Page 44 of Stolen By the Don

I hesitate, looking over my shoulder with one foot out the doorway. Is he talking to me? I blink slowly, confused. “Drive me?”

He nods. “Yes. You want to leave the house, don’t you?”

“Ah,” I scoff, clicking my tongue. “Nowyou thinkI want to leave? It didn’t occur to you when I tried to escape, or when you threatened to have your men shoot me, that I wanted to leave this place?” The last words come out with frustration as I grit my teeth.

Roman places his mug on the counter. He doesn’t respond for a minute, working on the cuff links of his sleeves. The expensive silver glints against the crisp white fabric stretched over his forearms, showing them off in a way that makes my chest flutter.

Wrong feeling.I push it away, focusing on my ire. “What changed?”

He lifts his head, gazing at me through half-lidded lashes. “You said it yourself. You were going to run away.”

Huh. What bullshit. I thrust my hands onto my hips, ignoring the thud of the water bottle as it falls to the floor. “And now? What makes you think I won’t do it again?”

He shrugs, eyes narrowing lazily. His voice thickens as he speaks. “Because you’re mine. You’re mine before the law, and no matter how far you run, I have a claim to you.”

In other words, I’m property. Branded property. It should make me livid, but my thoughts race back to his bedroom after he brought me home. When he touched me and used me and I craved more.

A shiver pulses through me, twisting low in my belly. Before I can process my actions, I clench my thighs tight, desperate for friction, for something to dull the surge of memory coursing through me.

Roman notices.

Of course he does.

His gaze drops, and I hear a low sound. Like a growl. A grunt. The last time I felt him make that sound, it was against my skin, and he was inside me, stretching every inch of my body.

“You’re a cruel man,” I say.

“I don’t disagree,” he replies.

My fingers grip the bottle as I pick it up, distorting the shape of the plastic. He’s insufferable to the point where I want to pick him apart and watch him struggle to find his ego.

“If I can’t go wherever I want, I won’t accept your offer,” I say with a toss of my chin.

“You want to meet your father?” he throws back, not missing a beat.

It takes me a moment to recover, not because I’m thinking about what he suggested, but because I remember my conversation with Nico last night—their plan to break me out and what they intend to do to Roman.

I stare at him, wondering if he knows. Maybe I’m the one in the dark, and he has people monitoring calls between my dad and Nico. Maybe he knows they’re laying a trap for him, and he’s already one step ahead.

Or, he doesn’t. For all his cockiness, Roman Volkov might have a blind spot.

“I have a question.”

He tilts his head, asking me to go on.

“Do you think you’re untouchable? Do you ever wonder if maybe, like your father, you might be trusting the wrong people?”

The change in his demeanor is immediate. I see the muscle twitch in his jaw and the slight flare of his nostrils. His father, I realize too late. I shouldn’t have mentioned him.

But it was worth seeing him rattled. If I need to find his weakness, I know where to probe.

I’m basking in my temporary victory, and he walks toward me. My brain screams flight, but I stand my ground, forcing my thoughts to remain silent. He halts a few feet away and I let out the breath I was holding. It leaves my body like a betrayedwhoosh.

Roman’s voice, when it comes, is low and clipped. “You don’t get to talk about my father,” he says. “Not when you’re in the middle of lying to me.”

“A lie?” I push through the croak that follows the first word, squaring my shoulders. “I merely asked a question. You said my father was responsible for your father’s death. And yet, from what I’ve heard, he was a tough man. The only way he would’ve been set up was if he trusted the wrong people.”

“Like your father?” Roman drawls. “It sounds to me like you’re finally accepting that your father is a dishonest coward. Good for you.”

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