The thought of sleeping next to him tonight makes my thoughts spiral.


    You’d better not fuck him or I’ll kill you.


    Yes, I asionally threaten myself with bodily harm. It works. For the most part.


    This time, though? I’m not so sure.


    He walks up beside me as we head toward the conference room in some fancy hotel, his masculine woodsy cologne invading my nostrils without permission like everything else about him.


    The hallway leading there is silent but for the muffled echo of our steps. His hand cups the small of my back, the heat of it searing through the thin fabric of my dress. I hate that I like it. Hate that I want more.


    Everything about earlier in the hotel room ms into my mind. The way he demanded that I undress him, the way he looked at me as I did, like he wanted to take every little bit of me until there was nothing more…


    I wanted that. I still do. And I hate myself for it. Instead of being loyal to my brother, I’m fantasizing about screwing the man who put him in prison.


    “You remember everything I asked of you?” Konstantin’s voice breaks the silence as we get closer to the meeting room.


    I nod, ncing at him for a moment. “Take notes. Don’t get in the way. Keep my mouth shut. Did I get everything?”


    He chuckles. “You make it sound like a punishment.”


    “Only because it’sing from you.”


    His smirk bends like a de, and I feel every inch of it crawl down my spine just as the doors swing open and we enter. The conference room is all ss and marble, a powerfulbination of menace and opulence.


    At least ten men turn to look at us, all in expensive suits, all carrying the same air of entitlement and danger. Two seats wait at the head of the table.


    I falter.


    Konstantin leans in, his mouth grazing the shell of my ear. “You belong here. Right next to me. Don’t let them intimidate you.”


    But that’s not what this is. I can’t afford the risk of being outed. I’ve been involved in too many cases rted to the Mafia and other criminal organizations, and depending on who these men are, they might have crossed paths with me. If one of them has, I’m fucked.


    I force my feet forward, and his hand slips through mine, giving me a surprising reassuring squeeze. He lets me go just as I slip into the chair beside him.


    “Gentlemen, wee. I know some of you have traveled a great distance to be here, and that is not overlooked.”


    They nod solemnly while I uncap the pen on the table and open the leather-bound notebook waiting for me too. I start to write the moment one of them speaks, discreetly looking at every face and not recognizing any of them.


    Relief washes over me. My cover is safe. For now, at least.


    The meeting drones on, words like capital, expansion, and equity buzzing around the marble table. Countries are named. Figures are tossed into the air like poker chips.


    Then I feel it.


    His hand.


    Itnds on my thigh without warning, short-circuiting my brain.


    I inhale sharply, trying to keep my expression neutral while my eyes are on the paper in front of me, pretending I can still take notes while every nerve in my body locks on to the man beside me.


    Konstantin doesn’t so much as nce at me. His gaze is steady, fixed on whoever’s speaking at the far end of the table, like he’s actually interested in logistics and offshore ounts and political red tape. But his fingers move with purpose, creeping beneath the slit of my dress, dragging higher.


    Every inch of exposed skin he touches burns.


    I shift subtly, trying to push his hand away without drawing attention.


    Big mistake. He tightens his grip on my inner thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh like a silentmand.


    Don’t move. Don’t fight me.


    But a part of me doesn’t want him to stop.


    The atmosphere in the room turns suffocating, like it’s pressing down on my chest. I’ve trained for danger. I’ve dealt with criminals. But nothing could’ve prepared me for this—being touched under a table in a room full of men who would probably gut me if they knew who I really was.


    Then he slides my panties to the side, and I nearly choke on air.


    His fingers brush my clit—featherlight, testing, teasing. My thighs tremble. Myshes flutter as I fight to keep from making a single sound.


    One breath too deep, one nce too quick, and they’ll all know. They’ll see it. The way he touches me. The way I react. The way I melt for him while I hate it.


    I grip the edge of the notepad tighter. Words blur. My pen drags over the paper, illegible and shaking.


    Then he pushes two fingers inside me, and I nearly drop the pen.


    The pressure is slow at first. Gentle. But God help me, I want more. I crave it. My teeth sink into the inside of my cheek, biting hard.


    Across the table, someone clears their throat. A man begins to speak again. The words swim past me like white noise.


    Konstantin’s fingers thrust rougher. More insistent.


    I move in my seat and try to push him away, but he only takes me deeper. Like a silent warning that he’s in charge.


    I’m soaked. My body clenches. My thighs quiver violently under the table, desperate for release, for relief. He turns his head slightly, just enough to catch my eye, and the look he gives me is pure sin.


    Oh God, this isn’t happening.


    My body is screaming. And there is no hiding it anymore. I’m going toe in front of a room full of dangerous men, and I’m powerless to stop it.


    Konstantin drives his fingers deep once more, curling them inside me, and my toes curl as a sharp gasp escapes before I can catch it.


    The pen slips from my fingers, ttering against the table.


    One of the men pauses mid-sentence. Another older one narrows his eyes from across the table. His gaze drops to the table, like he’s noticed the rhythm of my breathing. The flush in my cheeks.


