26. RADOMIR

Chapter 26

RADOMIR

Gunner’s voice drones on, but I’m barely listening.

“Olive hasn’t said a word worth a damn. All she keeps repeating is that the Molchanov, Mirochin, and Fabri time is coming to an end. That soon, a new king will rise in Vegas and all the other territories you bastards rule—sponsored by two of the most powerful corporations in the world.”

I frown, my chest tightening. My eyes snap to him, but my thoughts are spinning. Olive’s cryptic words rattle me, and I don’t like feeling unsettled. Who is this new rising king? How has he managed to infiltrate mine and my cousins organizations. That’s the part that sticks.

Nikolas? My gut says no. If he’s involved at all, it doesn’t make sense for him to answer to anyone—let alone someone with power to rival ours. Olive had said king, not queen.

I clench my jaw, pushing the thought aside for now.

Movement catches my attention. Across the room, Oleksi steps toward Gavriil, who’s standing with Tara, Sabrina, and Leigh. The conversation looks harmless, but Leigh’s reaction isn’t.

She stiffens. Fear radiates off her, pale and unmistakable, as she inches away from Oleksi’s towering form. She’s terrified of him. I noticed it earlier, too, but now it gnaws at me. Why Oleksi? Why my cousin?

“Boss?” Fredrik’s voice pulls me back. He claps a hand on my shoulder, a smug grin in place. “Congratulations. It’s about damn time you put a ring on that firecracker. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Fredrik,” I warn, my voice clipped.

“Relax,” he chuckles. “She’s a handful, but a beautiful one. You’ve outdone yourself.”

I nod absently, scanning the room again.

Dolph joins us then, all business. “We need to talk about the replenishment plans for those shipments that were hit.”

I make a noncommittal grunt, already losing interest. “Tomorrow.”

Dolph narrows his eyes but doesn’t argue. “Fine. Tomorrow.”

“Where’s Viktor?” I ask, suddenly aware of his absence. I haven’t seen him once today, which isn’t like him.

“With Judy,” Dolph answers. “She’s trying to root out any more traitors. Viktor’s helping.”

Satisfied, I nod, my focus shifting back to Leigh.

She hugs Sabrina first, then Tara, murmuring something I can’t hear. Her face softens, her shoulders relax, but then she excuses herself briskly and leaves the room. Tracy falls into step beside her.

My fists clench as I watch her go.

I turn and make my way toward Oleksi and Gavriil, ignoring whatever business they’re eager to discuss. “We’ll do this tomorrow afternoon,” I cut them off. “I need a word with Sabrina.”

They nod and drift away, leaving me alone with Sabrina.

Her dress is scarlet, not black, and I raise a brow. “Scarlet, Sabrina? I thought you were going to wear black?”

She grins, sly as always. “I’m wearing red because my heart bleeds for my best friend.”

Despite myself, I laugh. “You’re insufferable.”

“Thank you.”

I let the smile fade. “Leigh’s had episodes today.”

The humor drops from Sabrina’s face. “What kind of episodes?”

“Something’s triggered her memory. She shut down completely earlier. I asked Dolph to find the fourth journal, but he couldn’t.”

Sabrina stiffens. “You think Leigh has it?”

“It’s a possibility.”

Her lips press into a thin line. “Radomir… after Leigh woke up from that coma, she had terrible nightmares. Screaming, night after night.”

My stomach knots. “Nightmares?”

She hesitates, then meets my eyes. “She kept waking up screaming about someone. She called him the Iceman.”

The name hits me like a punch to the gut. My blood goes cold. “The Iceman?”

Sabrina’s brows furrow, her mind working at something. “Yeah. Why? Do you know what that means?”

“She muttered that name before she went catatonic,” I say, more to myself than her.

Sabrina pales. “Radomir…” Her voice drops to a whisper. “We need to find that fourth journal. I think I remember something about an Iceman, but it wasn’t in the others. It must be in that one.”

She leaves me with those words, the weight of them hanging over my head. The Iceman . Who the fuck is he?

The penthouse feels suffocating suddenly, full of unanswered questions and too many moving pieces. I clear the room, dismissing my men and the lingering guests. It’s late, and I want this day over.

Pushing aside thoughts of kings, traitors, and journals—I go in search of Leigh.

I find her in my room, the sound of the shower running. Tracy’s gathering her dress and freezes when she sees me.

“Where is she?” I ask.

“In the shower, sir.”

I nod toward the door. “Leave.”

Tracy hurries out, and I close the door behind her, locking it. The sound echoes in the room, final and heavy.

I strip off my tuxedo, discarding the fabric like a second skin. My body is thrumming with a need I can’t suppress—one part desire, one part frustration. Leigh’s mine now, but there’s still so much I don’t know about her.

The water calls to me, masking her presence but not her silhouette. I step inside the bathroom, and my cock hardens instantly.

Leigh stands with her back to me, head tilted under the spray. Her dark hair cascades over her shoulders, slick with water, and her body is a vision of soft curves and delicate strength. From the slender line of her neck to the curve of her hips—I want her. Every inch.

Silently, I step into the shower, closing the glass door behind me. The steam curls around us, thick and humid. She doesn’t hear me until my hands snake around her waist, slide upward, and cup her breasts.

Her body jerks, and for a split second, I think she’ll resist. But then I feel it—the subtle shiver as she melts into my touch.

“Radomir,” she whispers, breath hitching.

My lips find the curve of her neck, burning a trail of kisses and nips down her wet skin. My fingers knead her soft flesh, rolling her nipples until they pebble under my touch. My other hand slides down, fingers finding her slick and ready.

