Heart of Fury - Stone and Fire # 2 [17+]

Chapter 20

sry this took so long

Mikhail's POV

"Round of three. You have Ciroc?"

Anton shakes his head. "86'd."

"Stolichnaya?"

He squints, trying to remember. "I'll have to check."

I tap the bar counter. "Make it quick." I threw a glance to the table where Nikolas sat next to Adriana, looking more potent to strangle someone's throat than make conversation with the Italian business owner across them.

The eighteen-year old bartender roughs out a chuckle. "I'd be surprised if he left this party without the blood of an Italian on his hands." He wipes his hands off on a towel and does a scan of the almost-empty counter, heading back inside with a tired hand through his hair.

The long, stretched table in the middle of Milan brims with guests, fluorescent lights dimming the restaurant's static hum of deep-seated luxury.

There she was, perched next to her best friend- the only male in this room dressed casual in a fucking t-shirt and jeans combo. What a choice that was.. letting an outsider in to such a place. Men with battle scars sat in this room. Ones from glass didn't count.

The tumbler clinked on wood in front of me, and I took it in my hand without moving my eyes off her.

The dress code was black.

She was wearing blue.

A tight, tight blue dress, metallic blue hoops, blue heels, dusty blue drop earrings, and a delicate little crown of jeweled orchids giving her face a glowy, innocent halo.

And it was when she sat down, when I assessed every curve, shape, and twinge of red from the cold on her body- that I realized she did it for me. To show me, that she was now, once again, refusing to fall into my arms.

She did it to make a statement, to make sure I saw how I was nothing but a demure thought in the back of her head.

I almost felt bad.

This little display she was putting on, thinking I would become a clone of my pissed brother after seeing her reel after Xavier, affected me as much as my father's death did. Null.

I wasn't scared of commitment. I envied people who had it, people who went home to the same person and kissed them to sleep and fucking made love to them. As if death wouldn't take one captive and leave the other a broken, empty mess of flesh with no purpose.

My gaze grew dark the moment she pulled out a tube from her cerulean-colored purse, and swiped on a layer of shiny, sparkly gloss. She pressed the glittery substance around and opened her lips back up with a pop, and I swear I heard the sound as if it was amplified times-a-hundred in my goddamn ears.

Fuck, a hard-on? From watching a woman put on lip gloss?

She hadn't even looked at me yet, and here I was wishing to empty out my barrel on the rest of the room and have her all to myself.

Dark, sweet, sinful notions made my head feel heavier than the vodka I was pouring down my throat. It was so clear. The men choking on blood, necks slit, while I had my way with her bent over the table.

Then I would make her clean me up. I keep my eyes on her, picturing those pink lips around my cock instead of the glass of Domaine Leroy she was delicately sipping on.

The interruption came just as quick, with Kaiden hauling over a piece of some strawberry cake, adorned with white chocolate shavings and setting it down in front of her.