Page 18 of Owned By the Russian

“I don’t know yet. That’s why I’m calling.” His gaze darted to Valentina, who was now subtly stealing glances at the interior of the apartment. “I need you to check with the Romanos—see if they’ve pissed off anyone recently. This isn’t a random attack. Something’s brewing.”

At the sound of her family, Valentina’s attention shifted from the plush loveseat to him with keen interest.

Mikhail’s voice was tense, dangerous now. “If it’s tied to them, we’ll know soon enough.”

“And Ivonov?”

“He’s still a scared little bitch,” Mikhail said. “For now, keep your head straight. Stay where you are. Keep her secure.”

“Already on it,” Ilya replied, the words clipped. “Let me know what you find out.”

“Da. And Ilya?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t get sloppy. If this escalates, it’s on your fucking head.”

Ilya’s lips twitched into a grim smile, a cold glint in his eyes. “When have I ever been sloppy?”

Mikhail didn’t bother responding, the line going dead with a sharp click.

“Mudak,” Ilya muttered under his breath, his jaw tight with irritation as his cousin hung up on him. He lowered the phone, his eyes locking with Valentina’s.

She raised an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation, her arms still crossed tightly. Ilya didn’t give her one, instead sliding his phone back into his pocket with a casual air before walking past her to the kitchen.

She followed him with her gaze as he grabbed a bottle of rum from the fridge, the glass clinking as he slid two tumblers onto the counter.

“You want a tour of the pad?” he asked nonchalantly, pouring the amber liquid into the glasses with careless ease, the sound of rum splashing into the tumblers punctuating his words.

“A tour?” she asked incredulously, her voice sharp with disbelief. “You think I care about what your stupid apartment looks like? What did Mikhail say?”

Ilya’s gaze met hers briefly he tossed back his own drink in one go. “Nothing you need to worry yourself about,” he said, sliding a glass over to her. “So, tour?”

Valentina shot him a pointed look, her lips curling into a small, frustrated frown. “I’m only here for a night,” she replied stiffly, her eyes never leaving him. “In case you forgot. I don’t need a stupid tour.”

Ilya gave a slow, knowing smirk as he poured himself another drink, enjoying the fire in her eyes. She didn’t know it yet, but he wasn’t letting her go anytime soon. It was cute to watch her hope, though.

“I lost my phone in the scuffle,” she said, ignoring the glass he’d slid toward her. The irritation in her voice was barely veiled. “Give me yours. If I can’t see my family tonight, then I can at least speak with my father.”

“You can,” he said with a nod as he lifted his glass to his lips. “On one condition.”

She gritted her teeth. “I didn’t know speaking with my father is now a wish to be granted.”

“Oh, it is,” he said, spreading his arms and gesturing to the space they were in. “You’re in my house, Valentina. I do what I want in my house.”

Her patience was ticking. “And what’s your condition?”

“Beg me,” he said simply.

Something inside him jumped for joy when he saw the twitch in her eyes. “What did you just say to me?”

His grin widened. “Beg me, Valentina,” he repeated, her name a hot tease on his tongue. “Show me just how much you want to speak with your Papa. Show me how desperate you are to—”

He didn’t finish. Without warning, Val grabbed her drink and threw it straight into his face, the liquid splattering across his shirt in an instant.

Ilya didn’t react with the anger she expected. Instead, he wiped his face with the back of his hand, his tongue darting out to clean the excess rum off his lips, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

“You’re something else,moya printsessa,” he muttered, his smirk only growing.

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