SHAMELESS NIGHTS
Book Two
by London Miller
***Unedited and subject to change.***
Prologue
“Get your filthy fucking hands off of me.”
It was the little things in life Konstantin Boykov lived for. Showing up late for a party he didn’t want to attend in the first place, or investing in a business his father, Vadim, strictly forbid him from going near.
He lived for it.
Which was why, despite Vadim’s warning that he and his brother, Kolya, stay away from Kazimir Markovic’s ongoing drama in New York, he had all too happily inserted himself right in the middle, offering his assistance in any way Kaz needed.
He hadn’t expected much to come of it. A little bloodshed. Maybe a few new enemies, but he hadn’t anticipated this.
A tiny little Italian with murder in her eyes.
From the moment she had been smuggled out of New York and into his city, she had done nothing but complain, threaten him with various methods of bodily harm, and even asked him if he knew who she was as if that would have made any difference.
A lesser man might have been annoyed with her constant belligerence. Perhaps would have even gone so far as to duct tape her pretty little mouth shut if it meant getting a few minutes of peace and quiet, but Konstantin wasn’t like most men.
And more importantly, he found her entertaining.
He delighted in her rage.
Even now, as she stood across from him, glaring daggers as if she could kill him with her gaze alone, he wasn’t bothered, though he couldn’t quite put a name to what he was feeling.
“You’ve got a mouth on you,” he said, tossing his phone on the desk, finally looking up at her to acknowledge her presence in his office, as well as the man he had left to look after her standing in the doorway behind her.
His face was mottled with anger, and had Konstantin not given him orders not to lay a finger on her, the man might have tried to wring her neck.
“I thought you Italian women were supposed to be docile. Obedient little wives, no?”
Maybe he was a bit of a bastard, but he liked the sarcastic smile that spread across her face—the way she all but dared him to test that theory.
She wasn’t afraid of him, even as he held her life in his hands. “Which only shows me that you and your ilk know nothing.”
From the moment he had brought her to his home, Amelia had been demanding he release her, promising vengeance from a family she had to know wouldn’t be coming for her. Not when her father was dead and buried somewhere and her mother … well, Konstantin hadn’t bothered to ask.
His gaze skirted past her to the brodyaga—soldier still waiting in the mouth of the door. He sent him away with a tilt of his head.
If there was one thing he could handle, it was the mouthy Italian girl in front of him.
He stood, tucking his hands into the pockets of his trousers as he came around his desk. She followed his every step with brown eyes filled with hatred.
It wasn’t until he got close to her that he could make out the beauty mark below her left eyebrow—something he wasn’t sure why he was noticing at all.
“I know enough to have gotten you here, yes?” He smiled, one corner of his mouth tilting higher than the other. “Where are your Italians now?”
She attempted to shove him, her hands balled into fists, and before he could quell the reaction, Konstantin reached for her, his fingers on one side of her jaw, his thumb on the other. Nearly to the second he had ahold of her, closing the distance between them, her mouth snapped shut and she stared up at him.
Silent.
His grip wasn’t harsh, his hold gentle even. He wasn’t trying to hurt her.
Not yet.
“Play nice, malen’kaya ital’yanskaya—little Italian,” he said slowly, carefully enunciating each word, even as he knew she wouldn’t understand the Russian. The fact made even more evident when her face drew together in distaste.
But if he thought his hands on her would scare her, he was wrong. Her shoulders went back, her chin tilting up a fraction. It didn’t matter that he nearly had a foot on her height, she stared him down as if they were equal.
“Not on your life, Russo.”
Russian, she called him. As if it were an insult.
Unbidden, he smiled, and even if she hadn’t meant to, her gaze dropped to his mouth and lingered a moment before her eyes came back up to his. “You’ve got a little fight in you. I like that.”
And perhaps it was because of that fight that he found her so … interesting.
She didn’t cry or beg or even try to escape—again. Instead, she boldly met his stare with one of her own as if she fully expected her wishes to be met simply because she demanded it.
She wasn’t afraid at all.
He could break her so easily with just the hand he had wrapped around her jaw, or even send her to one of his father’s stables where she would be made to do far worse than just sit in a room and be quiet.
But even as she had to know that it could be worse for her, she didn’t back down, and that intrigued him far more than he could ever say.
Knowing his sister was somewhere in the house, he released Amelia long enough to pick up his phone once more and sent her a text with a simple request before moving back to sit at his desk.
As he did, he watched her.
Italian through and through.
He didn’t doubt that if he looked into her heritage, he would find nothing but Cosa Nostra blood.
And even as he knew they were enemies just from their bloodlines alone, he found he didn’t care. She was too fucking intriguing.
The way she tried to hold onto her glare. How her arms folded across her chest accentuated her breasts. And then, right there, he saw a trace of uncertainty. She was fast to conceal the fear she felt, but he saw it all the same.
She didn’t know what to make of him, that much was clear.
And if he could help it, she never would.
“Take off your clothes.”
