She didn’t hear when the elevator doors opened. All she knew was they’d arrived at his place, the layout identical to hers but the decor much darker. It was all her mind took in before she was wrapped up in Dom again—scent, taste, touch. The sound of his moans mixed with hers.
“We don’t need the bedroom,” she said, her voice so harsh, she hoped he didn’t mistake her desire for anger.
He set her on her feet, pressed her face-first against the floor to ceiling living room windows, and pulled down her top, her breasts spilling out. Then she was naked from the waist down and he was inside her, and it was like they’d never made love before this.
Everything was an erotic sensation—the weight of him stretching the tight walls of her body. His fingers clamped around her wrists. The roughness of his jeans against the backs of her legs. The slap of their bodies coming together. But as much as she loved the feeling of the cool glass kissing her breasts, she wanted to see him as he came. Watch the color in his eyes as they eclipsed.
When he pulled out, she stepped away and turned around. He squeezed his rock hard length with one hand, stroking, pausing at the head before starting again. She spread her legs wider at the same time he lowered, and she didn’t bother holding back cries of pleasure as his tongue took her to the brink of ecstasy and then pushed her off the edge.
Before she could wilt, he picked her up and drove into her body again.
If he glanced away, she grunted.
If he turned his head or tried to look down that way men did, as if needing visual confirmation they were indeed fucking, she gripped his chin and brought his gaze back up to hers.
When he came, it was with his eyes on hers, his pupils stretching to their fullest, and a grimace on his face that smoothed with each second he returned from bliss.
“Shower?” he asked, chest heaving.
She nodded.
After their shower, she draped herself in one of his shirts. He told her to get comfortable and that he would be back, and he returned with takeout, dessert, and drinks that they ate seated around the coffee table.
“Know what tonight feels like?” he asked. “You know how prisoners get to have their favorite meal the night before the needle?”
She shook her head, laughing. “You’re getting married. It’s not a death sentence.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “It wouldn’t be if I was marrying you.”
To break the awkward silence that followed that statement, she crawled over to her purse, grabbed his mother’s necklace, and handed it to him. “Here you go. It’s beautiful, but your mother meant too much to you. I can’t keep it.”
His thumb slid over the pendant and his mouth opened as if in reply, but nothing came. Instead, he stood, headed down the hallway toward his bedroom, and came back with a slender gift box that he sat on the tabletop in front of her.
“This better not be a ring,” she joked.
She removed the lid, and inside sat a gorgeous golden necklace. Two interlocking rings formed the pendant, diamonds circling them in a pavé setting so that no matter which way she turned it, it would always catch the light.
“The rings interlock,” she looked up at him, “to symbolize us.”
“No matter where you go in the world,” he smiled, eyes downcast and mouth soft, “never forget me.”
“I don’t need this to remember you.”
“Can I?”
She nodded and held it out.
He draped it over her head and latched it behind her neck, the rings falling to the middle of her chest. Would he snatch the necklace from her neck after tomorrow? Would she let him?
“If I’d known we were exchanging ‘last day together’ gifts, I would have gotten you something.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I have everything I need right here.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“So if I wanted to ride you wearing only this necklace…”
Five minutes later, she was doing just that in his bedroom, their silhouettes forming dark shapes on the wall. The night sky outside, the moonlight bathing him from head to toe, and the way she lost herself looking into his eyes was more than enough to send her over the edge.
She came on top of him, and he maneuvered her onto her back, drove into her with a few more pumps, and came with their fingers interlocked, like the rings, above her head.
Colin pressed his back against the corridor wall and waited until the elevator doors closed to release the painful breath he held. He loved Eija. Having grown up as an only child, she felt like the only sister he’d ever known. They hadn’t gotten along well in the beginning—both their heads hadn’t been able to fit in the same room—but that didn’t last long. She went from partner to family almost overnight.
Yet, as much as he loved her, he didn’t understand her. He didn’t understand why, all of a sudden, she was allowing men to sabotage everything INTERPOL had worked on over the last several years. First, her fixation on Andrei in Grenada and now this—literally sleeping with the enemy.
In the past two years alone, she’d made three major mistakes. This one he couldn’t see Randy forgiving if he found out.
Colin placed a hand on his stomach where a gnawing feeling had grown ever since the beginning of the op. It hadn’t made sense; why hadn’t Dominik Sokolov showed up yet? Everything had pointed to the Bratva prince having made an appearance, yet each time they asked, Eija said he was a no-show.
Overlooking Dominik was one thing, but fucking the man? Fucking one of the most sought after criminals in the world? Their target?
When he confronted her, he hoped she told him the truth. He hoped she gave him a reason she’d fucked up this badly that at least toed the line between justifiable and catastrophe. If she couldn’t, he’d do everything in his power to convince her to retire.
He walked back to the apartment, slouched against the door, and dragged his fingers through his hair.
“Eija, why the fuck did you do this?”
The door handle rattled, and he stepped away just as April opened it.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“No,” he answered. “Change of plans.”
