Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 52062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
We eat in silence for a few minutes, before Nikolai speaks. "Did you enjoy spending time with Katya and Andrei?"
My fork pauses halfway to my mouth. "How did you—"
"My house. I know everything that happens here."
He probably has cameras everywhere.
"They're wonderful. Warm. Kind." I stab a mushroom with more force than necessary. "Shame about their boss."
His eyes gleam with amusement. "Is that so?"
"Don't worry, they only had nice things to say about you. Which is strange, considering."
"Considering I'm a monster."
"Exactly."
He leans back in his chair, swirling his wine. "Maybe I'm only a monster to people who deserve it."
"And I deserve it?" I ask, picking up my glass and taking a big mouthful.
“Am I treating you like a monster?”
“You mean apart from the kidnapping bit?”
“Yes, apart from the kidnapping bit,” he says, barely stopping the smile on his lips. “Although, I did fly you in luxury while I was doing it.”
“And then proceeded to drug my vodka.”
“You were gripping the leather seats so tight your knuckles were going to snap. It was a mercy dosing.”
I stab another mushroom with my fork. “Keep telling yourself that.”
The wine has loosened my tongue. But it’s not just the wine. It’s the way Katya spoke about him today, with affection and kindness. And love. Her fondness for him makes him less scary and me less afraid.
Which is stupid.
Because I’m sure there's just as much monster as man in Nikolai Morozov. Maybe more.
“If I’m such a monster would I open my home to you and give you free rein. Has it been an abysmal experience so far?” He asks.
I think of my luxurious bedroom and the 5-star mountain lodge that I would never experience in my everyday world. And about Katya and Andrei and all the delicious food Katya has been feeding me all day.
And this dinner couldn't be more perfect. Delicious food. Mind-blowing wine.
Although the company is a bit iffy.
“No, I suppose not,” I murmur. I take a big mouthful of wine as I glance around the room. “Although, it’s not very Christmassy in here, is it?”
It’s a petty jab, but right now, I'll take what I can get.
He raises an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
I take another drink of wine. I should slow down. But the alcohol is making everything feel softer, and easier. And less terrifying.
"It's three days until Christmas, and you don't have a single decoration. No tree. No lights. Nothing." I gesture around the room with my wine glass. "You really are a Grinch. The least you could do is put up a tree."
"Considering your current situation, I wouldn’t think a Christmas tree is high on your list of concerns."
"Well, it is. Considering you’ve already ruined Christmas for me. The lack of a tree is just driving the nail in really.”
He looks at me like he can’t believe his ears. “You know a lot of people don’t surprise me, malyshka. But you surprise the hell out of me.”
He studies me for a long moment, and something passes between us. Something warm and inviting that makes my chest flutter in a way I absolutely hate.
I drain my glass and try to ignore it.
“So why do you hate Christmas?” I ask.
“Who says I hate Christmas?”
I gesture to the room again.
“Ah, the missing tree,” he says. “It might surprise you, but this isn’t my home.”
I put down my fork. “You don’t live here?”
“Only on occasion. This used to be where my father brought my mom and me when I was a child and he wanted to escape city life. I haven’t been here in some time.”
“Where is home?”
“New York. A penthouse in Manhattan.”
We fall into silence again.
Nikolai opens a second bottle of wine and refills my glass. It's probably my third. Maybe my fourth. I've lost count, and the edges of the room are starting to blur in a pleasant way.
"So," I say, suddenly hating the silence between us.
Because in the silence I feel things I shouldn't.
Like the heat blooming low in my belly when he smiles.
And the need to press my thighs together when he drops his voice to that low, rough rumble that vibrates through my entire body.
My fingers tighten around my glass. "What's it like being the boss of a bratva?"
He pauses, wine bottle still in hand, and those piercing blue eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that makes my heart kick.
"It means everyone answers to me," he says, his voice dropping lower. "Every decision. Every move. Every breath taken by the bratva goes through me first." He sets the bottle down and leans back in his chair, studying me. "It means I carry the weight of hundreds of lives on my shoulders. Their safety. Their families. Their futures."
"Sounds lonely," I say before I can stop myself.
"Loneliness is the price of power, malyshka. You can have loyalty or you can have equals. Rarely both."