God Of Crimson : A Mafia Deal Sealed in Sin

The Heat of the Moment

Nikita Volkov
Nikita paced in front of the mirror, trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach. She hated that Nikolai had this kind of power over her emotions. One minute she was angry enough to punch him, and the next, she was questioning her own sanity for feeling... something else entirely.

It wasn't attraction.

No. She wouldn't allow herself to feel anything for him.

Tonight was a power play. She had to remind herself of that. Nothing more, nothing less. She wasn't here to fall into his games, no matter how hard he tried to push her.

With a sigh, she slipped into a sleek black dress, one that clung to her curves but allowed her the movement she'd need if things went south. She tied her hair back, making sure her face showed no trace of vulnerability. Tonight, she was going to be the fierce woman her family expected her to be. The one Nikolai expected her to be.

But the way her skin tingled when she thought about him standing close, his dark eyes on her, his lips just inches away... she shook her head, forcing the thought away. This was no time for distractions.

She grabbed her purse and made her way downstairs to the waiting car, where Nikolai was already inside, tapping away on his phone. His presence was like a gravitational pull, and as she stepped inside, the air seemed to thicken.

"You're late," he said, glancing up at her, his eyes flickering over her outfit. Something dark and unreadable passed over his face, but he masked it with a smirk.

"I had better things to do," she said, sliding into the seat and crossing her legs. "Besides, I don't exist on your schedule, Nikolai."

His smirk widened, but his voice held a dangerous edge. "You're about to."

Nikita turned her gaze out the window, ignoring the way his words made her heart race. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flustered.

The drive was silent, the tension between them electric. Every time his knee brushed hers, she felt a jolt of awareness, like her body was betraying her resolve. She needed to stay focused, to remember why she was doing this.

When they arrived at the meeting location—an upscale, dimly lit club—the energy in the air shifted. The Americans were here, and that meant danger.

Nikolai stepped out of the car first, and as Nikita followed, he held out his arm for her to take. She hesitated for a fraction of a second before slipping her arm through his. His grip was firm, and when she looked up at him, she found him already watching her.

"Remember," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear, "tonight is about power."

Her pulse quickened, and she nodded, her throat suddenly dry.

They walked inside together, a united front, and the moment they entered the room, all eyes turned to them. The Americans sat around a large table, their gazes sharp and assessing. The leader, a man named Matteo, stood when he saw them.

"Russo," Matteo greeted, his tone cold. His eyes flickered to Nikita, and a smirk tugged at his lips. "And you brought your wife. How... charming."

Nikita's blood boiled at the dismissive tone, but before she could speak, Nikolai tightened his grip on her arm, a silent warning.

"Don't mistake her presence for weakness," Nikolai said, his voice deadly calm. "Nikita is more than capable of handling herself."

Matteo's smile faltered, but he recovered quickly. "We'll see about that."

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife as they sat down. Nikita kept her face neutral, but inside, she was simmering with anger. She hated being underestimated, and she hated even more that Nikolai was the one pulling the strings tonight.

The meeting started, discussions of territory and alliances flying back and forth. Nikita stayed quiet, observing the way Nikolai controlled the room with his presence alone. His arrogance was infuriating, but damn if it wasn't effective.

At one point, Matteo made a snide comment about the marriage being a sham, and Nikita felt Nikolai stiffen beside her.

Without thinking, she leaned forward, her voice calm but sharp as glass. "You seem awfully interested in our personal lives, Matteo. I'd be careful if I were you. Some might see that as insecurity."

Matteo's eyes narrowed, but he didn't respond. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, studying her with a new kind of interest.

Nikolai's hand brushed against her thigh under the table, and she fought the urge to flinch. It wasn't a possessive gesture—it felt like approval. Like he was telling her, "Well done."

The meeting dragged on, and Nikita was growing restless. She wanted to leave, to escape this world of power-hungry men who only saw her as a pawn. But she knew that leaving now would be a sign of weakness. So she stayed.

Finally, the meeting came to an end, and as they stood to leave, Matteo's parting words lingered in the air. "This isn't over, Russo. You may have her by your side now, but even alliances built on fire can burn."

Nikita's lips curled into a smile, but there was no warmth in it. "Then let's hope you're not standing too close when it happens."

As they walked out of the room, the adrenaline pumping through her veins was almost dizzying. She was ready for the night to be over, ready to be far away from this mess.

But Nikolai had other plans.

Instead of heading for the car, he guided her toward a secluded corner of the building, away from the prying eyes of the Americans.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice edged with frustration.

Nikolai didn't answer. He pushed her against the wall, his body pressing into hers as his hands braced on either side of her head. His eyes were dark, intense, and full of something that made her pulse race.

"I'm getting real tired of these games, Nikita," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she struggled to keep her composure. "What games?"

Nikolai's lips twisted into a smirk, but there was no humor in it. "The way you act like you don't feel it. The way you pretend you're not affected."

Her heart pounded in her chest, and her body betrayed her, heating up under his gaze. But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"You're delusional," she said, her voice wavering slightly.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke. "Am I?"

The heat between them was unbearable, the tension electric. She could feel his breath against her skin, and every inch of her body screamed at her to push him away. But she didn't. Instead, she met his gaze, her own defiance burning bright.

"You think I'll break for you?" she whispered, her voice laced with challenge.

Nikolai's smirk returned, his eyes darkening with something primal. "I think you're already cracking."

Before she could respond, he leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was as intense as it was unexpected. It was a collision of fire and fury, and for a moment, Nikita forgot everything else. She forgot the meeting, the Americans, even her own name. All that mattered was the heat of his mouth on hers, the way his body pressed against hers, claiming her in a way that was both maddening and thrilling.

But then reality crashed down, and with a sharp intake of breath, she shoved him away, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Don't you ever—" she started, but her voice failed her.

Nikolai wiped the corner of his mouth, his eyes locked on hers, filled with smug satisfaction. "You're going to burn for me, Nikita. And when you do, there's no going back."

She glared at him, her mind a whirlwind of anger, confusion, and something else she couldn't name.

"You're wrong," she spat, but her voice lacked conviction.

Nikolai chuckled, stepping back. "We'll see."

Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing there, breathless and furious.