Throne of Power: Chapter 17

I find Adrian in his car downstairs.

He lifts his chin in greeting, and I do the same as I slide beside him.

We don’t take off right away, though. He looks through the window and makes sure all his guards are in place. It isn’t a surprise since he’s known to be careful. It’s his silent strategic nature that’s allowed him to be one of the strongest pillars of the Vory, if not the deadliest.

“Where are your guards?” he asks.

“I don’t need them.”

His light grey eyes flicker a little. They’re muted a dull cloudy sky, but at the same time, they’re intense, hard, and merciless. It’s strange how they add to his ruthless personality. He doesn’t show it often, but when he does, it’s game over.

His general appearance is different from the rest of the leaders. His jet-black hair and trimmed beard are always meticulous, and yet seem rebellious. He can pass as the least Russian-looking or the most, depending on whether he speaks in an American or a Russian accent. He uses that tactic a lot when he does his thing for the brotherhood.

“Underestimating your opponent is a sure way to be defeated before you even get started, Kyle.” He uses the American accent.

“They can’t reach my level.”

“Arrogance is another way to lose.”

“Stop the philosophical bullshit. I did get myself a guard after Igor insisted.” I search the crowd for a bleached-haired brat. “There he is.”

Adrian raises an eyebrow. “He looks like a kid.”

“That’s because he is one. Barely twenty, newly recruited orphan, school dropout. I’m teaching him the ways of the Bratva.”

“How would you teach him something you don’t believe in?”

“Hey.” I pretend to be offended. “Just because I don’t sing the Russian anthem doesn’t mean I’m not part of this holy union.”

“We don’t sing the Russian anthem. Do you even know why the Bratva started?”

“Sure do—USSR and World War bollocks that I’m not interested in hearing about. What I am interested in, however, is your love story with the Italians. What made the overly distrustful Luciano family trust you so much? It can’t be your non-existent charm.”

“It could be something similar to why Rai married you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Blackmail.”

I smile even though I want to snarl.

“What?” He picks up on my change of mood. “She would’ve never married you of her own accord. Even Sergei knows that. Which brings me to the question: what will you do once she figures out who you are?”

“She won’t.”

“And if she does?”

“So what if she does?”

“She’ll turn your life into hell.”

I have no doubt she would do just that.

The image of Rai’s defiant expression earlier comes to mind, the way she stared up at me even when she was suffering. The way she slapped me to prove a point. That woman is made of hard steel with incomparable tenacity. Nikolai developed the Russian endurance in her bones, and it fucking shows.

But if there’s anyone who will melt that metal fortress and reach the person that’s inside, it’s going to be me.

The toys and the games are just the beginning, a preparation phase for what’s really going to come.

I will start with her body and end with her fucking soul. The more she defies me, the more tempted I am to break her in.

Which is weird, considering that’s not part of my mission. If anything, being tangled up in Rai Sokolov might compromise what I came back to do. And yet, whenever she looks at me with those challenging eyes, all I can think about is taking her up on it.

“Speaking of the princess,” Adrian says, and my first knee-jerk reaction is to punch him in the throat. Only I am allowed to call her Princess.

I stare through the window, and sure enough, Rai marches toward us with sure, confident steps. Her makeup and hair are fixed, and she looks ready to take over the world.

I wouldn’t be surprised if one day she does—when I’m out of the picture, of course.

She opens the door on my side and barges inside. When I don’t slide in beside Adrian, she sits partly on my lap. It’s a mere brush of clothes against clothes, but my dick jumps to life at her closeness, at the warmth of her skin under the dress, and at the fact that she’s still wearing the toy I shoved inside her.

I inhale deep, and that only makes things worse since her scent infiltrates my nostrils. She smells like an exotic goddess out to destroy her peasants. It’s not only about the intense perfume that makes her presence known, but also the way it mixes with her natural scent.

It takes me a few seconds to get my mind out of my dick.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I don’t contain my displeased tone.

Controlling our emotions is the first thing we were trained to do, and yet, all those years seem to vanish whenever this spitfire of a woman is around.

“You’re paying a visit to the Lucianos, right?”

“Yes,” Adrian says with a calm I sure as fuck don’t feel.

She lifts her chin. “I’m coming, too.”

“No, you’re not.” I try to push her out of the car, but she grabs my bicep, nails sinking into the cloth and my skin. It’s like being scratched by a small kitten. The expression on her face is anything but, though. She’s on a mission and won’t stop until she accomplishes it.

