Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 92160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
"You take me so fucking good, beautiful," I growl. "Such a good girl, taking my cock. That’s right, baby. That’s exactly what Daddy wants."
I fist her hair, guiding her, my cock hitting the back of her throat, and she swallows perfectly.
Jesus.
She strokes the base of my cock, licking and sucking my balls until I feel it—until I know I’m about to come.
She nods, encouraging me, eyes burning with hunger.
"You gonna take it?"
She grins around my cock. "Yes. Give it to me. I want to taste you."
That’s it.
I come so hard I see stars, spilling into her mouth, and she swallows every fucking drop.
Her tongue circles me, teasing, stroking, milking me for everything I have.
Fucking perfect.
I needed this.
I missed this.
We collapse onto the bed, the smell of sex thick in the air.
She grins up at me. "I’m game for doing that again."
I chuckle, pinching her ass.
She squeals. "That hurts! You spanked the shit out of me."
"Didn’t give you half of what you deserved," I grumble.
She tilts her head, hopeful. "Is that a rain check?"
I shake my head. "Yeah, baby. It’s a rain check."
We lie in the quiet, my fingers threading through her hair.
I cradle the back of her head, pressing her to my shoulder.
It feels right.
Too fucking right.
"You’re better," I murmur. "But we need to talk.”
She freezes, but before she can say anything, I continue.
"Listen. I talked with Polina."
She stiffens.
I nod, my throat tightening. "Remember, Polina is loyal to Rafail. She has to report anything that could be… concerning. Anything that could impact our Bratva. Potential blowback."
Her brows knit, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Yeah. I won’t forget that."
I swallow, then go for it.
"Polina told me that the condition you have right now can be genetic." I pause, watching her face. "But that it’s likely from scar tissue."
Her expression doesn’t change, but she goes completely still.
"Anissa. Is that true?"
She’s silent for a long moment before she whispers, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I tighten my grip, my fingers pressing into her skin. I’m careful not to hurt her. “You have to.”
“Why?” Her voice is raw. “It’s in the past.”
I lift her hair, twisting gently, just enough to tilt her chin and force her to meet my eyes. Her gaze is wide. Unblinking. But she doesn’t look away. And the raw pain in her eyes makes me vow to kill whoever hurt her.
I’d do anything for her. Anything.
“Because I need to know,” I say, intentionally gentling my voice. I lean in, my lips grazing her ear, my breath hot against her skin. “If there’s someone in your past who hurt you—someone still breathing—tell me now.”
My fingers curl tighter. “Because if there is, I’ll make sure they don’t for much longer.”
I let the words sink in.
She swallows, and for the first time, I see it.
Not fear. Not horror.
Hope.
I press on. "Scar tissue comes from two things, Anissa." I pause. "Surgery or injury." I wait. “Did you have surgery?”
She exhales, then shakes her head. “No. But I won’t be the only one spilling secrets, Matvei. I’ll tell you what happened to me”—she tilts her head, studying me—“if you answer a question of mine."
I nod.
I have nothing to hide.
"I want you to tell me all about the night you had to kill your brother."
Her voice is steady, but her eyes… her eyes hold something deeper.
"I know you want to understand me," she continues, “but I need to understand you."
I wasn’t expecting that.
Wasn’t expecting that at all.
"Fine." My voice is rough. "I’ll tell you anything."
She tilts her head, considering. "I’ll even go first if you want me to," I add.
She nods. "I’m going to take you up on that."
I draw in a breath.
I’ve never told anybody what happened.
The only people who needed to know… were there with me.
If my parents knew, they would hate me even more than they already do—if that’s even possible.
They know he died.
They know he was punished.
They know I was there.
They don’t know why I was the one who pulled the trigger.
"My brother betrayed the Bratva." My voice is steady, cold. Detached. "We have a code. A sacred code. He broke it. And because of that, he faced the ultimate consequence. Vorovskoy Mir, the Thieves’ Code.”
The Bratva comes before all else.
Never cooperate with the authorities.
Never, ever betray your brothers.
She exhales softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Et tu, Brute?"
I swallow.
"He was my little brother," I say, my chest tightening. "I protected him. I loved him. When we were younger, I held him accountable for things, but I never imagined I’d have to hold him accountable for this."
She doesn’t flinch.
She doesn’t recoil.
She just absorbs it.
And the pain in my chest loosens just a little.
"I can see that," she murmurs. "What happens when someone betrays the Bratva?" she asks. "I know what the Irish do—something tells me the Bratva is even worse."