“Learn some respect.”

“Respect is earned, not learned.” He grabs a muffin and points at me with it. “Look at Volkov here being a mute little princess, but everyone at this table will stop and listen when he actually speaks.”

I lift my coffee to my lips and take a sip, paying him no attention. Maybe showing up here was a mistake after all. I could’ve worked out with Kolya, Yan, and the rest of my guards to ward off the tension. Now, I’m forced to participate in their endless—and as usual, useless—fights.

“Do you have anything to say, Adrian?” Kirill asks in his suave voice.

“About?”

“The Italians. You’ve been looking into them, haven’t you?”

“I’m getting to know the Luciano family’s dynamics, yes, but I’m not close enough to make any statements.” I stare at Sergei. “The Pakhan will know if I make any progress.”

“I don’t like to rush you,” the Vor says. “But we need the Lucianos, Adrian.”

“They’re making deals with the Colombian cartel and we need in,” Vladimir elaborates as if I don’t know that already.

Just because I don’t attend morning meetings, doesn’t mean I’m not privy to the brotherhood’s affairs. I have a direct line with Sergei, as I previously did with his brother, Nikolai. Nothing is discussed at this table before the Pakhan asks for my opinion about it.

Igor interlaces his fingers in front of him, meeting my gaze as if I’m the only one in the room that he cares about. “If the Lucianos have all access to the South American cartels, they will have more power. They already cleaned their territory by wiping out the other families from New York, except a few Rozettis scattered about. Lazlo Luciano is power-hungry enough to come at us to ensure no one breathes in their presence.”

Damien slams his fist on the table, rattling the coffee cups. “Let him come and I’ll erase him and his little fucking soldiers.”

Kirill releases an exasperated breath. “War is the last thing to think about, not the first.”

“Maybe we should kill them all before the Colombians get involved.” Damien widens his eyes as if he’s come up with the most genius idea.

“Declaring war on our allies is a sure way to have everyone riot against us,” Vladimir explains calmly, slowly, as if he’s speaking to a kid.

“We’ll kill them, too.” Damien grins.

“Shut the fuck up, Orlov,” Mikhail snarls.

“Or what? You’ll unleash your pussy-whipped soldiers on me?”

“My pussy-whipped soldiers, and even my whores, have more common sense than you.”

“Point is,” Igor cuts off Damien and Mikhail’s quarrel. “We need that partnership with the Italians.”

“I’ll have something for you soon, Pakhan,” I say.

“How soon?” Sergei doesn’t hide his pleasure.

“Before the deal with the Colombians.”

“Now we’re talking.” Kirill smirks. “What’s your method?”

I take my time sipping from my coffee, letting its bitter edge coat my throat. “That doesn’t matter. The results I bring do.”

“As usual.” Sergei raises his glass of juice in my direction and I raise my cup.

Kirill is still watching me, no doubt wanting to figure out my method, but no one will know my in with the Italians.

If it were a few days ago, I would’ve told them all about Lia Morelli, but after today, she’ll remain locked between me and myself.

She’s now my secret.

Dirty.

Dangerous.

And entirely fucked-up.

10

Lia

My life goes on.

Or at least that’s what I’d like to believe a week later.

In my attempt to gather myself together, I pretend that my life does go on. That I didn’t witness a murder, didn’t kiss the murderer, then fantasize about fucking him and come by his stimulations. Twice.

Because that orgasm when I was drunk? Yeah that wasn’t entirely me. I was merely adding a little friction to the avalanche he’d already caused by playing with my nipples.

I can blame all that on how sensitive they are or how drunk I was, but the fact remains that I was turned on by him, by his presence and calm savageness.

But that wasn’t all. I asked him to fuck me.

In my drunken state, I nearly begged him to take what he wanted. Yes, I thought it’d hasten the process for him to leave me alone, but a hidden part of me craved that depravity.

Maybe too much so.

I suck in a deep breath as I land in Ryan’s arms. It’s our last move for today’s rehearsal and I’m ready to go home, snuggle up in a blanket, and listen to some music. Hopefully, I’ll fall asleep without my pills.

And without having any nightmares.

Ryan’s fingers slide up my hip, feeling me up as he puts me down.

He always does shit like this, touching me when he shouldn’t. Stroking me as if my body belongs to some sort of exotic animal he wants to study.

“Let me go,” I grit under my breath.

“It’s part of the choreography, sweetness.”

“No, it’s not.” I push him away, but he digs his fingers into my hipbone.

“We’re supposed to act as if we’re in love, so how about you become a bit more cooperative?”

“It’s called acting, Ryan. It’s not real.”

“True acting is derived from real life.” He licks his lips, subtly grinding his erection against my belly. “You should try it sometime, life.”

I elbow him, disgust coiling at the bottom of my stomach. I’m such a hypocrite. I’ve been dreaming about a damn killer since he left my apartment a week ago, yet I feel nothing but disgust for my dance partner.

But Ryan has serious behavioral problems. No matter how much I push him away, he takes it as an invitation to come back for more.

While I respect him as a dancer for his flawless posture and technique, I loathe him as a human being.

He leans in to whisper in my ear, “You’re supposed to trust me since I always catch you, sweetness.”

“While acting.” I try to push him away again.

“What’s going on here?” Hannah, his latest acquisition, barges between us, glaring at me.