Beautiful Beast (Perfectly Imperfect: Mafia Legacy #1)

“That won’t fit,” Vasilisa mumbles following my gaze.

“Albini will make sure it’s adjusted. Go try it on.”

Vasilisa’s dainty teeth sink into her lower lip, brutalizing that soft pillowy flesh as she regards the store attendants removing the gown from the display. With her eyes twinkling and filled with wonder, she exudes pure innocence and ravenous yearning, similar to a child longing for their favorite candy while knowing they can’t have it before finishing their lunch.

“Okay,” she whispers and trails behind Albini as he carries the gown toward the dressing room.

I wait a few of minutes, then follow. The owner has stationed himself at the door, hands clasped in front of him.

“It’s the most exquisite garment we have, Signor De Santi. Every stitch is made by hand, sewn with a golden thread. I’m sure the lady will—”

I turn the knob and step inside the fitting room, closing the door in Albini’s face. The drapes on the far side are drawn, but there’s a narrow gap between the panels. As I approach, I catch a glimpse of Vasilisa. Those sexy black stilettos are on her feet, and she’s got the skirt of her dress pulled up a bit and seems to be twirling in place.

“Um . . . I think I’ll need help with the buttons.”

I cast a look at the saleswoman who was just about to offer her assistance. “Out,” I whisper.

She tenses, then rushes out of the room, taking the other two attendants with her.

“Well, it’s not as bad as I figured. Only half a foot too long,” Vasilisa continues from behind the curtain.

Seizing the two sides of the heavy drapery, I slide them apart, revealing Vasilisa as she holds up the skirt and examines the hem.

“But these buttons at the back are hard to”—she looks up, her eyes widening upon seeing me in her space—“reach.”

“Turn around.”

For a few moments, Vasilisa remains unmoving, her onyx-colored eyes staring into mine before she slowly pivots. Our gazes clash again in the mirror, and I hold her eyes captive while finding the first button at the small of her back. It’s tiny and round, and it takes me two tries to fasten it.

Is it because of my big fingers?

Or is it simply her, messing with my concentration?

I move my hands up to the next button, lightly brushing the silky skin along her spine with my fingertips. She trembles at my touch.

Is it in fear?

Button number three, done.

Another shiver.

Or is it from the uneasiness of having someone like me touch her? Does she find me repulsive?

I gently stroke along her skin, languidly this time, and enjoy the prolonged contact.

Vasilisa’s breathing becomes rapid. Maybe the dress isn’t enough. It’s just a piece of cloth, hardly suitable compensation for her consideration of my advances. More jewelry, perhaps? She hasn’t worn the necklace I bought her. Maybe it’s too heavy for every day? A bracelet, then. I’ll drop by my jeweler and see what he has in his latest collection.

There’s only one button left, the final one between her shoulder blades. I place my thumb at the base of her neck and slide it down, over the peaks and valleys of her spine, marveling at the feel of her soft skin. Then, I fasten the last button and just watch my Russian princess in the mirror.

The delicate floral lace wraps her upper body like a second skin, the pattern accentuating her little waist and elegant arms. The flowy silk skirt falls around her gorgeous legs, hiding them from my view, except for her right foot, which peeks out from between the folds.

She looks ethereal. Like she came from another world.

I take a step closer, so my front touches her back, and bend until my chin rests on top of her head.

“Tell me, Miss Petrova, how many hearts of men have been stomped by your tiny feet so far?”

Those dark eyes narrow in the mirror. “None.”