Chapter 31

31

NIKOLAI

F uck. I want to make her say it again. I'm yours.

I watch as Gwen takes another fork full of the chocolate tart, her eyes avoiding me as she swallows the dessert. I lean in again, murmuring, "Say it again."

Her back stiffens, but she covers up her tense body movement with an exaggerated eye roll of fake annoyance. My voice drips heavily in her ear. "Don't you dare roll your eyes at me." She sucks in a sharp breath. "Now, say it."

"I'm yours," she whispers.

A wide smile spreads across my lips. "Now finish your dessert, so I can have mine."

As soon as the elevator doors to my penthouse slide shut, a palpable tension fills the small space. Without hesitation, I push Gwen back against the mirrored wall, my hands roaming her curves with a hunger that's been building all night. Her name escapes my lips like a prayer, "Kotik," and she responds by parting her soft, inviting lips beneath mine.

The taste of her is like a potent blend of rich wine and her own unique essence, addicting and intoxicating. She moans quietly into my mouth, igniting a fire within me that has been simmering all evening. My hands grip her hips with need as I press her tighter against my body, desperate for every inch of her skin to touch mine.

"Nik, please. I can't wait," she whimpers against my lips.

I lean back slightly to look at her, my hand sliding between the slit of her dress to rub over her hip before cupping her ass possessively. "Can't wait for what, Kotik?" I whisper huskily in her ear. "My dirty little cat can't wait until we get upstairs to fuck?" She lets out another whimper as I grip her ass painfully tight.

Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging just enough to make me melt under her touch. Our kisses grow more frenzied and consuming, devouring each other like time is running out. The world outside the elevator seems to fade away as our bodies entwine, seeking more and more pleasure from one another. With a low growl, I lift her up so that her legs wrap around my waist, deepening our embrace.

The moment the elevator doors slide open, the heat between us intensifies, turning our kiss even more fervent. My hands move to the small button holding the dress against her neck, unhooking the dress and pulling it down to expose her full breasts and chocolate nipples. "My naughty girl, had no underwear on all night?" I growl as her cheeks flush. "You will be punished for that."

She gasps, looking at me with wild eyes. "What? Why? "

My grip tightens on her ass as I growl, walking us towards my living room couch. "For making me lose my mind all fucking evening."

She giggles as I kiss a trail down her neck, her skin warm and fragrant beneath my lips, and she whimpers softly.

Dropping her onto the couch, I move placing one knee between her thighs as I start to unbutton my shirt. My gaze locks with hers, seeing the hunger mirrored in her eyes, a primal connection between us that sends a thrill coursing through my veins when a pale box catches my eye.

My body stiffens, frozen in fear as my gaze darts between Gwen's fierce eyes and the lavender box resting on the armchair. A chill runs down my spine as realization washes over me like a wave of ice-cold water. "Gwen," I mutter, my voice trembling with unease. "Get upstairs."

Gwen shifts under me, her brows furrowing in confusion. "Nikolai, what's wrong?" Her voice is tinged with worry. She doesn't understand, and I can't explain it to her—not without revealing just how deeply this darkness runs. She would never understand why a man would deliver his children pieces of their mother, and I couldn't blame her if she ran.

Fear flashes across Gwen's face as she quickly obeys, covering her chest and scrambling away from me towards the stairs. As she disappears into her room, I am left alone with the ominous presence of the lavender box and the weight of my own darkness looming over me.

I can feel the threat hanging in the air; my movements are a methodical panther like crawl as I make my way closer to the soft silk box. What would it be this time? Her right foot with her signature gold anklet still wrapped around the joint, or her head with her face still twisted in fear? Or maybe it would be her blue eyes that match mine?

My presents from daddy dearest have always been worse than my siblings, with an extra splash of depravity since I am the only one who knows of our mother's infidelity, and I have embarrassed him by being head of his beloved mafia anyway.

I am the stain that he can never scrub out, therefore I deserve more of his depraved mind than the others. A mind that matches mine, in a way that almost tricks you into thinking I am his son.

My fingers tremble slightly as I open the delicately wrapped box as if it is a Christmas present. The satin ribbon falls to the ground in a graceful twirl as I gently lift the lid, revealing the fragile contents within.

