God Of Crimson : A Mafia Deal Sealed in Sin

The Heat of Control

NIKOLAI RUSSO

Nikolai paced the room, his frustration building with every step. His body was still thrumming with the tension of that last encounter with Nikita. Every time she lashed out, every time she tried to put distance between them, it only made him want her more.

He was used to control. Used to dominance. Women threw themselves at him—craving his attention, eager for his touch. But Nikita was different. She wasn't falling at his feet, and that made her all the more enticing. He thrived on challenge, and this was the ultimate one.

But even he hadn't expected this.

This wild attraction that clawed at him, gnawed at his every thought. He hadn't expected her to get under his skin so easily. And now he was restless, pacing, his mind full of images of her—furious, strong, and completely out of his reach.

She was a tempest in a bottle, and he was losing his patience.

His phone buzzed on the desk, pulling him from his thoughts. He glanced at the screen, expecting some meaningless message from one of his contacts, but it wasn't. It was from her.

Nikita: Meet me at the gym. Now.

His eyebrows shot up. Interesting.

Without hesitation, Nikolai grabbed his jacket, sliding into it with ease. If she wanted to play, he was more than willing to play. And this time, he'd push her harder than before. This time, he'd make sure she didn't just feel his control—she'd crave it.

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NIKITA VOLKOV

Nikita stood in the center of the gym, her fists wrapped tightly as she jabbed at the punching bag, her movements sharp and precise. Each hit echoed in the empty space, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't releasing the tension that coiled inside her, the frustration that had been building since her last run-in with Nikolai.

She hated him. Hated the way he looked at her, like she was something to conquer. Hated the way his voice dripped with arrogance, how he seemed to think he could break her. Most of all, she hated the way her body responded to him.

Every time he came close, every time he invaded her space, her pulse quickened, her skin tingled, and a deep, unwanted hunger stirred within her.

No. I can't let him win.

The door creaked open, and she didn't need to turn to know it was him. The air changed when he walked in, heavy and electric. She heard his slow, deliberate footsteps as he approached, and for a moment, she considered throwing a punch at him just to relieve the pressure building inside her.

"I didn't think you were the type to work out your frustrations," his voice was a low, amused drawl as he stopped just a few feet behind her.

Nikita turned, wiping the sweat from her brow, glaring at him. "I didn't think you'd actually show up. I figured you were too busy counting your money or playing with one of your toys."

Nikolai's lips quirked into that insufferable smirk. "You've got it all wrong, sweetheart. You're my only entertainment right now."

Her fist clenched around the boxing gloves. She stepped toward him, closing the distance between them, her eyes burning into his. "I'm not your entertainment. I'm not your toy."

He raised an eyebrow, his gaze raking over her body with a slow, deliberate hunger that made her skin burn. "You sure about that?"

Nikita's heart raced, fury and something far more dangerous flooding her veins. She lifted her chin, refusing to back down. "You want a fight, Russo? You're going to get one."