Twisted (Never After #4)(32)

She’ll choose me, or she’ll learn what happens to the people who don’t.

Bringing my phone up to my ear, I call her driver, telling him to pull around to the front, and then I make my way back to the table, bypassing my seat and placing my hand in front of her. “Up,” I say.

She looks at me with confusion, staring at my hand. “What?”

I shrug. “We’re leaving. Unless you’d rather stay here, of course.”

“No, I…” She trails off, looking back and forth between the two of us, before she slips her soft hand in mine.

I pull her to a stand and grab the shawl off the back of her chair, my fingertips ghosting across the skin of her collarbone as I wrap it around her shoulders.

“Unfortunately, Alexander, something’s come up and Yasmin needs to leave. But stick around for a minute, yeah? I’ve got something for you.”

He nods, waving us off with the confidence of a man who thinks he’s already locked in the deal as he takes a sip of his whiskey.

I place my hand on Yasmin’s back, leading her through the tables and out to the front where her driver is waiting.

“Don’t ever bark demands at me like I’m a dog again,” she spits when we reach the car, spinning toward me.

“Save your breath for someone who cares, gattina.” I step in close, the tips of my loafers hitting her shoes, and I reach out, swiping a piece of her curly hair off her forehead. “If I tell you to sit, you’ll sit. If I tell you to jump, you’ll ask how high. If I want you to spin around in circles, then drop to your knees and suck my cock until I paint your pouty lips with my cum, you’ll do it with a smile on your vapid face.” Her mouth parts, and my thumb presses into her bottom lip as I lean in close. “And do you know why?”

“Because you’re delusional?” she snips.

I chuckle. “Because if you don’t, I’ll stop being so generous and leave you to the likes of Mr. Sokolov inside. I bet he can’t wait to try out the goods for himself. He seems like the kind of man who likes to taste test before he buys the whole meal.”

She sucks in a gasp, her eyes growing wide with horror. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

Releasing her face, I reach behind her to pull on the door handle and push her into the car. I lean my arm on the hood and peer in. “Be safe getting home, Yasmin. It’s dark out there. I’d hate for anything bad to happen.”

I close the door behind her and watch as her driver pulls the car out into traffic. Then I spin around and make my way back inside to deal with Alexander.

“Everything okay?” he asks when I get back to the table.

I adopt a sympathetic look on my face, pulling my brows in and pursing my lips slightly. “Everything’s fine. Yasmin just had some family matters she needed to deal with. You understand.”

Alexander runs a hand over his blond mop of hair before nodding, his shoulders slumping. “We didn’t even get to the main course.”

Shaking my head, I reach out to pat him on the shoulder, although the touch makes my muscles want to shrivel up beneath my skin. “No worries. I’ll make sure we take care of the staff.”

It’s not what he cares about, but propriety means he can’t say anything without looking like even more of a tool, so he just nods and rises from the table, watching while I pull out the money clip from my back pocket and throw a small stack of hundreds down, enough to cover what was served plus a generous tip. I stop short when I see Yasmin’s phone left on her seat at the table and dip down quickly to pick it up, sliding it into my pocket before following Alexander out of the restaurant.

Once we’re outside, he hands his ticket to the valet. He rests his elbow on the valet stand, shifting slightly every few seconds from foot to foot while we wait, clearly uncomfortable with the silence of the night and the fact that I’m not filling it with conversation.

“I’ve heard of you,” he notes.

“Oh?”

I slip my hands in my pockets and glance around, noting how the crowds outside are starting to thin. My fingers caress the metal of my staff as I glance back down at the fool who thought he’d get Yasmin’s hand in marriage and ownership of the business that’s mine in every way except for name.

“Unfortunately, I can’t say the same.”

It’s not completely a lie. However, I did look him up the moment I left Ali, learning that Alexander Sokolov is the grandson of Oleg Sokolov, who up until three years ago was the minister of industry and trade in Russia.

Alexander doesn’t have much of a name for himself, but his family ties are enough to make him important. Definitely enough to help Sultans barter deals with the Russian diamond trade in a way we’ve been cut off from in the past.

But it’s risky, and I’m surprised Ali was so open to the idea of handing over the entirety of Sultans’ shares to a man who could easily tear down his legacy and sell it off bit by bit.

A black Lamborghini with yellow trim and matte black wheels pulls around, revving like butter as it idles in front of us.

My brows lift, although I’m not truly impressed. I couldn’t care less about cars; they’re more hassle than they’re worth.

I whistle. “This yours?”

Alexander beams, his smile blinding. “You ever seen one in person before?”