Torrid (Sordid 2)

Whitney pushed her thoughts away and brightened. “Anyway, I’m excited you’re here. Cooking for two is easier than one.” Her eyes gleamed with amusement. “I’ve been told you eat like a bird, and Vasilije wants me to introduce you to American cuisine.”

“I think he wants to fatten me up,” I said dryly.

She just laughed. We chatted for a while about meal ideas. Usually Whitney prepared the upcoming week’s menu and left instructions for Vasilije to execute. He ate well. Not just large meals, but healthy ones. Should I have been surprised? He liked staying in shape, and his diet played a big role.

“Will it bother you if I play while you’re cooking?”

She grinned like I was being silly. “Um, no. I think it would be amazing.”

Back I went to the piano, leaving Whitney to her meal prep while I worked on my symphony. I heard the song in my head as a full orchestra, and the strings would feature a haunting melody. It flowed from me so fast, I struggled to keep up with my pencil on the paper. I worked feverishly, trying not to lose the inspiration as it struck—

A hand closed on my shoulder, and I startled. My body went on red alert. This hand was male, but it did not belong to Vasilije. It was too large and warm. I jerked away and whirled to face the owner.

I sucked in a breath so fast, it was painful.

Goran Markovic.

What the hell was he doing here? I stared up at him, unable to find words. He wore a suit. Black, but not as dark as his eyes. Nothing seemed to be as pitch black as those. Cold washed over me at his intense expression.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “I’ve been standing here a while. You didn’t hear me come in?”

My vocal cords refused to work. I shook my head as I subtly slid away from him on the bench. My gaze went to the front door, glaring at it for letting him in.

He must have figured out what I was wondering. “I have a code,” he said. “No one answered the door when I rang.”

Whitney’s strained voice came from the kitchen. “I’m sorry, sir. I must not have heard it either.”

The way she said it made me wonder if he’d used the doorbell at all, or had he planned to sneak up on me. I stood from the bench and smoothed my clammy palms down my thighs. I wasn’t mentally prepared to face Goran, especially without Vasilije around. My father’s warning echoed in my head. What reason did Goran have for showing up unannounced?

“My nephew was right,” he said. His eyes drilled into me, and I’d rather do scales for hours than endure his scrutiny another second. “You’re talented.” His voice dropped low. “I wonder how talented you are at other things.”

I couldn’t breathe.

My father wanted me to seduce this man, and here he was, giving me the perfect opening. Goran was the head of the Serbian mafia, but I wasn’t a fool. I saw right through to the motivations beneath. This was a power struggle between the family. Whether Goran was interested in me was irrelevant. His goal was to weaken Vasilije.

And since it seemed like the younger Markovic man was infatuated with me, the older one would use me to make his first strike. My throat closed up as my pulse skyrocketed. The look in Goran’s eyes was sexual and dominating. I’d come to enjoy that same look from Vasilije, but on this man? It was revolting.

In the kitchen, Whitney dropped a pan and it clattered loudly in the sink. I flinched at the sound, and his irritated gaze flicked to her before returning to me. “I need to speak with you in private,” he said. “Come on.”

The head of the Serbian crime family didn’t make requests. I would have to do as he said. While he strode toward the office, I glanced at Whitney like she could save me. She looked back with concern. The thought that struck me right then was shocking. I didn’t want to be alone with any man—

Any man except for Vasilije.

I had a terrible suspicion of what was about to happen in the office. Like a sick déjà vu, I started thinking about scenarios. If Goran tried to force himself on me, could I get to the gun in the desk drawer in time?

Stay calm. Maybe all he wants to do is talk. I marched to the office, sure I was heading toward ruin.

It was noticeably colder in here. The room was all dark, elegant wood, and a tufted leather couch sat opposite the desk in the center. On the other side of the huge arched front window was a built-in bookcase and fireplace, and I stared at one of the pictures on a shelf. A beautiful dark haired woman stood beside the piano, holding a baby in her arms while a young boy clung to her leg.