Page 4 of Owned By the Russian

It wasn’t long after he’d taken on Adrian’s request to keep an eye on Rhiannon during Ivonov’s latest moves. Rhiannon had wanted a breath of fresh air, and she wouldn’t stop talking his ears off about a certain Valentina who was supposedly her best friend.

So, with Adrian’s permission, he accompanied her to see the Italian princess. But nothing in this world could have prepared him for the sight waiting for him at the Romano compound.

Valentina stood there, poised yet unassuming, the kind of presence that demanded attention without effort. There was something about her—something magnetic, something hauntingly unforgettable—that struck him in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

He remembered the way her dark brown hair tumbled down her shoulders in gentle waves that reminded him of a waterfall. A light breeze had sifted through her hair, flicking chestnut strands across her face.

Her light brown eyes, at first glance, possessed an innocence he sought to ruin—soft and warm, like sunlight filtering through autumn leaves. But the longer he looked, the more he noticed the sharpness beneath, a lethal edge that hinted at danger and a madness far beyond the surface.

A type of danger he craved every day of his life.

She was shaped like an hourglass, with dips and curves framing her perfect body. For a split second that morning, he was certain their eyes had met. But that was all in his imagination.

Because the moment her vigilant eyes scrutinized the unfamiliar vehicle approaching her, an indescribable warmth filled those brown irises once they landed on her best friend.

Ilya remembered her leap once he opened the door for Rhiannon to get down. He remembered how stiffly he stood, watching them squeal and run to each other like kids who hadn’t seen each other for years.

Valentina barely looked at him. She barely even noticed his unfamiliar presence hovering around Rhiannon. She had been too concerned about her best friend to notice the hunk of a man staring at her in fascination.

And when Rhiannon had introduced him to her as Adrian’s cousin and her temporary bodyguard, he had expected some sort of reaction from her. His build wasn’t the only thing about him that was intimidating—his cold demeanor and piercing gaze had unsettled many before.

But she seemed unimpressed. For the first time, he found himself struggling to read a woman. Her lips, plump and pink, turned down slightly at the corners, betraying neither interest nor disdain.

Her eyes lingered on him for a moment, assessing him like he was a mere object of curiosity, a piece of scrap to be cataloged and dismissed. Then, just as quickly, her gaze shifted away, leaving him unsettled in a way he didn’t care to admit.

Usually, Ilya had the patience of a lit fuse—short, volatile, and ready to explode at the slightest provocation. He had zero tolerance for bullshit, zero tolerance for disrespect.

But with Valentina, he found himself oddly drawn by how quickly she discarded him. He didn’t make a reaction. Not even a single hair on his body moved in response to her blatant disrespect for a stranger who was protecting her best friend.

He just stared at her, thinking a million and one things. And they all revolved around the spitfire brunette.

Since that day, Valentina Romano occupied a spot in his chaotic mind, living rent free.

They bumped into each other many times after that, during events, dinners, and get-togethers of every kind. Being the daughter of the capo of the Italian mafia, which maintained a peaceful alliance with the Bratva, it was inevitable that their paths would cross.

And with the bond she shared with Rhiannon, Valentina was easily considered family—whether Ilya liked it or not. And he did. A littletoo much,in fact.

She dug her spot even deeper in his mind when she formed an easy friendship with his siblings. She barely had to work for it. As mysterious as she seemed, she had this air of ease around her, one that made him wonder if she had ever worried about anything.

After their first few salty interactions, it was clear that he was the only Nikolai sibling she wasn’t a fan of. She would always act like she was looking down on him, and it didn’t matter that he was a good twelve years older than she was.

But instead of feeling disrespected or offended by her behavior, a sick, twisted part of him enjoyed it. It was far from a turn-off like most people would think.

Every sneer and every vile word she directed at him only deepened his fascination with her. At first, it started out as an attempt to pull her legs, ruffle her feathers a bit, and see what she would do.

But now, it was an obsession.Shewas his obsession. Now, he looked forward to gatherings together, just so he could push her buttons. And, of course, she never disappointed. She seemed to always be ready for him to give back twice what he dished out to her.

She was like his favorite little toy. A toy he was bound to taint with his own darkness sooner or later.

Ilya had spotted her the moment she walked in with his sister tonight. He didn’t approach her immediately, allowing her time with his siblings and Rhi while giving him the chance to linger in the shadows, watching.Admiring. Claiming her silently as his most prized possession—a possession she didn’t yet know she was.

The sight of her in that red dress, clinging to her like a second skin, knocked the air from his lungs and ceased the blood flow to his brain. She was stunning, yes, but it wasn’t just superficial beauty that held him captive.

It was the fire she carried, the way she walked into the room as if she owned it, unaware of how completely she owned him. A storm grew in his dark blue eyes, tracing every curve, every detail, as his chest tightened with a possessiveness so dark it bordered on dangerous.

She wasn’t just a woman to him in that moment. She was much more. A siren pulling him deeper into waters he had no desire to escape. His every thought was consumed by her—how she’d look with that dress and all other defenses of her stripped away, how she’d sound gasping his name, how she’d be his, entirely and without question.

He thought of what she’d look like surrendering to him, those dainty unmarred knees of hers scraping against his bathroom tiles, begging for his cock, his hand around her throat. He imagined the salty taste of her sweat as he dragged his hot tongue over her slick, trembling skin, how he’d completely destroy that false innocence in her eyes, how he’d pound into her over and over again until he was the only thing her body could respond to.

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