Heart of Stone - Stone and Fire #1 [17+] (REWRITING)

Chapter 26

ENJOYYY

Adriana's POV

Either my brain was doing a complete one-eighty, or I'd nearly fucked my enemy in a church.

I looked up into the star-gleaming sky. 

Forgive me father, for I have sinned. 

Greatly.

The manipulative part of me wondered if it really mattered, since he was my husband in name now. There was no marital, pretense act of intimacy, not until.. well.. after the whole corpse-show-shabam.

Mrs. Volkov.

The name had a ring to it, I'll admit. A certain head-lifting, commanding tone as it slid off the tongue and set into the middle whatever man-cave it decided to sprout in.

The cool evening air blew through my hair, making its way through the terrace doors behind me. With it came a collection of low murmurs, an occasional clipped laugh interrupting. The voices were unfamiliar yet held the same Russian accent as Nikolas, deep and rough to cut through ice.

People in the house, now?

I let go of the black handrailing and stepped back inside my room, heading into the main hall. Whoever these men were, they weren't speaking like typical subordinates. Their words were lined with a strange familiarity- like they didn't fear consequences, as if Nikolas wasn't the only power in the house.

The chatter grew louder, deeper even, as I reached the study. Nikolas's voice was nowhere to be found, and I could recognize it from a mile away. Something in my chest loosened. 

When he wasn't around, I didn't have to keep that guard up. That cold, piercing glare did more damage than it did benefit, and not having it scanning my brain helped a lot.

The door was cracked open and I stood a foot away, catching slivers of leather and a glint of metal. I peeked through, and there they were.

Three men, each one carrying some form of threat armed in a unique way.

The first man lounged back in a chair, shuffling a deck of cards between his fingers. He flipped them with a casual dexterity, the smile on his face setting me off. It was off, an expression that told me he enjoyed toying with people's minds just for the thrill. A player with his cards, yes, but someone who only ended up winning because of cold, hard manipulation.

Then there was Mikhail, bored as always, leaning against the back wall with his armor from earlier still on. He was bloody, scraped, and had a large gash in his arm, wrapped up in white plaster. Why was he always at his brother's house? Did he have a place to stay? It seemed like all he did was wander around the city, looking for the next person to punch in the face and walk away with zilch consequences, because that was the advantage he had.

Then, the third man. He wore a leather jacket, the shiny black fitting him like a second skin. He was all sharp angles and shadows, with a jagged, aggressive scar tearing through his left eye. My eyes nearly widened upon seeing it. 

God, what had happened to him?

Before I could take another step closer without the fear of making noise, the third man spoke. "She's not what I expected. Too much fire to be contained."

"That's where the fun lies," Ace-God chimed in. "If she cracks, it'll be one hell of a spectacle. Imagine watching a live wire burn out."

"You tryna kiss her ass next, Luciano?" Mikhail interrupted the two-way, his voice laced with a hidden intent.