“You’ve come on my fingers, Fiona.”
The memory of his words from an hour ago takes my breath away, again. I look up at the man in the dark suit and black dress shirt standing in front of me. The vicious, murderous, notoriously dangerous crime kingpin. The man who’s captured me and locked me away in his lavish mansion. The man who’s kissed me for the very first time, and who’s touched me where no one else ever has.
“You look beautiful,” he growls thickly.
I blush, smiling wryly as I look down. “Thank you.”
“Are you ready?”
“Where are we going?”
“Someplace special.” He smiles. “Someplace safe. Come.”
He offers his arm. I feel a flush tingle through my core as I take it. Viktor leads me through his huge home, down to the waiting car out front. In the backseat, his hand slides across the seat and takes mine without question or permission. But I feel a thrill when he does it.
We ride in silence into the city. But we’re not going uptown to any of the lavish, famous Michelin restaurants I would think a man of his means would eat at. Instead, we drive down through Wicker Park, into an area I recognize as Ukrainian Village. The car pulls down a small alley, until we stop in front of a tiny little place with just one candlelit window.
Viktor steps out of the car and walks around to my side. He reaches in to help me out, and I tremble again when our hands touch. At the door to the tiny little restaurant, an older man smiles warmly and ushers us in, speaking in Russian. Viktor chats back with him as the man leads us to one of the five tables in the place, where we sit. The man places down menus. But Viktor smiles and rattles off some more Russian. The older man grins widely, turning to me and winking before he disappears through a door into the kitchen.
“Karol is an old friend,” Viktor says with a nod towards where the man disappeared. “He helped me greatly when I first found myself in this city.”
“A fellow crime lord?” I say with a smirk.
Viktor looks at me with amusement. Then his gaze slides around the small room. “Criminally under-appreciated, maybe. He’s the best cook I’ve ever met. I’ve tried to give him the means to open a place wherever he wants—hire the best sous chefs in the city, make a real show of it. But…” Viktor shrugs. “He’s happy here with his five tables.”
As if on cue, Karol comes bustling back out of the kitchen holding a big glass bottle of water and two teeny glasses. He sets them down, pours, grins at me again, and head back through the doors.
“I hope you like vodka.”
I pause with the glass I thought was water halfway to my lips. “Uh…”
“Because it’s all he serves.”
I eye the glass in my hands. I’ve drank before, just not a lot, and mostly just a glass of champagne here and there. Maybe a glass of wine or two when Zoey’s come over.
Viktor smiles at me with amusement in his eyes. “You’ve had vodka before, haven’t you?”
“I…” I blush. “No, actually.”
He chuckles. “Well, then only small sips for you.”
“And for you?” I grin back. He holds my gaze firmly, smiling slightly as he lifts his own glass and knocks it back with one gulp.
“For me, this is water,” he grins. “But for you, baby sips, printsessa.”
I smile curiously. “Printsessa?”
“Princess.”
I blush and bring the glass to my lips.
“Just sip,” he says softly. I trickle some of the chilled alcohol into my mouth. I wince at the burn and swallow quickly. My eyes bug out a little at the unexpected heat it brings to my throat. But I don’t actually hate it, I realize.
“Well?”
“I think I like it?”
He grins. The kitchen door opens again, and Karol waltzes out with small plates of food I’ve never seen before. He sets them down with a flourish and then looks at the glass in my hand.
“Da?” smiles.
I smile and take another small sip as he beams at me. “Da.”
Karol chuckles deeply and pats Viktor heartily on the back. He laughs something in Russian, smiling at me before he disappears again.
“Was that about me?”
Viktor chuckles. “Yes.”
“Making fun of me?”
He smiles. “No, printsessa. He said I’d make a Russian out of you yet.”
I blush as I take another sip of my drink. Viktor cuts some of the food up and passes me a small plate of it. I have no idea what I’m eating, but it’s freaking delicious. And the vodka just gets better and better the more of the flavorful food I eat.
“Sips, Fiona,” Viktor chuckles as he knocks back another glassful. He’s had like four of them, and I’m still sipping my first one. He’s also twice my size, clearly a seasoned vodka drinker, and of course, Russian.
“See I thought a tough guy like you would want his dates getting drunk,” I tease. I’m feeling good. I’m feeling warm and flirty, and a little loose. Yikes, one glass of vodka, and I’m already feeling it.
Viktor slowly shakes his head. “No, printsessa. I don’t want you drunk.”
“Oh? Why not?”
He puts his fork down and steeples his hands. He smiles hungrily at me as he leans across the table, his eyes burning into mine.
“Because I want you to remember every single second of me taking you to bed later.”
My heart skips. I gasp as the heat flushes through my face. My core tightens, and a slickness pools between my thighs. Maybe his words make me a little nervous. But they also turn me on like a switch. I look up into the eyes of the mobster sitting across from me. I imagine the restaurant being a bedroom, with those eyes poised above me as he slips between my legs…
I blush deeply and quickly take much more than a sip from the glass.
“So,” I say quickly. “Is this where you take all of your dates?”
He frowns and shakes