Chapter 22
Dostavka
Dom entered the elegant dining hall and felt the stirrings of tension in his bones. It filtered through the fabric of his tuxedo, tingled in his fingers, and made his heart pound its way up his throat. He grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing tray and downed it in one gulp, hoping it removed some of the edge.
A piano solo of Moonlight Sonata created the musical ambiance, the pianist part of the larger chamber orchestra in one corner of the room. Chandeliers, ceiling lights, and flickering candles set inside lanterns combined to give the room a moody glow. Instead of the event planner’s theme, young love and new beginnings, this felt like the prelude to a massacre.
Yuri touched his shoulder, and he flinched.
Concern drew Yuri’s brows to the middle of his forehead. “Something wrong, my son?”
Dom searched for another glass. “Not really.”
“Well, pull yourself together.” Yuri pointed to the door. “She’s here.”
The orchestra started up, a rendition of Bach’s Prelude in C Major.
Dom faced the door…and stopped breathing.
Blue and brown.
All he saw was blue and brown.
Royal blue draped Eija’s silhouette. Her gown tumbled to the floor in waves with a ruffled slit up the middle, giving him a sultry glimpse of her legs. It was one-shouldered with a small knot on the shoulder, and where blue ended, her skin began, like some sort of tropical, exotic, erotic border. Then there was her graceful neck where the necklace, his necklace, sparkled.
That hair he loved so much was swept to one side and held in place by diamond-studded combs. Her mouth, lips soft and sweet and fresh in his memory from the night before, was accentuated by a deep red tint.
“Doesn’t she look beautif
ul?” Yuri asked. “See how the room fell silent when she entered?”
His eyes darted to Leah, who stood next to Eija.
Her dress was pink…or something.
Leah spotted them and headed over, her elbow hooked with Ale Strinati’s. Dom kept his gaze on Eija until she looked up. When she did, she smiled and gave him a small wave. He covered his heart with one hand, and she lowered her eyes before turning away.
“Dominik Sokolov.” Leah’s father extended a hand, and Dom absent-mindedly shook it. Eija had walked to the left, and he’d assumed she was going to her table, but he didn’t see where she’d gone.
“Hi, Dominik,” Leah greeted. “Mr. Sokolov’s son. Papa gave me the news last night. I’m honored to be welcomed into your family.”
He suppressed a smile, recalling the London predicament in Eija’s suite. “Hi. How are you doing tonight?”
“To be honest,” she pressed her palm against her stomach, “I’m a little nervous. What about you?”
Where the hell could Eija have gone? There was no missing her in that dress. Not underneath these lights.
“Shall we proceed with the ceremony?” Yuri asked.
Dom found her in the back corner near the kitchen, and his blood flashed hot. Mori had roped her into conversation, and whatever he’d just told her made her laugh out loud.
“Dominik?” Leah called.
Another server passed by, and Dom downed a second glass of champagne, eyes stuck on Mori and Eija. Mori could be charming when he wanted to be, and Eija thought she was single. If Mori didn’t step away from her, fuck a relationship with the Yakuza.
He mumbled a quick, “Excuse me,” and headed in their direction. It didn’t matter anymore. No one was going to tell him he wasn’t going to be with the woman he wanted to be with. He was done entertaining antiquated, chauvinistic bullshit. All he wanted, the only thing he wanted, was Eija.
She spotted him walking over and discreetly shook her head.
He didn’t stop.
“Dom,” she scurried forward to meet him, “what are you doing? You’re supposed to be back—”
His mouth landed hard on hers, squelching her protests. Not long after, she gave in, lips parting. She wrapped her fingers around his forearms, and he cupped the back of her head, both of them ignoring the gasps and murmurs.
This.
This confidence in her kiss, Eija’s quiet moans, their bodies gently pressed together. It was all he’d wanted. It was everything he wanted.
One minute, he was kissing her.
The next, he was underneath collapsed tables.
Chapter 23
Dom’s ears rang. Through the ringing, he heard yelling. Screams. Bloodcurdling screams. Smoke billowed everywhere, black diffusing into gray, and when he inhaled, he welcomed a lungful of concrete dust.
He unfolded his body from underneath the tables and was hit, in the face, by carnage. An entire section of the event hall was missing. Fire had erupted in two corners of the room. Bodies were facedown on the floor, in pools of blood, some moving and others still. Some were in pieces.
Ale had his arms wrapped around Leah and both appeared to be safe.
Neither Ekaterina nor Yuri were near the spots where he had last seen them.
He looked around.
Or Eija.
“Eija?” He scanned the room for blue. “Eija, where are you?”
A groan sounded behind him.
He turned to find her trapped underneath an assortment of tables, several bent completely in half. Her dress had torn at the shoulder. Spots of blood and dust covered her face.
“I’m going to pull you out, okay?” he told her, the tables obviously too tangled to move. “Do you feel stuck to anything? Trapped underneath any pieces?”
Despite her predicament, her voice remained calm. “I don’t think so.”
He tucked his hands under her underarms and pulled. She released a scream, and he immediately stopped.
“Eija, where are you hurt?”
“My leg,” she coughed, “was folded in a weird position. Go again.”
