping out of her words. “You think tormenting me like this is funny?”
“I find no humor seeing you hurt, Stasya.” I implore her with my eyes. “But I can’t stay away from you.”
“Yes, I know! You’ve even hijacked one of the small joys in my life. I haven’t been able to have lunch here for fear I’ll run into you.”
“I didn’t mean to take away your joy,” I say softly. It’s not a lie, but we both know it’s not the complete truth. If I cared about her joy, I wouldn’t have let her believe I was dead. “I didn’t realize you were here so much.”
“Really?” She tilts her head and leans forward. “With as many spies as you have, it’s hard to believe you didn’t know I eat here multiple times a week.”
There’s one truth I’ve always remembered: Lies always catch up.
“I supposed you don’t know that Vanya owns this restaurant, either.”
“He owns part of it,” I correct her. “I own the majority of this restaurant.”
“What?”
Shit.
“My uncle bought it for me five years ago,” I admit.
“Five years ago? You owned it while we were together and you never told me?” She stumbles back, wide-eyed as she stares at the floor. It’s as if she can’t believe I’ve blown her mind with deception again. “You promised never to lie to me. Now, I find out there’s so much deception I can’t even see straight.”
“It wasn’t a lie. It was an omission of information.”
I’d planned to tell her about it after the renovation was complete. We were supposed to run this place together. I know how much Stasya loves being around her brother, so I asked the lawyer that’s been handling all of my affairs to reach out to Vanya and offer him part ownership. The decision was two-fold. It would make her happy and give him something to do after he retires from hockey.
The best of intentions…
“I’m over the wordplay and lies.” Her eyes are glassy when she looks up. “Please, just tell me the truth.”
“I asked Vanya if he wanted to become part owner.”
I didn’t think it was possible for her to become angrier, but I was wrong. She shoves the chair into the bar. “My brother knows you’re alive and he didn’t tell me?”
I grab her arms and hold her still. Her body shakes with anger. Her eyes shooting darts through me. “I’ve had a lawyer handling my affairs. That’s who he signed the documents with. As far as I know, Vanya has no clue I’m alive. My plan was for us to run the restaurant together when I moved to New York to be with you. Vanya could join us in the summer or when he retires.”
“What changed?”
“I told you. After what happened, I finally realized you’d never be safe as long as you were with me.” That part is true. I know I sound like a broken record to her, but her safety has always been my priority. That never wavered. “I did what I had to do to protect you.”
“Why did you send me to live with another man?”
She’s trying to keep herself from crying. I can tell by the way her nostrils flare and how she bites the inside of her cheek.
Why does she want to be with me when all I do is cause her pain? Tears?
“Because Dmitri is safe.”
She rolls her eyes. “Ye
s, he certainly is safe. But with safety, there is no passion.”
“I’d rather you be safe.”
“I’d rather have passion.”
“It’s always my choice, Anastasiya.”
Without warning, she grabs my face and pulls it to hers, pressing her lips on mine. Her fingers glide into my hair holding my mouth to hers. She doesn’t have to worry about me going anywhere. I’ve wanted this since the second I saw her.
Nothing could stop me from returning her kiss. Not even my desire to protect her.
If she puts her lips on me, she’s getting all I’ve got.
The muscles in my neck tense up when I hear footsteps on the stairs. Drago clears his throat.
I step back quickly out. “What?” I snap without looking at him. Stasya has my full focus, standing in front of me with her shoulders heaving, lust and anger swirling in her eyes.
“Alexander needs to finish with the bar before he leaves for the night.”
“Of course.” I sweep my hand through my hair, composing myself.
I could send him home without finishing up, but if Alexander doesn’t close out the bar and clean up, it makes more work for whoever tends it tomorrow. The last thing I want to do is come into town and fuck up how things are run. Especially since the restaurant has been doing extremely well since the renovation and grand re-opening.
Instead, I grab Stasya’s arm and lead her to the tiny elevator located steps away from the bar.
I’m not ready to end this yet.
12
Stasya
Kirill seizes my arm and shoves me into a small elevator, then jams a button. The doors close immediately. He’s staring at me, jaw clenched, chest heaving. He can pretend to be as pissed as he wants, but I’m not ashamed. Stepping forward boldly, I’m about to go into for another kiss when the elevator jolts to a stop. The doors open suddenly, revealing a magnificent room behind Kirill.
“What is this place,” I ask, memorized. Without waiting for Kirill’s orders, I step into the space. Electric candlesticks sit in front of huge mirrored wall panels carved with sunburst-and-star patterns. Vibrant colors bounce off every surface.