Page 39 of Never Distract a Biker

Alina’s voice fades, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. I finally lift my gaze, meeting hers. “You’re right,” I say, my voice low but steady.

Her eyes widen slightly, surprised by my admission.

“I’ve been so focused on avenging our father that I haven’t stopped to think about what Scarlett needs,” I continue. “That ends now.”

The resolve in my voice surprises even me. I’ve spent a whole week avoiding Scarlett, avoiding the pull she has over me, but no more. It’s time to face the consequences of my actions, to take responsibility for the life growing inside her.

“Good,” Alina says, her voice softening. “It’s about time.”

Scarlett

The knock on the door is sharp and sudden, shattering the uneasy quiet of the room. My heart jumps, the sound pulling me out of a restless haze. For a moment, I freeze, unsure whether to answer or pretend I’m not here. It’s not like I have anywhere to go, but ignoring it feels like the only shred of control I have left.

"Umm, Scarlett?" a deep voice calls, muffled by the door. The sound is unfamiliar and commanding, and it sends a chill down my spine.

I swallow hard and approach the door cautiously, my hand trembling as I reach for the handle. When I open it, I’m met with the imposing figure of a man who looks like he was carved from stone. His broad shoulders block the light from the hallway, and his eyes are dark, and unreadable.

“Moy Pakhanrequests your presence for breakfast," he says, his voice devoid of warmth.

"Requests?" I repeat, my tone laced with sarcasm despite the flutter of nerves in my chest. "I didn’t realize I was at his beck and call."

The man doesn’t react, his expression is as rigid as his frame. "Be downstairs in ten minutes."

Before I can respond, he turns and walks away, leaving me standing in the doorway, a mixture of curiosity and frustration bubbling inside me. Viktor wants to see me. Finally. The man who uprooted my life, who locked me away in this gilded cage, has decided I’m worthy of his time.

"Fine," I mutter to myself, closing the door. "Let’s see what he has to say."

I step into the small adjoining bathroom, splashing cold water on my face to shake off the grogginess. As I dry my face, my eyesdrift to the mirror. The reflection staring back at me is almost unrecognizable—dark circles under my eyes, pale skin, and a weariness that feels etched into my very bones.

I grab the plain black dress Alina lent me from the chair by the bed, pulling it on with deliberate movements. My thoughts drift to the man who summoned me, his presence a storm cloud hovering over my life. Viktor Makarov. The name alone sends a shiver through me, equal parts fear and fury.

Then there are his men. The one who just left looked like he could break someone in half without breaking a sweat. There’s an unsettling allure to their ruggedness, the kind that makes you wary but unable to look away. It’s a dangerous kind of charm, one that reminds me of the world I’ve been thrust into.

As I brush my hair, my resolve hardens. I won’t let Viktor intimidate me. If he wants to play the part of a mafia kingpin, fine. But I won’t be his pawn.

Well, I know he is not playing a role. He is a Mafia Kingpin, but that doesn’t mean I have to be his pawn.

The dining room is brighter and bigger than I expected, the morning sun streaming through large windows and casting long shadows across the table. The room is imposing, just like the man seated at its head. Viktor. His broad shoulders and sharp features make him look like he belongs on a throne, and the air around him feels charged, as if the very room bends to his will.

Seated on either side of him are two identical women, their striking beauty offset by an air of confidence that’s almost intimidating. My steps falter as I take them in, but then my gaze lands on one of them—Alina.

"Good morning, Alina," I say, my voice steady despite the hammering of my heart. I look directly at Alina, a small smile tugging at my lips.

Her eyes widen in surprise. "You knew it was me? How?"

"I can tell you apart," I reply. "You have a softer edge. It’s not hard to tell."

Alina laughs, a sound full of warmth and amusement. "Most people can’t. Impressive."

The other twin—Yelena, I presume from all Alina has told me—arches a brow, her expression unreadable. Viktor remains silent, his eyes fixed on me like a hawk watching its prey.

I turn my attention to him, and my anger rises to the surface like lava bubbling to the edge of a volcano. "It’s nice of you to finally send for me, Your Highness," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

Viktor’s jaw tightens, his gaze darkening. "Sit down," he says gruffly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

But I’m not in the mood to be commanded. "On which of the seats?" I ask, batting my lashes at him with exaggerated sweetness.

"Can you please cut the drama?" Viktor growls, his irritation evident.

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