“I was just telling the bartender that maybe you don’t like the taste of this Black Sunday.”
My gaze roamed over the newcomer slowly, moving from his waist and up until I met the iciest blue eyes I’d ever seen. A tingle settled at the base of my spine when our eyes locked. I wanted to tear my gaze away, but I couldn’t.
The man had a vicious scar that went down from his forehead, through his dark eyebrow, and ended on the cheekbone. Strangely, it did not detract from his good looks, but it did add an element of danger. After all, what kind of man would get sliced in the face like this? It was too clean a cut to have been an accident. I’d been tortured myself enough to know.
While I found him fascinating to look at, I expected him to let me down like every other man I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting. Could anything good come from a guy with a manbun? Not that it mattered. As I said earlier, I wasn’t trying to put myself out there anyway.
I leaned in and, in the breathiest voice I’ve ever mustered, asked, “what do you think I should drink?” I waited for him to order me some kind of girly drink that had sparkles or glitter at the bottom.
“I bet you’d like a whiskey with a little lime.” He nodded to the bartender, surprising me and arousing my curiosity.
I hid my smile behind a dainty cough. “That does sound good. Why’d you choose it?”
“It’s a little tart and a tad sour, just like I’m suspecting you are.” He motioned to the stool beside me. “Is this seat taken?”
A slow smile overtook my face. “Not anymore.” I moved my purse out of the way so he could sit. It looked like my night was about to get a lot better. Free drinks and conversation with a handsome stranger. What more could a gal want?
ALEXIE
Alexie Petrov
“I demand an audience with your Pahkan!” an accented guttural roar echoed from the foyer. “Now!”
It was late for such an intrusion, but I’d never backed down from a fight. Rather, I itched for one.
As I made my way toward the entrance, I pulled out my PYa. This particular Pisolet Yarygina was my favorite gun, a gift from my father for my twelfth birthday. I’d used it to kill my mother.
Adrenaline raced through my veins, and I felt myself grow cold. Whoever stepped foot in here would wish they hadn’t.
I rounded the corner, gun drawn, then lowered it slightly in surprise. Giuseppe Ricci stood in our foyer, red-faced and in bloodied clothing. He looked like he spent most of the afternoon torturing someone, and I couldn’t help finding myself curious as to whom.
“Don Ricci? What are you doing here at such a late hour?” It was nearing midnight. The only reason I was still awake was for a meeting I had with the guards about bolstering our security.
“I need to see Sergey, it’s urgent.”
His noisy breathing and sweaty brow made me take him seriously. A normally put together man, the don’s collar was loosened, his sleeves rolled up.
I motioned to one servant to wake my father. He wouldn’t be happy, but he would be less angry than if I didn’t bother. Not to mention, Don Ricci never broke decorum. He always addressed my father by his title, no matter who was in the room. When I was small, I asked him why that was, and he said it had to do with respect and never knowing who was watching.
“Let’s go into his office, Don Ricci.” I laid a hand on his shoulder, but he violently shoved me away.
“Do. Not. Touch. Me. Boy,” he spat.
Literal spit on my shoe.
I fixed my jacket and allowed the disrespect to slide. After all, Giuseppe Ricci was my father’s friend and closest ally. I couldn’t cap a bullet to the middle of his forehead like I would anyone else. The treaty would be breached, and it would be an all-out war.
“Follow me,” I barked. I could feel my face heating from the humiliation. How dare he treat me like this. “This way.”
But the Don sneered. “I know where I’m going, child.”
I cracked my neck, then my knuckles, and searched for calm. Don Ricci has known me since I was a baby. He knew just the right things to say in order to piss me off. But he wasn’t all-knowing. He wasn’t even all-powerful. That fucker didn’t understand that I could watch his kingdom burn down to the ground from within, if so inclined. He’d never see it coming.
Puffing up my chest, I walked behind him, putting away my gun. My father stood in his office in a casual suit. He nodded to me, and I ducked my chin. A recognition for stalling the Don long enough for him to get ready.
Viktor stumbled into the side door with blood-shot eyes, like he’d been up for a few days straight. As far as I knew, we had nothing happening that he needed to enforce. I narrowed my gaze. My brother couldn’t be trusted. He hated that he was the second born and frequently tried to usurp and undermine my position.
“What is the meaning of this, Giuseppe?” My father had dropped all protocol since the Don’s unexpected arrival was inappropriate.