Inked Adonis (Litvinov Bratva Book 1)

My little mouse is torturing me.

She doesn’t know it—or maybe she does and this is some kind of cruel revenge for my good behavior today. All I know is that watching her bounce from appointment to appointment in those painted-on jeans and that scrap of white cotton she calls a shirt has been the sweetest kind of hell.

I’ve had to play nice. Had to be charming. Had to keep my hands to myself while every cell in my body screamed to claim what’s mine.

The second we step into the elevator, I’m done being good.

Nova gasps as I crowd her against the wall, caging her with my body. She melts against me instantly, her hips seeking mine, those soft lips parting on a breath. But because she’s Nova—my contrary, stubborn Nova—she forces her mouth into a frown. “There’s a whole elevator, Sam. We don’t have to be on top of each other.”

“No, we don’t have to be.” I plant my hand on her hip, watching her lashes flutter, feeling her breath catch. Pure fucking temptation. “But I’ve been good all day. I’m tired of holding myself back.”

“You were holding yourself back?”

The genuine surprise in her voice makes me want to show her exactly how much I’ve been restraining myself. If she could see what she does to me, she’d understand why it’s a miracle I didn’t bend her over the table at lunch and scandalize a cafeteria full of elderly observers.

Now, we’re finally alone—aside from Rufus, who’s pulling at his leash, eager to get through the elevator doors—and I’m so hard it’s painful. I’ll take her right here on the foyer carpet if I have to. Given Rufus’s numerous public displays of affection, he’s in no position to judge.

But when the doors slide open, Rufus doesn’t bound into the penthouse like usual.

He growls.

“Ru…?” Nova leans around me to check on the dog. The brush of her body against mine sends electricity crackling through my veins, but even that contact can’t drown out the warning bells in my head.

Rufus has never growled. Not once. Not even when the squirrels and pigeons gang up on him in the park.

But now, his hackles are raised, teeth bared, and suddenly I’m acutely aware of just how massive and intimidating he can be.

It’s also clear that something is very, very wrong.

I step into the foyer, extending my hand toward Nova and the dog. “Stay here.”

The problem is, big as Rufus may be, he’s still a puppy with a puppy’s impulse control. The moment I move past him, he yanks the leash from Nova’s grip with crushing force and charges into the apartment, barking like a demon unleashed.

“Rufus, no!” Nova races after him.

Cursing, I follow them both, halting in the living room doorway when I see what’s triggered Rufus’s protective instincts.

Suddenly, I’m perfectly content to let the dog handle this situation.

Someone needs to teach my brother a lesson.

Ilya stands silhouetted against the Chicago skyline, hands shoved in his pockets, hair slicked back with enough product to supply a small salon. He spins around and stumbles backward against the glass when faced with one hundred and thirty pounds of snarling Great Dane. His forehead wrinkles in recognition. “Is that— What the fuck is Kat’s dog doing here?”

The fact that Rufus knows Ilya makes this moment infinitely sweeter. The dog truly is an excellent judge of character.

Rufus lowers his head with another growl and inches closer, ears flattened in attack position.

And my brother pulls out his gun.

Ilya’s always been a shit shot, so my money’s on Rufus in this fight. But before I can command the dog to stand down, Nova streaks past me like a bullet in her own right.

“Don’t shoot him!” She throws herself between the gun and Rufus, arms raised like a shield. “He’s just a puppy!”

Ilya doesn’t give a fuck. I know my brother’s history with both dogs and guns. Having grown up in the same house as me, he’s as terrified of our father’s dogs as I was. And he’s always had an itchy trigger finger—a volatile mix of hot-headedness and self-preservation.

The sight of Nova in his crosshairs obliterates everything else.

I charge up and step in front of her, blocking her completely. “Put the gun down, Ilya.”

He doesn’t. He doesn’t take his eyes off Nova, either. “Who is she?”

“Ilya,” I snarl, “put the fucking gun down or I’ll do it for you.”

Rufus chooses this moment to let out another long, menacing growl.

Ilya flinches.

I don’t hesitate. I charge my brother, slamming into him with brutal force. I grab for his gun arm, but not before the weapon discharges.

The shot explodes through the penthouse. Glass shatters. Nova screams.

Nothing else matters as I ram my elbow into my brother’s face, disarming him in one savage motion.

The instant the gun leaves his hand, I whirl around to check on Nova. But she’s vanished. “Nova?”

Images flash through my mind: Nova bleeding out. A hole in her chest. Light fading from those golden eyes. Me kneeling over her broken body while my world collapses.

I’ve watched people die before. Too many to count. Many by my own hand.