That’s one of the traits that never changed about her: determination mixed with fearlessness.

“You can’t stop me. If you kick me out, I will follow you in my car.”

“And do what?” I feign nonchalance. “Tell Lazlo you’re sorry he got shot at our wedding?”

“Exactly.”

“No. It will appear disrespectful if a woman is sent to visit him.”

Her lips thin into a line, because she knows I’m right. The Italians are as traditional as the Russians, if not worse. They don’t take well to women in leadership positions—at all. The only reason she’s allowed in the Vory’s inner circle is due to being Nikolai’s granddaughter and her being smart enough to remain in the background while her granduncle rules. It doesn’t mean she likes or accepts the sexist reality of the world she was thrown into, though. Rai has always been the type who swims against the current.

“It’s not disrespectful since it was my wedding,” she counters.

“Our,” I correct her.

She glares at me but doesn’t comment on that and says, “Point is, the Lucianos will appreciate the gesture.”

“No, they won’t, and you’re not the one who will be faulted for this. Sergei will appear disrespectful for sending you.”

“He didn’t.”

“They will assume he did.”

“If we go together, it will be more respectful.” She steals a glance at Adrian. “Right?”

Still not participating in the conversation and observing the show like a freak, he shakes his head once.

Rai’s shoulders sag, expression falling. She knows she’s been pushed into a corner and can’t do anything about it.

For some reason, something inside me tightens at the look in her eyes, the frustration mixed with despair.

I don’t want that look on her face. Ever. No idea why, but I just don’t like it.

“Unless you ask to meet his wife?” I suggest.

Adrian raises a brow at me as if he knows exactly where my train of thought went and why the hell I’m saying this when I was so hell-bent on kicking her out.

“You mean, console her?” she asks.

“Something of the sorts, but it needs to look authentic and not out of pity.”

“Then that’s a good reason for me to go with you now.”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because it wouldn’t seem genuine.” I pause, stroking her arm. She’s as caught up by surprise as I am by the gesture, her huge eyes staring up at me. “Set up a brunch for women only and make her the guest of honor.”

Her nose twitches as she winces before she quickly hides it. That’s weirdly adorable. “I’m not good at female bonding.”

“You’re doing just fine with Anastasia and—”

She places her palm on my mouth, shutting me up, and shakes her head discreetly. Right. She doesn’t want anyone in the Vory to know about the existence of her twin sister. I have my suspicions that Adrian has figured it out already, though.

I remove her hand but still hold it in my palm. I don’t know when the fuck touching her became so familiar to the point of turning into an addiction. “Have Anastasia help you and you’ll get through it.”

She narrows her eyes on me in that suspicious way. I wouldn’t blame her. All my actions have been red-alert-worthy.

“I don’t trust you,” she says point-blank.

“As you shouldn’t. The moment you trust me, you start digging your own grave, Princess.”

“Then how do you expect me to go along with this plan?”

“I don’t have to tell you which is the best option. That brain of yours already works in overdrive, so listen to what it tells you.”

She watches me for a second too long. I don’t attempt to cut off eye contact. There’s something addictive about a war of gazes with Rai—another thing that hasn’t changed.

A clearing of a throat causes her to look away first.

“If you’re done with your honeymoon…” Adrian trails off.

“Nah, the honeymoon starts tonight.” I give Rai a suggestive glance.

“As if!” She hits me on the shoulder and opens the car’s door.

“She’s kinky,” I whisper to Adrian.

She swings back toward me, glaring, and a red hue covers her cheeks. “I heard that, and I’m not.”

“Well, one of us is.”

Adrian’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t fully smile. Those are as rare as a passing unicorn over England’s sun.

If possible, Rai’s cheeks redden further, but she chooses to ignore me. “Can I count on Lia to come to the brunch?”

At the mention of his very sheltered wife, Adrian’s demeanor changes even though his expression remains the same. There’s a slight tightness in his muscles that a normal person wouldn’t notice. The reason I do is that we were trained to read body language, especially that of an opponent before an attack. That’s Adrian right now—he’s ready to pounce.

Well, isn’t that fucking interesting?

“You know her health isn’t well these days,” he tells Rai with a smile.

“Come on, it will be in the afternoon and I won’t keep her for long.” When he remains silent, she adds, “I insist. I’ll text you the day and time.” Before she slips out of the car, she pretends to be fixing the collar of my shirt, then leans in, her lips brushing against my ear. When she whispers, her stubborn voice makes my dick fucking hard. “This isn’t over.”

It sure as fuck isn’t.