After her death, I assume a part of him died, too. His human side. That’s why he’s now an unfeeling monster who cares about no one’s demands but his own.

“Do you miss her?” I whisper.

“She’s dead.”

“You can still miss her.”

“I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have no clue what that word means.”

“You don’t?”

“Not in the practical sense, no.”

“I can explain. It’s when—”

“I don’t want you to explain,” he cuts me off.

“But—”

“Drop it, Lia.” The bite in his tone suggests that he’s done entertaining my questions.

I glare up at him. “You’re insufferable.”

“If you say so.”

His hand lowers until he cups my ass cheek. I wince, gripping his muscled bicep for balance. “You’re sore. Let me take care of that.”

He sits down on the bed and pulls me over his lap. The position is so vulnerable and causes heat to rise to my cheeks and I squirm. “I can lie on the bed.”

I whimper when Adrian cups my assaulted ass cheek. “Or you can stay still.”

He reaches for the ointment he keeps on my nightstand. My attention is robbed by the intricate tattoos on his arms, the way they swirl around his skin, adding another mysterious layer to his personality.

“What do the tattoos mean?” I ask before I can stop myself. I’ve always wanted to know, but I figured he wouldn’t answer. This morning, he feels closer somehow. It could be because he didn’t leave before I woke up or because he told me about himself as normal couples do.

Wait. We’re not a couple.

Right?

Adrian retrieves the ointment and slathers the cool cream on my backside. I wince but soon moan when he rubs it in gently.

“In the Bratva, each tattoo has meaning.” His voice is as cool as his repeated strokes.

“Like?”

“The red rose means I’ve killed before.”

I gulp at the reminder.

“What is it, Lenochka? I thought you wanted to know.”

“I do,” I blurt. “Is the map of Russia?”

“Correct.”

“Do you love it, Russia?”

“What type of question is that? Who doesn’t love their country?”

“I mean, do you love it enough to tattoo it on yourself?”

“No. It’s for another reason.”

“What is it?”

“The vacation I never got to take as a kid.”

“Is that why you have a compass on top of it?”

“That’s to remind me of how far I’ve come.”

“What about the skull.”

“That’s because I’m a thief.”

“A thief?”

“Hmm. How to explain this. The Bratva is also called the Vory, which is to say we’re thieves.”

“So it’s a brotherhood of thieves?”

He dips his finger against my folds. “Something like that.”

I suppress a moan. “Do you like it? Being a thief.”

“I like the surge of adrenaline it brings.”

“So you like the lifestyle?”

“Yes, I do.”

A pang of disappointment hits me at his assertive words. I don’t know why a part of me hoped that he didn’t have a choice in being who he is, that he can quit if he chooses to. But I was only fooling myself. Adrian willingly chose this life because he likes it, and there’s nothing that will deter him from it.

Letting the subject go, I fall into the sensations he’s eliciting in me, how he’s stroking my ass and gliding his fingers through my folds and to my opening.

My eyes flutter closed as I rest my cheek against his naked thigh.

Hot breaths tickle my ear as he whispers, “Don’t fall asleep, Lenochka.”

“Mmm. I’m not.”

“Good. Because I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’ll feel me inside you until tomorrow.”

19

Lia

Adrian made good on his promise.

Getting through rehearsal is torture. I can feel him with every move, every jump, and every damn step. I had to wear boy shorts to cover the welts on my upper thighs. Every time I touch them, I recall last night and the amount of pleasure I got out of it.

The dark type.

The type that’s hushed in corners and kept secret.

Then I recall how I felt when I thought he’d been shot. I shouldn’t have had that reaction. I shouldn’t have been worried, pained, and damn confused.

He’s a mobster, a killer.

But those facts seem to fade day by day whether I like it or not.

After this morning, I feel closer to him more than ever. As if a bridge is building between us slowly but surely. It might be fragile, but it’s there.

Something’s changed.

I could feel it when he fucked me against the shower wall and when we prepared breakfast together like it was a normal occurrence. I felt it when he sat me down on the counter just so he could kiss me. And I sure as hell felt it when he kissed me again before he stepped out.

Those aren’t things a man would do with his whore.

My long day is finally over when Philippe announces it’s a wrap. This is one of our last rehearsals before the opening next week.

I’ve never been this excited about a performance. About taking on a character as complex as Giselle.

Ryan releases me, turns around, and heads to the dressing room without a glance back. I love the type of relationship we have formed since the night at the club—professional. That’s how it was supposed to be from the beginning.

Hannah gets in my face as soon as he’s out of view. “What the fuck did you do to him, bitch?”

I allow myself a taunting smile. “Why don’t you ask him what he did?”

“He won’t talk to me!”

“Doesn’t seem like my problem. He got what was coming to him.” I lean in to whisper, “You deserve each other.”

And with that, I leave her and head to Stephanie.

She smiles, interlacing her arm with mine. “Come with us to this great company opening Matt invited us to.”