Beautiful Beast (Perfectly Imperfect: Mafia Legacy #1)

Page 70



The reason for my frustration? A tiny little Russian princess who has been pretending that there’s nothing going on between us. I went along with her request not to discuss what is happening in my bedroom because I thought that fucking her would be enough. It’s not. I don’t want her to simply be my nightly fuck. I want our banter. The teasing. Those awful doodles. I want all that and more. But she is still insisting on fixing my IT systems as fast as possible. So she can leave.

When I’m done wiping up the blood and disinfecting the cut, I use a couple of Steri-Strips to bind the skin together and slap a dressing over it. Finished playing nurse to myself, I head to the closet in the corner of the guest room. Most of my clothes are in the walk-in of my bedroom, but a few garments have been left hanging here, as well.

I choose a gunmetal gray shirt and black jacket, then leave the room and walk down the hallway to Vasilisa’s door.

Knock. Knock.

A minute passes.

I knock again, but nothing happens.

“Vasilisa.” I bang my palm on the wooden surface. A sharp pain shoots up my side from the impact.

Silence reigns for a few more moments, but then, the clicking of heels draws closer. The door swings open.

I lose my breath.

And stare.

Fuck me.

“Don’t worry, your dog is ready, Mr. De Santi.”

My brain has checked out, because I just continue to stare like a motherfucker.

Vasilisa puts her hands on her hips and lifts her chin at me. “So, are we going or not?”

“Yes,” I say.

One fucking syllable. That’s the only thing the mush that is my gray matter manages to come up with. I’m too dumbstruck by the sight before me. It doesn’t matter what Vasilisa wears, her beauty is unearthly. But seeing her now—I can’t fucking breathe.

My eyes journey up her slender leg that’s peeking out from between the folds of the gold silk, over her tiny waist and the intricate lace that hugs her breasts and arms, and finally, come to a halt on her face. She doesn’t have any makeup on other than on her eyes. Using an eyeliner and black eyeshadow, she created a smoky look that makes her onyx depths appear larger and more expressive. Her raven hair is gathered into a low bun at her nape, but she left a few strands loose, naturally framing her face. The overall effect is simply striking.

“You’re not my dog,” I manage to utter somehow.

“Oh? So I can say no to going out for the damned cocktails you’ve ordered me to be ready for, and there won’t be any consequences?”

I grit my teeth. “You can say no.”

“Amazing. No!” she barks and slams the door in my face.

I squeeze my hands into fists, trying to calm the fuck down, then knock on the door again. It opens a moment later.

Vasilisa stands at the threshold, her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes are aglow with unhidden fury.

“Would you like to come with me to somewhat of a party tonight? Not an order this time, vespetta. Just an invite.”

“So you’ll be okay with it if I decline?”

“You can refuse, and I’ll turn around and leave. I won’t force you. But I would very much like you to accompany me.” I reach out and stroke her stubborn chin with the tip of my finger. It’s been a long time since I had to work to convince a woman to go out with me. “Please?”

Vasilisa studies me, her eyes wide as she bites her lower lip. Not for the first time, I get lost in her dark magnetic stare for a heartbeat, pulled toward her by an unexplainable force. I move my finger along her jaw, then down her neck, and stop at the dip between her collarbones. “You didn’t like the necklace?”

“I did.”

“But you’re not wearing it,” I lament, caressing the smooth skin below her delicate bones where I imagined the necklace would rest. “Why?”

“This ploy with all the fucking jewelry, Rafael . . . It makes me feel cheap. You know? Like you’re paying me for sex.”


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