Velvet Devil: A Russian Mafia Romance (63)

“You may have been with her for all those months, but you never bothered to get to know her. You gave her hollow gestures; you tried to buy her love. Is it any wonder it didn’t work?”

The room has grown strangely silent. I lift my eyes and instinctively find Cami’s.

She doesn’t look pissed anymore. She looks… stunned. Apparently, she’s underestimated just how much I’ve been paying attention.

Fuck.

“Are you still claiming that you don’t have real feelings for her, cousin?” Maxim asks maliciously. “You forget that I’ve known you my whole life. You’ve never given a fuck about any woman. I pay attention to my enemies. And to all the things they have their eye on.”

“You think you’re the only one who watches their enemies closely?”

“Am I your enemy then, cousin?” taunts Maxim.

“The day you decided to place a hit on my father, you became one.”

“You talk about my crimes without ever acknowledging what motivated them,” he says, his voice thick with anger. “I only righted a wrong that was done years ago.”

“My father didn’t kill Yakov.”

“If you believe that, then you’re delusional.”

I temper my impatience. “Going in circles with you is getting exhausting, Maxi. I have no interest in digging up ancient family history over the phone.”

“Family—interesting choice of words,” he says. “Like it or not, that’s exactly what we are. And the Vorobev Bratva doesn’t fight from a distance like children. It’s time we met face-to-face and talked like men.”

And there it is. He has been angling for this the entire conversation. He assumes he’s led me to the conclusion subtly, but I know Maxim. I’ve always been able to predict his next move.

“I can agree to that,” I say coolly.

“Just you and me. No weapons. And no men. We come alone.”

“Isaak—” Bogdan interrupts, but I hold up my hand. He falls into silence immediately, but I can tell he’s not happy about this agreement.

“Done.”

“I’ll contact you with the details of the meeting shortly.”

The line goes dead a second later.

But I’m still tense. Still raging inside. The conversation got away from me for a moment there in a way I did not like. It’s my own fucking fault.

“Boss?” Vlad says uncertainly.

“Give me the room. Leave the girl.”

Bogdan drops his hands immediately. He’s the first one out, followed by Lachlan and Vlad.

I notice that Lachlan gives Camila a small smile as he leaves. But she’s too busy staring at me, her eyes burning.

When the door shuts, she gives a startled little jump, as though she’s been snapped out of her trance. Then she grabs the corner of the tape and rips it off her mouth. Hissing in pain, she flings the tape to the floor.

I expect her to start raging at me immediately, but she doesn’t. She just stares at me, her eyes limpid. Searching.

“What gives you the right to speak for me?” she asks quietly. “What gives you the fucking right to assume you know my mind?”

“Because I do.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t know me.”

I step around the desk and slowly strut towards her. “Wrong, kiska. You wish I didn’t, because that would be less threatening to you. You wish I didn’t know every little crevice of your mind. Every word of your thoughts. Every image of your dreams. But I do know you, like it or not. Inside and out. Top to bottom. You’re mine. You know it. And that scares you very, very badly.”

She stands in place in the center of the Turkish carpet, though she’s quivering. “Why should I be scared?”

“Because you’re falling for me,” I rasp. “And you’re trying as hard as you can to resist it.”

Her hands clench into fists. Even now, she thinks she can fight back. Thinks she has a chance at winning.

Why is that so fucking sexy?

“You think you know me?” she says. “Prove it. Tell me something real. Tell me something no one else knows—not even Maxim.”

I arch an eyebrow. It wasn’t quite the move I expected from her. But I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge.

I take another step closer. An arms’ length away from her now, I say, “So many things to choose from. You have a secret you haven’t shared with anyone—including your precious fiancé. You’re disappointed about your choices because you hold yourself up to unrealistic standards. And most of all, you fucking love fighting with me. You can’t get enough of it. It turns you on so much that I’ll bet anything you’re wet right now.”

Her eyes get wider with every revelation I hit her with.

Her fists unclench. Her eyes dilate.

“That’s three, little kiska. Should I keep going?”

“You think too much of yourself.”

“I think you should be wary of lying to me,” I remind her. “You know what happened the last time you tried. My seed is probably dripping down your thigh as we speak.”

She winces and turns from me to hide her embarrassment. “Why didn’t you let me speak to him?” she deflects.

“Speaking to that mudak is a waste of time.”