The Bratva's Heir (Underworld Kings)

His arms tighten around me, fully embracing every inch of me. I’m completely engulfed, and I love it. I draw in a deep breath and release it. I inhale his scent. If the scent of an alpha male could be bottled, it would smell like this—vigorous and indomitable, clean and woodsy.

“You comfort me, Clare.”

His words surprise me. He’s holding me as if I’m precious to him, and I’m the one who comforts him?

“Oh?”

Sometimes saying very little is the best approach. I don’t want to push him away. I want to know why.

His shoulders shake with a chuckle. “Oh.”

I smile against his chest. He runs his fingers through my hair, gently.

“I’ve never held a woman before.”

Startled at this, I pull away from him and give him what must be a perplexed look, because he bends and kisses my forehead. “Don’t look so surprised.”

“I am. You’re no virgin. You were engaged to be married. You’ve never held a woman?”

My heart sinks when he shakes his head. “Never.”

“You’ve never… cuddled?”

He snorts. “I wouldn’t even know how.”

How could someone so strong and intelligent be so ignorant of one of the most basic human interactions? His must’ve been a miserable childhood, not that mine was much better. My heart aches.

“I could show you how.”

My heart does a little somersault when he smiles at me. “I’m counting on it. For now, let’s order dinner. I have calls to make.”

We’re going to see the Irish, that I know, but leaving unprepared would be like signing our death warrants.

Taking me by the hand, he leads me to a large, gleaming glass table in the corner of the room. He pulls out a chair. “Sit.”

I obey without thinking.

When I was in grad school, we studied human behavior and conditioning, and I know exactly what he’s doing to me. I don’t even know if he does it all consciously or by instinct, but I’m as malleable to him as warmed taffy. He could twist and pull me into any shape.

I don’t know if I like that.

“Do you expect blind obedience?” I hear the edge in my tone and feel it in my chest, a slight prickling of skin and nerves.

There’s a warning edge to his tone when he replies, his accent thicker. “You feel the sting of my lash and yet you still question me, little bird?”

I swallow hard.

Why did that turn me on? Gah!

“I just mean, all the time, from all people. I know there are… times… when you’ve expected it from me.”

I watch as he tugs a chair out across from me and folds his heavy frame into it, before he reaches for a folded menu labeled Room Service in large gold letters.

“Are you hungry?”

My stomach growls in response, earning another smile from him. God, I love it when he smiles.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Yes. Starving. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“I was thinking how to formulate my answer.”

Ah. So it’s one of those questions, then, that deserves a calculated response? Interesting.

“From my men, I expect nothing short of blind obedience.”

“Do you punish them if they disobey you, too, then?”

“Of course, but in a much different way than I would you.”

I swallow hard, trying to focus on the menu. The words swim in front of me.

It’s hard not to be attracted to him. He’s absolutely nothing like any man I’ve ever dated, but that’s exactly why I can’t stop thinking about him. Every man I’ve ever dated fell short of what I wanted. What I needed. But Constantine…

Am I crazy that I’m even going there mentally?

“Baked stuffed haddock with a side of wild rice and side salad, please. Flourless chocolate cake for dessert.” I fold the menu with a flourish, satisfied.

He nods, picks up the phone, and places the order. He tacks on a steak, an appetizer tray of antipasto, a bottle of wine, and sparkling water.

“So it makes sense that you expect your men to obey you.”

He nods. “It’s the way of the Bratva. We function within a solid hierarchy. There are men at the top and men who strive to be, as well as those who serve us and those who are paid by us.”

I’m afraid to ask, but I need to know. “And what about your women?”

A shadow crosses his features. “What about them?”

“Do you all… expect obedience, too?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. “That depends on the man.”

Interesting.

“I see.”

He leans across the table, his large, bulky frame pressed against his forearms as he folds his fingers together. “Do you, Clare? Do you see?”

No. Not at all.

I don’t reply.

“I demand obedience from those under my care,” he says in a gentler tone than I expect. “From my men and those beneath me. And since you are in my care, that would be from you as well. I cannot protect anyone who undermines me or seeks to take away my ability to do so in any way.”