Semua Bab The Doctor Wife: A Bratva possession : Bab 21 - Bab 30

Dante’s POVThe burner buzzes on my desk like it’s got a personal grudge. I snatch it up, thumb the answer without looking.“Talk.”Nico’s voice comes through tight. “Viktor’s moving, boss. Moscow contacts say he’s liquidating assets, pulling strings with the old guard. Private charter booked to JFK next week. He’s coming for New York. Ports. Everything.”My grip cracks the plastic. “He’s got balls showing his face after the wedding stunt. Who’s feeding him intel?”“Someone inside. Close. Port route files went missing two days ago. Only a handful got access.”I hang up. The room feels smaller, walls pressing in. Viktor. My own blood. The same prick who used to steal my food when we were kids in St. Petersburg alleys, now trying to steal my empire. Rage boils hot, the kind that makes me want to put my fist through something till it bleeds.I shove back from the desk, chair crashing against the wall. “Nico!” I bark into the burner.He answers fast. “Boss?”“Get every file on the ports.

Elena's POV I don't think, I just lunge, grabbing his collar with both fists, yanking him rough, and slam my mouth against his, teeth knockin', tongues tanglin' wild like we're both tryin' to win a fight neither of us wants to end. He groans deep in his throat, hands clamping on my ass, lifting me up like I weigh nothing, my legs wrapping around his waist on instinct while he spins us, slamming my back against the door so hard the wood shakes and my breath punches out. "Fuck, Elena," he mutters against my lips, bitin' my bottom one just hard enough to sting, "you kiss like you wanna kill me." I dig my nails into his neck, scratchin' deep enough to leave marks, tastin' the faint copper of blood where I bite him back. "Maybe I do, you possessive bastard. Maybe I wanna make you bleed for draggin' me into this." He laughs ragged, one hand slidin' up under my shirt, palm hot and calloused against my bare skin, thumb grazin' the underside of my breast while he grinds his hips forward, l

Elena’s POV I bite my lip hard enough to hurt. “You’re an arrogant bastard.” “And you love it.” His hand slides up my thigh, under the robe, fingers finding me slick and ready without even trying. He strokes slow, teasing circles over my clit, watching my face like he owns every reaction. “Say it, Elena. Say you’re mine. Or I’ll finger-fuck you right here on this table till you’re screamin’ it loud enough for the whole house to hear.” My hips rock forward into his touch before I can stop them. “Fuck you.” He chuckles dark, adds a second finger, curling them deep, thumb still working my clit in perfect rhythm. “That’s the plan, Sugar. But first you admit it. You’re mine. Body, mouth, pussy, all of it. No more three-month games. No more pretendin’ last night didn’t change everything.” I gasp when he hits tha

Dante’s POVThe motorcade rolls to a stop in the circular drive like it owns the goddamn gravel. Three black SUVs with windows so dark they swallow the light. Doors open in perfect sync. Boots hit stone. And then he steps out.Viktor.Four years older. Scar running thick and white from temple to jaw. Same dark hair, same gray eyes, but his are colder, emptier. He wears a charcoal coat over a black turtleneck, shoulders broad enough to block the sun. The darker version of me. The one that never learned to stop when the blood started flowing.He scans the front steps and spots me standing at the top with my arms crossed. His mouth curves. Not a smile. Something meaner.“Dante,” he says, accent thick with Moscow winters. “Still playink house in America, da?”I don’t move. “Still breathin’ after fallin’ off that roof in Brooklyn? Miracles happen.”He l

Elena’s POVI’m still buzzing from the range. My thighs ache in the best way, skin still warm where Dante’s hands gripped me while he finger-fucked me against the gun rack. Every step reminds me I’m marked, claimed, and dripping with the memory of his voice in my ear telling me to come while holding cold steel.I head toward my medical suite at the end of the east corridor. The house feels too quiet today, like it’s holding its breath. I pass the library doors. Heavy oak. Usually locked tight. Today one is cracked open, just enough for a sliver of lamplight to spill across the marble.I should keep walking. I know I should.But curiosity has always been my worst fucking habit.Scene 2: The Power PlayI edge closer, heart kicking up. Low voices drift out. Russian first, then English, then a moan that makes my stomach twist.I nudge the door another inch.S