Page 17 of Owned By the Russian

His eyes darkened in a way that made her insides twist. “That’s the last thing you want me to do, Valentina.”

But she refused to move an inch.

Ilya’s jaw clenched hard. “You know what? Fine. Do you want to go home? I’ll take you fucking home. That, of course, is if you want to lead those fuckers straight to your father’s property. Worst case scenario, you drag your family into this, and every Romano becomes a fucking corpse.”

Val’s pride dissolved quickly as she registered his words. It felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over her head.

Ilya leaned in. “If that’s what you want, I’ll take you home right now. If not, you listen to me and get out of the fucking car.”

Without another word, he turned around and walked toward the building.

Val’s lips pressed into a thin line, and with a frustrated growl, she shoved the door open and slammed it shut.

“Fuck you,” she spat, begrudgingly following behind him. “But it will only be for one night. By tomorrow, you either take me home, or I do it myself.”

Ilya turned to look at her, a sarcastic grin on his lips. “Well then, welcome to my humble abode, Valentina.”

Chapter 6 - Ilya

Ilya tried not to smile as Valentina’s glare at him deepened before walking right past him and heading for the door like she knew her way around the place already. He selfishly stared at her figure in front of him.

Her hair was all mussed up from the attack, a section of her lace dress torn at the back of her thigh. Besides that, she remained perfect, her ass still managing to tease him as it moved in that dress. All of a sudden, he hated that dress—hated how it concealed her body from him.

She stood impatiently as he went through the security of his bachelor pad. A small smirk appeared on Ilya’s lips as he walked up to the door, his movements smooth as he placed his thumb on the screen for biometric access. A quiet beep followed, and then he quickly punched in a passcode.

The door clicked open with a soft, mechanical hum.

“Funny how a second ago, you didn’t want to come in,” he taunted, glancing at her with amusement. “Now you’re in such a hurry.”

Valentina didn’t even acknowledge him, her impatience clear as she brushed past him into the apartment, ignoring his jibe completely.

As Ilya stepped inside, the lights flickered to life automatically, casting a warm glow across the sleek, modern space. A robotic voice chimed, smooth and detached:

“Welcome home, Master Ilya Nikolai. Enjoy your stay.”

Valentina scoffed, rolling her eyes, trying not to look impressed with what he’d done with the place. “Master, my ass.”

As much as he wanted to bite back with a smart response, there were more important things to do first. He locked the door behind them before fishing his phone out of his pocket.

His eyes met the shattered screen of his phone, jagged cracks spiderwebbing across the display like a fractured mirror. It reminded him of the run-in earlier that day with similar men that attacked them tonight.

His jaw was tight, expression grim as he scrolled through his contacts and dialed his cousin’s number.

The call connected after a single ring.

“Ilya,” Mikhail’s deep, authoritative voice came through. “What’s happened?”

“We’ve got a problem,” Ilya said, dragging his fingers over his eyebrows. He glanced at Valentina, who was still fuming but silent, her arms crossed silently as she looked anywhere else but at him. “Did you check the restaurant footage?”

“Someone got to it before we did,” he said. “It’s been tampered with.”

Ilya wasn’t surprised. “I ran into a few men while handling that errand near Bristol. Figured they were just a bunch of desperate idiots, but something about them didn’t sit right. They weren’t friends. Now, a group of them just ambushed Valentina at her condo.”

Mikhail paused for a beat, and Ilya could hear him inhaling sharply through his nose. “They attacked her directly?”

“Yeah,” Ilya confirmed, his voice low but controlled, as the memory of one of them choking her returned. Fury began to grow in his chest again. “Armed and coordinated. They weren’t after me—they wanted her. Too much of a coincidence. Feels connected to the run-in earlier.”

The Pakhan’s tone turned colder, more calculating. “You think it’s a faction trying to make a move? Or retaliation?”

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