    But Konstantin doesn’t care. He keeps going.


    His fingers are slick with me, pushing deeper, circling my clit again with that maddening precision that has me riding the edge of oblivion. Every breath I take isbored, my body drawn so tight I could snap.


    And when I’m almost on the verge, shaking silently in the leather chair, I want to p him. I want to scream. I want to climb into hisp and beg him to do it again.


    “This isn’t a fucking whorehouse, Marinov,” the same older man barks, slicing through the meeting like a de. “Have some respect.”


    The room stills while I freeze, heat creeping to my face.


    And for the first time since this began, Konstantin’s hand stops moving. It rests right where it is: possessive and bold between my thighs.


    His lethal gaze zeroes in on the man. His face doesn’t twist. His posture doesn’t shift. He doesn’t even blink. He simply smiles. That cold, amused, dead-eyed smile that chills the room.


    “Did you just call her a whore?” he asks quietly, almost conversationally. Like he’s discussing the weather.


    The man leans back slightly, not an ounce of fear. “What I meant was, maybe this isn’t the time for that.”


    “And you think you have the authority to tell me what I can and cannot do?” Konstantin’s voice is smooth, yet soaked in gasoline.


    “No, I just?—”


    A sh of movementes before I register it.


    One second, his other hand is on hisp. The next, he’s holding a gun.


    The sound doesn’t register, not right away. Not until blood spatters the marble floor. The man slumps back in his chair, eyes still open, a neat hole drilled between them.


    The room explodes into stunned silence. Not a breath, not a scrape of a chair.


    My body kicks with adrenaline from the shock of it all. He just killed a man. Just like that, in front of the entire room. This is Konstantin Marinov in all his glory.


    And the craziest part is he’s stillpletely calm. As if he didn’t just shoot a man in cold blood five seconds ago.


    He returns the weapon back to its holster, fingers still inside me. His gaze sweeps over the rest of the table, lingering, daring someone to say something just so he can do this all over again.


    “I was getting tired of hearing him speak. Wouldn’t you say, gentlemen?”


    A mumbling sound of agreementes from them as one man clears his throat. Another fidgets in his chair like his dder’s about to give out.


    Konstantin turns to the man who had been speaking before the interruption. “Please. Continue. I promise there will be no more disruptions.” His gaze wanders around the room, as though in a silent warning.


    The man tries to gather his thoughts. His mouth opens, but his voicees out weak, cracked. “Uh…r-right. As I was saying…the expansion into Macau would require at least twenty million upfront?—”


    Konstantin nods, once again engrossed in the topic for a few minutes before his mouth finds my ear.


    “I’m sorry I had to do that in front of you. But if anyone disrespects you ever again, I’ll kill them slower. I want them all to know what it looks like when a woman belongs to me.”


    He’s insane. And also kind of romantic?


    No, murder isn’t romantic.


    But isn’t it, though?


    I’ve clearly lost my mind. Only an insane person would find this romantic.


    His fingers stroke my clit once more, gently now. Teasing. Soothing.


    Another man starts to speak, and my eyes roll back.


    I doubt any one of them would be stupid enough to say a word. Ever again. Terror clings to the room like humidity, thick and choking.


    But not to me. Because beneath the chaos, something else curls in my chest. Something dark and twisted.


    Something that feels like gratitude.


    For once, someone didn’t just protect me. They avenged me.


    How many times did I wish someone would do that growing up? That someone would kill the monsters who hurt me when I was younger? But no one ever came. Not until thatst time when Nate took me away.


    He doesn’t care about you, Emilia. You’re nothing to a man like Konstantin Marinov. And you don’t want to be.


    But even as I tell myself that, the way he touches me makes me forget why this is wrong. Slow, possessive circles at my entrance are like a silentmand that he still owns me in this moment.


    And my body? My traitorous body doesn’t care what my mind screams. It winds tighter and tighter, desperate for the release only he can give.


    Every breath I take is shallow. Every nerve is pulled taut. He works me expertly, like he knows exactly what I need and how to hold it just out of reach until I’m nearly weeping for him.


    The room fades. The voices around us be muffled noise. The tension, the danger, the obscene audacity of it all…it rattles through me like a raging earthquake.


    My thighs tremble. My breath stutters. My eyes flutter shut for half a second too long, the pleasure dragging me under like a riptide.


    My climax rips through me in a blinding rush, and I cling to him, my fingers digging into the hard muscle of his thigh.


    My jaw clenches, holding in the scream that wants to tear free. My body jerks once, twice, hips straining against his hand as I ride it out in pure silence. His head tilts toward mine, his breath a wicked brand against my skin as he pulls his fingers away with a soft, wet sound.


    “You’re perfect when youe for me.” His lips brush the shell of my ear. “Don’t hide it. Let them all see you’re mine.”


    I’m not yours! I want to scream out loud, but I’m too far gone.


    His hand returns to my thigh and he keeps it there, like a chain. And in this moment, with his scent all over me, my body still shivering from the aftershock, I know one terrifying truth.


    If I’m not careful, I won’t just belong to him. I’ll want to.