Page 13 of Twisted Addiction
“Foster younger brother,” Dmitri corrected sharply, his voice a low growl, as if reasserting hierarchy.
To think I’d never met any of Dmitri’s family.
There was no resemblance between them: Dmitri was all sharp angles and towering intimidation, his build lean and lethal like a blade, while Alexei exuded a broader, more athletic ruggedness, his tattoos and easy charisma making him seem approachable, almost defiant in his uniqueness.
I started to reach for his hand, drawn by the unexpected kindness, but Dmitri’s command sliced through. “Don’t.”
My hand drew back instinctively, and Alexei withdrew his with a knowing chuckle, the tension crackling like electricity.
Chapter 4
PENELOPE
Alexei slipped his hand into the pocket of his tailored jacket, pulling out a sleek, embossed business card.
He extended it to me with a disarming smile, his hazel eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and sincerity.
I hesitated for a split second before accepting it, my fingers brushing against his calloused ones.
The card felt heavier than it should, as if it carried the weight of possibilities I wasn’t ready to face.
“Call me,” Alexei said smoothly, his voice steady but edged with defiance. “Lake Como isn’t Dmitri’s empire. Wives here have rights—even you. I’ll make sure you understand them.”
His gaze flicked to Dmitri, a provocative glint in his eyes, before he turned and sauntered away, his tattooed arms flexing beneath his rolled-up sleeves.
I glanced at the card—black, matte, with elegant gold lettering. Alexei Volkov. The name gleamed like temptation itself.
Tucking it into the back pocket of my jeans, I braced myself for Dmitri’s reaction, expecting him to snatch it from me or at least snap some possessive retort.
But he remained silent, his face an unreadable mask.
Instead, he gestured toward his car with a curt nod, his tall frame already moving toward the parking lot.
I followed, my mind churning with the encounter, the weight of Alexei’s card burning a hole in my pocket.
When we reached the sleek black SUV, I was about to slide into the passenger seat when Dmitri’s phone buzzed.
“I’ll be there,” he said into the receiver, voice clipped steel. Then he hung up, slipping the phone away like the conversation was already dead to him.
I froze, halfway into the seat, and peered at him through the driver’s side window.
“Are you leaving again? Weeks? Months? Or should I just stop expecting you at all?”
He leveled that unblinking gaze on me. “You’ll drive.”
My pulse spiked. “Where?”
“Home.” His tone cut like glass. “I have business.”
I shoved the door open and met him at the hood. “Business. That’s all I ever hear. And I’m just supposed to sit there, waiting like some pet chained to your doorstep?”
His jaw flexed, but his voice stayed low. “Careful.”
He dropped the car keys onto the hood with a soft clink and turned to leave, but then he paused.
Slowly, he turned back to me, closing the distance between us in two long strides.
“I’ll return tonight,” he said, voice cutting, threaded with something that made my stomach twist. “Not because you asked. Not because you need me. But because I decide when I leave you—and when I return.”
