46. Matvey

46

MATVEY

When I get back to the penthouse, I'm in a foul mood.

My men. My fucking men, and this is what they've become: a bunch of spoiled millionaires.

And Yuri's concerned I'm not treating them well enough? Clearly, it's the opposite. I've been treating them too goddamn well. Lulled them into a false sense of security by creating an empire too powerful to take down.

Blyat'. We've been on top for so long, they've forgotten what it was like to claw our way there. They've forgotten what it was like to work for it.

And now, they've gone too goddamn soft.

On the elevator ride up, I rub my temples and sigh. I want nothing more than to switch off my brain and sink into April's voice, the easy chatter of her words over dinner. I want to sink into far more than that, but I have to remind myself of all the reasons I can't. Unlike my men, I still have a goddamn grip on reality.

Though I start to doubt that the second I walk into the penthouse.

My first impulse is to reach for my gun, because only a break-in could justify this mess. Right?

Wrong. For starters, there's no blood. The furniture's intact, the couches ungutted. Last time, it looked like someone had taken out a hit on everything in the apartment.

Now, it looks like a bomb's gone off at a Gucci factory.

As I look closer, my suspicions are confirmed: everything at the scene screams "April."

There are fabrics scattered everywhere, a million different varieties I couldn't identify with a gun to my head. Needles and pins are strewn across the carpet, the perfect trap if someone did get the idea to try and break in again—barefoot, that is. I clock about a dozen OSHA violations just while making it from the door to the balcony.

Something rustles in my peripheral vision. I whirl around, still on alert, and I'm treated to a unique sight: April Flowers, emerging from a pile of tulle.

Her bloodshot eyes zero in on me. I don't like how bright they get—like I'm a three-course meal on legs. Fucking Christ, I'm usually the predator here. So why do I feel like the tables are about to turn?

"Oh, good, you're here!"

In seconds, she's inches from me.

So much for keeping our distance.

"Care to explain what happened?" I demand, trying to ignore the warmth radiating off her body.

"Work," April says simply. Which explains fuck-all, but I don't get the chance to tell her that.

Because, suddenly, her hands are on me.

For a second, I'm too surprised to even react. April's been daring before, but this? This is too far, even for her. I'm about to snap at her, demand to know exactly what the fuck she thinks she's doing?—

And then she manhandles me to the center of the room.

"Off," she commands, pulling at my jacket. "All of this—off."

"Give me one good reason why I should do that," I growl.

Part of me wants to comply. A specific part of me, to be exact. Wants to flip April around and teach her exactly who's in charge.

No, I snarl at myself. We can't do that anymore.

But April just blinks. "How else are you gonna put this on?"

And then she holds up another jacket.

Oh. Right. Work. She mentioned that, didn't she?

I force myself to relax. This is still inappropriate as hell—in any other context, I would've given her a piece of my mind—but one look at April's face tells me she's on a different planet right now.

"C'mon." She yanks my jacket all the way off. "We don't have all day."

"It's night," I point out.

"No, it's not." She works the other jacket onto my shoulders. "Wait, is it?"

I jerk my head eloquently towards the window.

April pales. "Where's the sun?"

I hang on the last thread of my patience. "As much as I'd love to explain basic astronomy to you?—"

"Shh." She puts a finger to my lips. "Don't breathe. Your chest's gonna move."

I'm honestly speechless. No one has ever shushed me. Me . Matvey fucking Groza.

But before I can teach April a lesson, her face breaks into a grin . "I knew it! Client's got your same measurements."

"You kept your notes from when we met?"

"No need," April shrugs. "I remember yours by heart."

I inhale sharply. By heart. All this time, and April's had my fucking measurements floating around in her head? She memorized them?

It's been nearly ten months. Ten months—and she remembers .

The urge from before comes back with a vengeance: to flip her around, rip her pretty dress clean off, and show her exactly what I remember, too. All her sensitive spots, all her weaknesses.

I want to plunge my fingers inside her. I want to hear her scream as I torture her sweetness over and over. I want to make her come with my hands, my mouth, my cock. Feel her tight little pussy squeeze me dry as she moans, and moans, and moans .

My name. No one else's.

"Matvey…?" she asks. "You okay?"

I snap back to the present. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know," April ventures. "You're just… looking a little flushed, that's all."

It's a miracle she hasn't noticed my raging hard-on. I'm tempted to blame the food at Venus Lounge, but I know no amount of gourmet jalape?os are gonna get me like this.

Only April.

But that can't happen anymore. I need to get a grip on myself: April is off-limits. It can't be otherwise. That night, I nearly lost her, and it almost tore me apart. I can't let her wield that kind of power over me.

She's a stranger.

She's not family .

And she's never going to be.

I need to maintain a safe distance between us. It's the only way this works. The only way I can stay fucking sane . Distance—of mind and body.

Which would be a hell of a lot easier without her hands all over me.

Without a moment's hesitation, I throw the jacket off. "Hey!" April protests. "I wasn't done."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm?—"

I grab her wrists. "April."

Her breath catches. "Y-Yes?"

"Tell me how long you've been working today."

"I…" She pauses. "How long's the sun been down again?"

I'm taking that as an answer. "We're going to eat."

"But I?—"

"We're going to eat," I repeat, firm. "Because, frankly, I'm fucking starving."

It's not a lie, but it's not exactly the truth, either. I pecked enough at the Venus Lounge to tide myself over until later. But one look at April tells me it's a miracle if she's had breakfast, let alone lunch.

It should make me furious: my child's in there, for fuck's sake. How can she be so irresponsible? Skipping meals, losing track of time?

And yet, the pakhan in me is… appeased. Proud, even.

After the huge disappointment my vory have proven themselves to be, it's refreshing to see someone working her ass off. Someone who still knows the meaning of the word. If half of my men worked as hard as April, we'd have conquered the world by now.

The biggest irony of all is, she doesn't have to do that. If she asked me to provide, I would.

For fuck's sake, she's pregnant . Soon enough, she's going to have a whole kid to care for. Even I'm not enough of an asshole to ignore that. Distance or not—if she asked, I'd say yes.

But she hasn't.

"Okay." April nods eventually.

Only then do I let her wrists go.

The loss of warmth nearly gives me whiplash. I'm overcome with the urge to yank her back, to press myself flush against her and never fucking let her go.

But I won't.

"Okay," I reply. "So let's eat."

Distance. That's what I need to focus on right now. I can't let myself go soft like my vory —I won't. I have to stay sharp. Most importantly, I have to stay the fuck away.

This little vixen's thrown my life in disarray enough already.

After the enemy's been dealt with , I promise myself. Once that's done, I'll move back out. I'll visit the kid. I'll be here for dinner.

And I won't stay a minute more.

Until then…

Until then, I'll have to get a goddamn grip.