There, resting on a bed of delicate pink silk, lies a piece of my mother. Her lifeless right hand, once so full of warmth and love, now lays still against the soft fabric. Despite the nauseating scent of her decomposing flesh that fills my nostrils, I cannot bring myself to pull away.

The first time my father did this, it was her engagement finger, complete with the large ring she wore with pride bloodstained on her finger, a paternity test, and a note that called me a bastard. I screamed, practically pulling my hair out as I grabbed at her decomposing flesh. I couldn't sleep for weeks and felt as if I was dying a slow death.

That's how I found out about her infidelity and that father murdered her. He told me that from that day he disowned me and that I was to disappear from New York, never to return. Jokes on him, though; the mafia had already wanted him gone and now I have the motivation to do so. That is only thought that helped me feel alive again, making Boris want to die .

But upon the fifth time receiving a piece of her, my body numbs and it almost feels like these parts are of a stranger. I focus in on a delicate, diamond-encrusted Tiffany watch tightened around her purpling wrist. Its face sparkles in the dim light, mocking me with every glint.

I move the hand slightly revealing a note underneath, written in that familiar sharp scrawl that haunts me.

"A gift for your lover."

I clench my jaw, shoving into my large coat pocket as I yank out my phone. "Lock down the building," I bark into the phone as soon as the head of security picks up. "Search every floor, every corridor, every entrance. I want cameras checked, and I want to know how the hell this purple box got into my fucking apartment."

"Yes, sir," a security officer responds, as I make my way to the elevator and punch the ground floor button.

The tightness in my chest only grows as I stalk out of the elevator.

My mind is racing with a thousand questions and possibilities, each worse than the last. A gift for your lover? How does he know? How the fuck does he know about Gwen? Who told him? Who the hell is watching me? I punch the ground level.

My blood runs cold as one thought rings out above the rest— he knows about Gwen .

It would be safer to take a car, but the distance between my penthouse and my office is three blocks and I am too on edge to sit patiently in the back of a car.

I yank my phone out of my pocket, impatiently dialing Aleksander's number as I grit my teeth .

"Nik," he answers evenly.

I growl into the phone. "I got her right hand and wrist with her missing Tiffany watch."

"Okay. Now we have about 45% of her body back." His voice is matter-of-fact as he speaks. The typing of a keyboard rings across the line.

"Alek, he knows about Gwen," I growl. The elevator doors slide open, and I stalk out onto the street, heading towards my office with a single-minded determination.

"Okay," Aleksander replies calmly, his fingers already clicking away at a keyboard. But I can feel my control slipping as I snap back at him, forgetting that he doesn't understand emotions like a normal person. He's been diagnosed with sociopathy since he was 13, so threats against someone I love don't register to him like they do to me. He doesn't know how to act like he cares right now.

"Call Nadia," I bark into the phone, "Tell her he threatened Gwen. Meet me back at the office in twenty minutes." I hang up before his emotionless tone can infuriate me any further.

My hands clench into fists, nails digging into my palms, as I struggle to contain the rage and fear churning inside me. I am practically running down the street as I make my way to my office, my gut telling me that something is wrong. One thing I know about Boris is that he would not come after the king if he didn't plan on a fucking headshot.

I push through the glass doors of the modern, sleek building that houses my office and Boris's cell. The receptionist greets me with a warm smile, but I barely acknowledge her as I head straight to the stairwell door. Impatiently, I wait for the scanner to recognize my retina and fingerprint before granting me access.

The door slides open with a soft hiss, revealing the dimly lit staircase leading down to our secure underground facility. I skip steps, jumping down the stairs to the basement. As I push open the doors, A rush of cold air hits me like a slap in the face.

The corridors are eerily silent, every shadow seeming to crawl with warning. I don't hesitate as I make my way to the far end, to the cell where Boris has been locked away—where he should be locked away.

But when I reach the heavy metal door, there is no guard, and the door is slightly open in a way that most would ignore, but I know before flinging it open, my worst fears have come true.

The cell is empty.

The cot is untouched, the steel chains lie on the floor like discarded snakes, and there's nothing— nothing —except that single, taunting piece of paper taped to the wall. I rip it down, my heart pounding in my ears as I read the words written in blood.

"Gwen is a beautiful girl, and I have always told you it is not nice to hide your toys. Time to share."