The ringing in his ears was subsiding, but the screams had grown. Now that some of the dust and smoke had cleared, faces could be seen. The living searching for the dead. The living finding the dead.
Dom pulled again.
Eija clamped her jaw shut until he had her freed from the tables. He helped her up to stand, but when she tried to put weight on her left leg, she faltered. They both looked down at the same time—a metal rod had gone straight through her calf.
“I need to get you to a hospital,” he said, shouting now to cut through the moans and wails. “Hold on to me.”
She shook her head. “No. We can’t.”
“Eija, I don’t have time for—”
“Look.”
He barely got the chance to turn his head.
Gunshots broke through the screaming. A group of at least a dozen, all wearing army fatigues and black masks, stormed into the venue. Dom pulled the piece from his hip and found the nearest wall to use for cover.
“The South exit,” Eija said. “If we can get through that way, we’ll be fine.”
“How do you know?” He raised his gun and picked off two from the masked group.
“We have no other choice.”
“I don’t have nearly enough ammo for us to cut through this shit.”
As though summoned, Pavel appeared, holding a pistol in one hand and a rifle in the other. Dom reached out and Pavel handed him the rifle. The pistol, he gave to Eija. She waved away Dom’s protest, checked the clip on the gun, and returned to leaning back against his side without missing a beat.
He’d wondered why she’d visited the couple the other day, and the reason she’d given him for stopping by had been plausible until six seconds ago.
“Pavel, you see that door?” she asked, pointing. “Think you can get me and Dom over there?”
Pavel nodded. “Yes, Miss K.”
“Dom?” She looked up at him. “I’ll need one of your arms to hold me up, but the other…I’ll need you to shoot. Can you do that for me?”
He’d never been more confused and turned on at the same time in his life.
“Yeah.”
“Now, I have a pistol.” She checked the safety on the gun. “Dom has a rifle and Pavel, you have a semi-automatic. That means the three of us should be able to get to that door,” she ticked her head, “which will get us to the South exit. Are we in agreement?”
For a man not used to taking orders—at least, outside of his orders here in Moscow—Dom found it hard not to automatically fall in line with each word Eija spoke.
“We’re in agreement,” he and Pavel replied.
“Good, then.” She pulled back the hammer on the pistol. “Let’s move, gentlemen.”
They used columns, walls, and fallen furniture as shields, staying close to the edge of the room. Dom kept one arm around Eija, both her feet off the floor, and Pavel covered the rest of their semicircle. Mori and his men had joined in returning fire, pushing the masked intruders back. The rest of the Bratva in attendance had activated. Judging from the gaping hole in one part of the venue, it was where the blast had occurred. The last Dom remembered, Ekaterina had been close to that area just before the explosion.
He, Pavel, and Eija pushed through the South exit door into an empty corridor.
Eija motioned to him. “Dom. Pain. Help.”
Dom extended his rifle in Pavel’s direction. In the process of lifting Eija into his arms, he swiped the back of her injured calf. Blood covered the entire limb. If she didn’t get help soon, she would lose her leg.
She tucked something inside his jacket pocket.
“What’d you just give me?” he asked.
“I…fucked up.” She lowered her face to his shoulder and squeezed tight. “Even now…it’s the wrong exit.”
“Eija, pick up your head. You’re going to be okay, baby. Just breathe.” He kissed whatever spots on her h
ead he could reach. “I’ve got you. Nothing’s going to happen.”
“You don’t understand. The plan…was…the north.”
“The north?”
“North exit.”
Pavel fired off rounds as they passed an adjacent hallway.
“I…betrayed,” she added.
“Who, baby? Who’d you betray?”
“Everybody.”
They came to the door.
Pavel went through first, and he followed before Pavel could give the all clear. Whatever was out there, they’d just have to handle it. Eija needed help, and that was worth a few bullets.
He’d been expecting hired guns, not a fleet of armored vehicles and men in uniform with guns aimed in their direction. At the helm of the arch was one-half of the couple from the apartment—the redheaded man. And, seeing him now, Dom realized he’d seen the man’s face somewhere else before but couldn’t yet remember where.
Had they asked Eija about him?
Was that why today had gone the way it had?
“Dominik Sokolov,” the redhead said, through a megaphone, “get down on the ground.”
Dom shook his head. “She needs medical attention.”
“Put the girl down and get down on the ground. The quicker you do so, the quicker she’ll be able to get that medical attention.” The man’s tone changed from authoritative to pleading. “Please.”
“Eija?” He shook her until her eyes opened. “Eija, I have to do what they say or you’ll die, okay? But I’ll find you, baby. I promise I’ll find you. I love you. Hold on for me. Can you do that?”
She nodded.
He kissed the top of her head and set her down.
A team of three medics shoved their way between the human perimeter and rushed over to her.
“On the ground, Sokolov,” the redhead repeated.
Dom did as he was told. He searched to see if Pavel had escaped, but a hard hit from the butt of a gun nearly cracked open his skull.
“Stop it!” Eija screamed. “Don’t hit him! He’s fucking complying!”
Prince of the Brotherhood: A Mafia Romance Page 19