“Fuck, Leigh,” I breathe against her ear. “I love how responsive your are to me. How your body quivers under my touch.”

She says nothing, but her body speaks for her. Her head tilts back, resting against my chest as I tease her. I slip two fingers inside her, her walls clenching around me like a vice.

“Look at me,” I command, turning her to face me.

Her eyes meet mine, glazed with lust, and it’s enough to shatter my restraint. I kiss her—hard, deep, claiming her mouth as thoroughly as I’m about to claim her body.

She moans into the kiss, her arms winding around my neck. Her hips move against my hand, grinding in desperation as I push her closer to the edge.

“Let go for me, ptichka,” I murmur against her lips. “Let me see you come.”

Her body obeys before her mind does. She cries out, trembling as her orgasm crashes through her, and I hold her steady, fingers still moving to prolong her pleasure.

When she slumps against me, breathless, I scoop her into my arms.

I carry Leigh into the bedroom, her body limp in my arms, flushed and glowing from the pleasure I just gave her. I gently lower her into as sitting position on the edge of the bed. For a moment, I just stand there, drinking her in—her damp hair dripping onto her creamy skin, her chest rising and falling as she catches her breath.

But I’m not done with her yet.

Grabbing a thick, fluffy towel from the nearby chair, I kneel in front of her. Her eyes catch mine.

“What are you doing?” Her voice is soft, almost teasing.

“Taking care of my wife,” I answer, my voice low and rough, the word wife resonates through me leaving a warm feeling in my chest.

I drag the towel slowly over her skin, starting at one ankle and working my way up. Her leg is smooth beneath my touch, her muscles twitching as I glide the fabric up her calf. My hands linger on her thigh, kneading the soft flesh before I move to the other leg, repeating the slow, deliberate process.

Leigh bites her lip, watching me with wide, hazy eyes. Her breathing quickens when I stop between her thighs, the towel bunched in my hand.

I spread her legs just enough to make her gasp, my fingers parting her slick folds as I lower my mouth.

“Radomir...” she breathes, her voice trembling.

I press a kiss to her sensitive nub, tasting her again. She jolts, her hips lifting as if to chase my mouth. I grin wickedly, wiping her clean with agonizing slowness before abandoning the towel altogether and giving her what she really wants.

My tongue finds her clit, circling and flicking until she’s moaning, her fingers fisting the sheets.

“Oh, God...”

Her moans are music to my ears, but I don’t let her fall apart just yet. I pull back, licking my lips as I rise to my feet. Her cheeks are flushed, her chest heaving, and for once, she doesn’t look guarded. Just... undone.

I grab another towel and drag it over her body, this time slower, more teasing. I trail it over her flat stomach, up to her perfect breasts, where I take my time drying each curve. I roll her nipples between my fingers through the towel, and she shivers, arching into my touch.

“Radomir...” she whispers, my name a plea.

I drop to my knees again, this time pressing kisses to the tops of her thighs as I finish drying her. By the time I’m done, her skin is glowing, and she’s trembling—not from the cold, but from the heat building between us again.

“Your turn,” she says suddenly, her voice soft but firm.

She reaches for the towel, and something sparks in her eyes—mischief and determination. My cock hardens instantly at the sight of it.

“I don’t think so, ptichka,” I growl, but she silences me with a look.

“Stand still,” she commands, her tone matching mine from earlier.

I arch a brow but obey, watching as she steps behind me. The towel glides over my back, slow and reverent, following the lines of my muscles. When she reaches my lower back, she pauses, and I feel her fingertips trace the edges of my dragon tattoo—the ink curling down my spine, wrapping around my waist like a serpent.

Her lips press softly between my shoulder blades, and a groan escapes my throat.

“Leigh,” I warn.

“Shh,” she murmurs, dragging the towel lower.

Her touch moves to my hips, then my ass, and when she slips the towel between my cheeks and down to my balls, I nearly lose it.

“Fuck,” I hiss, my hands clenching into fists. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

She steps around me then, her eyes locked on mine as she drops to her knees. My cock twitches, already hard and aching, as her soft hands wrap around it.

“You’re still wet,” she purrs, dragging the towel over my length with deliberate slowness.

“Leigh,” I choke out, my voice raw.

She drops the towel completely, her fingers replacing it. I suck in a sharp breath as she runs a fingertip over the head of my cock, spreading the bead of pre-cum that’s already leaking out.

“Fuck,” I growl again, watching her intently. Her gaze is dark with curiosity, desire, and something deeper—like she’s trying to memorize every part of me.

Her lips part, and she takes me into her mouth. The heat of her tongue, the softness of her lips—it’s too much, and I nearly come undone right there.

“Jesus, Leigh,” I groan, my hands tangling in her hair. “You’re going to make me lose control.”

She hums softly, the vibrations shooting through me like lightning. I guide her gently, letting her take as much of me as she can. Her mouth works me over, slow and sweet, until I’m on the edge of breaking.

“Stop,” I order hoarsely, pulling her up and into my arms. “I’m not coming in your mouth tonight, ptichka.”

Her lips are swollen, her eyes glazed, and she looks so fucking gorgeous that I can’t hold back anymore. I lift her, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her to the bed and lay her down gently. She looks up at me, dazed but beautiful, and I know one thing for certain.

This woman is mine—no matter what secrets lie between us, no matter what dark truths the journals or her memories may hold.

As I slide between her thighs and claim her again, there’s only one thought in my mind:

Nothing will take her from me.