Inked Adonis (Litvinov Bratva Book 1)
Inked Adonis: Chapter 32

After the last couple days, I’m starting to really see the benefits in a panic whistle. Or bear mace.

First, it was Katerina.

Now, another slimy creep is staring me down, licking his lips like he’s a vampire ready to lunge for my jugular.

I stand my ground, trying to hide the fact that my palms are sweating. “You’re not the Mr. Litvinov I came here to see.”

Ilya waves my words away like they hardly matter, walking around his glass desk to be closer to me. “Take a seat anyway. Maybe I can help.”

“I doubt that very much.”

He arches an eyebrow, and annoying as it is to admit, I can see some similarities between him and Samuil. There’s a certain angularity in his cheekbones, a familiar flash of confidence. But it’s in the same way that backyard birds vaguely resemble dinosaurs.

One is a hell of a lot cooler than the other.

“Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee, perhaps?”

He gestures to an espresso machine that looks like it could be made by NASA. Not that that matters. The machine could imbue the beans with the ability to keep you young forever, and I still wouldn’t ingest a drop of anything this man gave me. My skin is crawling just breathing the same air as him.

“Thanks, but I’m good.”

“Come on, Nova, loosen up.” He wags his shoulders dramatically, letting his arms flop at his sides. “You’re dating my brother now. We’re practically family.”

It’s unsettling the way his smile, much like his eye contact, never falters.

“I hear the two of you are living together,” he continues. “Does that news call for congratulations or are you here looking for an out?”

Again, Katerina’s warning echoes in the back of my head.

Is there any chance I have this backwards? Could Katerina and Ilya be warning me away from a dangerous situation? Should I listen?

Then his smile ticks up another notch, and I have to suppress a full-body shiver.

This dude scores a zero out of ten on the vibes test. My intuition wants absolutely nothing to do with him or his creepy questions.

“I just came to talk to Samuil. If you could point me towards his office, then⁠—”

“Then you’d find an empty office,” he finishes, looking smug enough that I dread the next words out of his mouth before he even starts. “My brother is out of town. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.”

That makes two of us.

Despite my initial thought to play this cool and calm, I dig into my pocket for my phone. But I know no one has called. That’s why I’m standing here in the first place: Samuil wasn’t responding.

And that hasn’t changed.

My calls are still unreturned. My messages are still unread.

“I wouldn’t take it personally,” Ilya sighs, clearly enjoying my distress. “Communication has never been my brother’s strength. Especially with his women.”

I put my phone away. “How long is he going to be gone?”

“A week, at least. Probably longer.”

“Do you know why?”

“Of course, I do. Unfortunately—” His grin slips into a forced, pitiful frown. “—if Sam didn’t see fit to tell you, I’m not sure I have the right to. I’d hate to get involved in his personal business.”

With a flourish, he pulls out the chair next to me. “But please, sit. It’s the least I can do after you came all this way for nothing.”

The shock of learning that the man who was inside me last night but failed to tell me he was going to be out of town for the next week is the only reason I can think of for why my legs give out beneath me and I fall into the offered chair.

Before I know it, I’m being offered a glass of water with a lemon wedge on the rim.

I stare past it to the gaunt face of Ilya Litvinov.

The last time I saw him from this angle, there was a gun aimed at my forehead. He must be able to follow the trail of my thoughts because he rolls his eyes. “I forgot my arsenic at home, so the water is safe today.”

“I don’t know why you think I’d ever trust you,” I snap.

He leans back against the edge of his desk, arms crossed. “I see I’ve made a bad first impression.”

“Yeah, waving a gun around like a madman will do that.”

“I guess the failure to communicate runs in the family.” He chuckles like he committed a social faux pas instead of a violent felony. “We’ve never been good at talking things out. Wielding a firearm is sometimes the only way to get my brother to listen to me. Tell me, Nova: are you close with your family?”

It’s a simple enough question, but I feel like I’m being slowly backed into a corner. “Not really, no.”

“So, you don’t see them often?” he asks.

“Not if I can help it.”

He nods. “I see. Interesting.”

“Not really. We all have family members we’d rather never see again,” I point out. “Take you and Sam, for example.”

“Which member of your family do you not want to see?” he asks. “Is it your father, the police captain? Or maybe one of your brothers? They’re both officers, too, aren’t they?”

There it is.

I feel the figurative wall against my back.

I place my untouched glass of water on the coffee table and nudge it towards him. “Is this your cute little way of telling me that you’ve been checking up on me?”

“You can never be too careful.” He doesn’t even bother denying it. Why would he? It’s not as if there’s anything I could do to stop him. “The Litvinovs are an important institution in this city, Nova. We need to be careful who we bring into the fold.”

“I’m not ‘in the fold,’” I say. “I currently share an address with your brother, but it’s not— We’re not⁠—”

At this point, I’m not sure which answer would keep me safer. Should I tell him the truth, which is that this thing with Samuil will not and cannot go anywhere? That he’ll get bored with me and move on, and I’ll be devastated and shuffle back to my side of the city?

Or do I tell him it’s true love? That Sam and I are family, and he’s going to protect me?

Turns out it doesn’t matter.

Ilya has come to his own conclusions.

“If you are living with my brother, you are part of the family,” he declares. “Whether you like it or not.”

Right now, I don’t like it. Not one bit.

I shove to my feet. “I’m leaving.”

I mean it to be a statement, but the unspoken question mark hovers in the air.

Am I trapped now?

Will he let me leave?

Is Samuil going to come back from his trip to find my bones littering his apartment?

I half-expect Ilya to lock me in a cage. I wouldn’t be surprised if a trap door whooshed open, and I fell down a bloody chute to some dungeon where I’ll grow allergic to sunshine and live off of rats.

But Ilya simply walks over to the door and pulls it open for me. “It was lovely seeing you, Nova. I do hope you’ll take care of yourself.”

Now, why the hell does that sound like a threat?

I’m stepping through the door, one foot in the hallway, the other still in his office, when he speaks again. “I suspect I’ll see you again soon,” he adds. “My father is expected to make a visit to the city. He’ll want to meet our family’s newest member.”

Ah. It sounded like a threat because it was one.

I feel his eyes lingering on me as I hightail it to the elevator and cut through the main lobby.

When I finally step into the sunlight, there’s a moment of relief. A brief second where I think, Damn, girl, you just dodged a bullet.

But the fear curdling in the pit of my stomach doesn’t subside.

Because as long as I’m with Samuil, there will always be more bullets coming my way.