It took a moment for those words to penetrate, but once they did, Konstantin could see the flush crawling up her cheeks. The way her gaze went positively glacial even as her posture stiffened.
“Not. Going. To. Happen.”
“Either take them off, or I’ll do it for you. The choice is yours.”
“So is that what this is going to be?” she asked, still not obeying the order he’d given. “It’s not enough that you’ve taken me hostage but your going to ra—” Amelia swallowed, that flush he’d admired a moment ago dissipating. She couldn’t even bring herself to say the word.
And as much as he enjoyed taunting her, he wasn’t able to stop the scowl that crossed his face. “If I wanted you in my bed, malen’kaya ital’yanskaya, I wouldn’t have to force you.”
There were some lines, very few, he wasn’t willing to cross.
Taking a woman against her will, even one of a family he despised, was one of them.
“Then why am I taking my clothes off.”
“Because I told you to,” he said simply.
Had he told her the truth, that her clothes were filthy, she might have been willing to do as he asked, but that wasn’t the game they were playing here.
If he told her to do something, she would. That was the end of it.
Indecision played over her features before the expression cleared away, replaced by something akin to arrogance.
He was tempted to tell her to get a move on before she did so without him ever having to open his mouth.
First, she reached for the hem of her shirt and drew it up over her head, her cascading mane of brown hair tumbling over her shoulders, making his view of her far more enticing that it was probably meant to be. All he saw was red molding to her breasts, showing him everything while revealing nothing.
Once it was discarded on the floor next to her feet, she toed off her shoes and then reached for the button of her jeans.
Konstantin realized, in that moment, that he wasn’t so indifferent to her as he wanted to believe, because as she popped that button and eased the zipper down, he found himself enraptured, drinking in every moment as she revealed the red lace she wore beneath, the same intricate pattern as the bra she wore.
The panties clung to her, accentuating the curve of her hips and the indentation of her waist, and he knew if he got close enough, he could probably make out the shape of her sex if he wanted.
It had never escaped his notice that she was pretty—beautiful, he thought a moment later, albeit reluctantly. But seeing her now in nothing more than scraps of lace, bed hair, and defiance in her eyes, she was fucking exquisite.
“Happy?” she asked, doing her very best not to appear bothered by her current state, but he could hear the vulnerability in her voice.
“Not even close,” he said, surprised by the hoarseness of his voice.
Before she could issue another retort, the door to his office came swinging open again, his sister walking in without bothering to knock. An unfortunate habit she had yet to break.
Viktoria took one look at Amelia—who had spun around at her entry, giving Konstantin an unobstructed view of her heart-shaped ass, and even if she was Italian, he couldn’t ignore the fucking sight she made—then back to him, before holding up the clothes he asked her to bring.
“I would ask,” she said before sitting the clothes down in the chair closest to her, “but I don’t want to know and I really don’t care. While you figure out your new Italian … complication, I’ll crash at your loft in the city.”
It wasn’t a question, but a statement. One Konstantin let her get away with.
Viktoria had a vicious streak about her, and the last thing he needed was the pair of them getting into a row when he wasn’t around.
“Have Iosef drive you,” he called after her as she left the room. The only acknowledgement she gave his words was a flippant wave of her hand.
Amelia still hadn’t moved from her spot in the middle of the floor, but her look of defiance was now gone, replaced by something he couldn’t read.
Konstantin stood, taking his time as he rounded his desk until he was standing in front of her once more. He was careful, very fucking careful, not to let his gaze drop past her eyes.
His entertainment for the day was over.
It was time to be serious once more.
“I’m not going to harm you,” he said, making sure she understood from the tone of his voice that it was important she listen. “Until I figure out what I want to do with you, you’ll stay here. For the duration, I’ll feed you, clothe you, and otherwise tolerate you being in my home, but understand me, Amelia Amadori, if you attempt to betray my trust in any way, I will make you regret it. Vy ponimayete—Do you understand?” he asked, before repeating the question again in English.
Reluctantly, she nodded once.
“Good girl. Now, get dressed and Grigori will show you to where you’ll be sleeping. I have work to do and you’re interrupting.”
A heartbeat passed, then another before she took a step back from him and went over to the chair where Viktoria had left the clothes. She quickly dressed, covering up every inch of skin he wanted to continue to admire.
He turned then, his dismissal clear, before reaching for his phone again.
“Konstantin.”
He looked up, surprised. It was the first time in the many hours they had been together that she said his name, and while he knew it shouldn’t have moved him at all, he still liked hearing the sound of it coming from her.
That fire he was starting to like was back in her eyes. “I’m going to make you regret this.”
“Pokazhi men troy khudshuyu devochku—Show me your worst,” he said, knowing she wouldn’t understand a word he said.
But it didn’t matter. Not when she merely glared at him before turning to leave the room where Grigori was waiting again.
Even after she had gone, her words still echoed in his ears, and before he knew it, Konstantin was smiling.
Whatever game she wanted to play, he was looking forward to it.