Page 87 of Tarnished Tyrant (Zhukova Bratva 1)

“That’s a lie,” I snap. “I just warned you not to do that.”

“Ihavebeen honest,” she insists. “When did I lie?”

“When you told me you didn’t want me. When you said you didn’t want to fuck me.”

Her cheeks flame. “I don’t want to want you. I wish I didn’t. That’s the truth.”

Her honesty is surprising, but it’s not the revelation I’m here for. “You told me you didn’t understand Russian.”

Her frown shifts. She blinks. I can see the fear in her eyes. I’ve seen that emotion on enough faces to be intimately familiar with all its many forms.

“I don’t.”

“Izhets,” I hiss. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying.” Her voice cracks. She’s near tears now, straining against the ropes around her wrists. “Whatever you think I know, I don’t. I didn’t hear anything. I don’t know anything.”

I stroke my chin. “You’re a smart girl, Belle. That’s why you’re playing dumb. That’s why you’re pretending you don’t know that Giorgos Simatou is a mafia boss.”

Her eyes flare wide. “Stop it!”

“Stop what?” I ask with a smirk. “Stop telling you that I’m notjusta businessman?”

Belle whimpers. Her wrists are straining so hard against the ropes that her fingers are turning white. She wants to plug her ears, to bury her head in the sand. “Nikolai, please. Don’t tell me anything else.”

“I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.” I pace in front of her. “How much have you figured out on your own?”

“Just let me go home.”

“You mean back to the hotel I own?” I ask. “Or to your two-bedroom apartment in Oklahoma City? The one on Lincoln Boulevard with the glamorous parking lot view?”

She gasps. “How do you—”

“I knoweverything.” I lean forward, studying the dark wave of her hair over her shoulders, the way her lower lip is jutting out, puckering as she fights back tears. Her scent floats at the edge of my perception, intoxicating. “And I know you understand me when I speak Russian.”

She shakes her head. “No. I don’t. I don’t know—”

“I’m the leader of a Bratva,” I say, whispering the words in Russian in her ear.

Her entire body goes rigid.

“And I killed a man with my bare hands at the restaurant tonight.”

She flinches.

I smile.

“I knew it, beautiful Belle. You can’t hide anything from me.”

The clock on the wall tolls out the seconds one by one. “Why are you doing this?” she whimpers.

“Because you lied and now, I can’t trust you.”

“Okay, but… if you can’t trust me, why are you telling me all of this? Don’t drag it out. Don’t torture me. If you’re going to kill me, just kill me.”

I curl my fingers around her delicate wrists and bend down so my face is only inches away, forcing her to look me in the eyes. “I don’t kill people for no reason.”

“You killed that man tonight,” she says. “In the middle of our dinner.”

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