Four Heirs Claimed On My Babies
I whipped around, my heart leaping into my throat as Aleksandr Ivanov commonly called Sasha, his nickname, strode into the room, his icy blue eyes sweeping over me with a mixture of anger and hunger.
“Elena,” he said, his Russian accent sharp, like a blade slicing through the tension in the room. “I should have known you’d run back to him first.”
“I didn’t—” I started to protest, but the words died in my mouth as Sasha’s gaze flicked to Dante.
“I see you’ve already found her,” Sasha said, his voice dripping with disdain. “Typical. You’ve always been one step ahead, haven’t you?”
Dante’s grip on my chin tightened, his eyes never leaving mine. “She was mine first, Ivanov. Don’t forget that.”
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