Velvet Devil: A Russian Mafia Romance (102)

But I want him to. I desperately want to taste him.

“See, Cami?” he says to me. “This is what you really want. You want me. You’re just too fucking proud to admit that.”

I find it strange that he would say that to me at this moment of all moments, when his cock is buried at the back of my throat. Isn’t it obvious that I’m not too proud for anything?

I have managed to give away everything I thought made me who I am. I have sacrificed it all— and for what? A cruel son of a bitch who might just be using me as a tool in his revenge plot.

He pulls out suddenly and yanks me back up to my feet. He grips my ass tight and hoists me up, forcing my legs around his waist.

I gasp as he shoves my panties aside, pushes his cock inside me, and fucks me. I try to cling on to something solid, but the only remotely solid thing in the vicinity is him.

I come so fast and without a moment of warning. And as I do, I feel like my body is giving up on me a little bit at a time. I shiver and tremble and writhe, but he doesn’t stop fucking me until he’s erupted, too.

When he’s spent himself inside me, he sets me down unceremoniously on the window seat and zips himself up again.

It’s over as soon as it started, and clearly, he’s not looking to stick around.

Fine with me.

Whatever we have, it’s pretty clear that it’s turning toxic. I’m not sure if all the secrets between us are poisoning the well or if it was poisoned from the very beginning.

All I know is that I can’t afford to sulk around his house, waiting for him to make a decision about my life. I need to find a way out of here—before I do any more damage to my heart.

It takes Isaak only a few seconds to get himself in order again. When he leaves the alcove, he doesn’t so much as glance at me. I know it’s a deliberate choice. He’s sending a message: I’m dispensable. Just another fuck.

I’m not sure what I look like right now, and I’m not sure I want to find out. My clothes are disheveled, my skin feels dry and sallow, and my hair hangs in knotted tufts around my face.

It’s going to take me ages to look human again. Which I feel is appropriate.

I’ve been hurt. I’ve been broken. And I shouldn’t be able to walk away from that so easily. I’m going to wear these scars like a badge of honor.

Because it’s proof that I made mistakes.

But I survived. I endured. Now, I’m determined to live to tell the tale.

Isaak Vorobev will not get the best of me.





39





Isaak





“How many times?”

“Nine,” Bogdan replies.

“Nine?” I repeat. “Nine fucking times?”

Bogdan and Vlad exchange a glance. Neither one of them were sure how I’d react. But they didn’t expect anger. That’s clear enough from their faces.

“Isn’t this a good thing?” Bogdan ventures. “I mean, Maxim trying to get in contact means that he’s backed into a corner.”

“Or he has a plan,” I retort. “The motherfucker’s up to something. I know it.”

“We’re not going to find out unless we accept one of his calls,” Vlad points out.

“I have nothing to say to him,” I growl. “He destroyed any hope of a peaceful resolution when he attacked me at what was supposed to be a gentlemen’s meeting.”

“I get that,” Bogdan replies. “But shouldn’t we know why he’s trying to get in contact.”

“There is one more thing,” Vlad adds, pulling out a crisp white envelope.

“What’s this?”

“A letter, addressed to you,” Vlad explains, handing it to me. “Bogdan recognized the handwriting as Maxim’s.”

I stare at the letter. My name is printed on the surface in Maxim’s blunt script. It’s still sealed.

I rip it open and pull out the letter sitting inside.

Cousin,

We’ve had our differences, you and I. I’ve done a lot of thinking since we last saw each other. And I’ve decided that the Bratva, this feud, even revenge—it all means less to me than Camila does.

I want her back. I love her. And whether or not you believe that is immaterial to me. I hope she will believe it. Because we have history together. We built a life together. We were planning on building a future together. Yes, when it started, it was all about you. But the more I got to know Camila, I realized that she was worth more to me than my need for revenge.

I am willing to step back, give up my claim to the Vorobev Bratva, and disappear altogether. You can have the Bratva; you can have the power you want. I just want her.

I know you, cousin. You’re a proud man. And you’ve never forced a woman into anything against her will. I don’t believe you would force Camila to stay with you if I was the one she really wanted.

So do this: ask her. Give her the choice and allow her to make the decision on her own. She’s just a device to you, but to me, she is my future. Give her back to me, cousin, and you’ll never have to see my face ever again. You can keep the keys to the kingdom. I will be content with her.

Maxim

It’s hard to get a read on emotion off a letter. There’s something sterile about it. You can hide behind written words because it doesn’t allow the reader access to your expressions, your mannerisms, the little telltale gestures that reveal sincerity or deceptions.