But not Nova. Never Nova.

Then I hear her soft voice and spot her crouched in the corner by Rufus’s crate. The puppy’s trembling from the gunshot, but they’re both unharmed.

The relief that floods through me is staggering. I hadn’t realized I was drowning until I could breathe again.

“Call Myles,” I order her. “Tell him to get here now.”

Before she can respond, I haul Ilya off the floor by his arm and drag him onto the balcony.

“Get off of me,” he barks, but I don’t release him until I literally throw him into one of the deck chairs. The wood groans beneath his weight.

I position myself between him and the door. I’ll hurl him over the railing before I let him near Nova again. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Ilya lifts his hand to his nose where blood streams down his mouth and chin.

“You fucking broke it.” He stares at the blood coating his fingers like he needs visual confirmation. “You broke my nose.”

“A broken bone beats a bullet in your brain. Unless you’d prefer to test the alternative?” I wave his gun in front of him. “We can compare the options if you’d like.”

Ilya glares at the weapon, then at me. His hand drops to his lap and he erupts into laughter—the unhinged cackling of someone who’s never faced real consequences.

He blocks one nostril and blows, spraying blood across the balcony rug. “So, she’s cute as a fuckin’ button. Does she have a name?”

My jaw clenches. I know Ilya notices. “She’s the dog-walker.”

“Is that the story you’re sticking to?” The amusement dancing in his eyes tells me everything: he’s not buying it.

“Unlike you, I don’t waste time on pointless conversations, Ilya. Why are you here?”

“It’s been a minute, brother.” He drawls the word like poison. “I’d have thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“You’re thinking of our father. I’m never happy to see you.”

Ilya smirks. “Speaking of the devil, have you seen him recently?”

I shake my head. “He hasn’t come to see me, and I don’t go running just because he snaps his fingers. That’s your job.”

Ilya makes a show of widening his smile, but his eyes tighten in that old, familiar pattern. “Ah, that’s the cost of being the favorite, I suppose.”

“I’m about to throw you off the balcony if you don’t tell me what you’re doing here.”

“We’re done with the catching up portion of the night, then?” He pulls a burner phone from his pocket and slides it across the table to me. “Fair enough. Go ahead; take a look.”

The screen is already lit with a picture—a candid shot of Katerina at the park. She’s perched on a bench next to a middle-aged man with streaks of gray running through his dark hair. His eyes are fixed on her like she’s his next meal.

I swipe left and find more pictures of Katerina with the same man. In restaurants. On street corners. Outside hotels.

“Am I supposed to know who this is?” I keep my voice deliberately bored.

“I thought maybe, but… I guess not.” Ilya’s smile turns vicious. “He’s a cop.”

There’s more to this story. I hate having to wait for my brother to dole out the pieces like breadcrumbs. “Okay. So?”

Ilya basks in this fleeting taste of power. He laces his fingers behind his head and crosses his legs. “Aren’t you going to offer me a drink? It’s the least you can do after breaking my nose—again.”

“Fresh out.”

Ilya rolls his eyes. “Why not bring your saucy little girlfriend out here to join us? I’d like to get to know her better.”

Red bleeds into my vision, and I fight the urge to flip the table onto my brother. “You’re never going to speak to her.”

“Ooh, protective.”

I shove my hands in my pockets to hide how badly I want to form them into fists. “Tell me why you’re here, or I will introduce you to the dog. Or maybe the two of you have already met?”

His smile slips. Panic flashes behind his eyes. He tries to shrug it off, but his gaze darts to the sliding glass door like he’s waiting for Rufus to burst through and rip out his throat.

“I’m here to give you a little brotherly advice,” he says. “Women can’t be trusted.”

I toss the phone with Katerina’s pictures back to him. “Is this your way of telling me that Katerina’s finally gotten sick of you and she’s exchanged your cock for this mudak’s? I’d be surprised, but then again… you know her exactly as well as I do.”

Ilya doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by the reminder of what he did with Katerina behind my back. “Who was I to deny her after she begged and pleaded for me to fuck her the way you couldn’t?” He shrugs like the choice wasn’t even his. “Anyway, enough of this macho bullshit. It’s so tiring, you know? The man in the picture with Kat is a cop. He has two sons on the force, too. It’s the family business.”

“Why the fuck should I care who⁠—?”

“His name is Tom Pierce,” he continues, radiating smug satisfaction as he leans back in his chair. “Then again, maybe you already know all this. Because from the looks of it—” His eyes slide back toward the penthouse. “—you are sleeping with his daughter.”

One sentence. That’s all it takes to make me see the connections between all the dots I’ve been so fucking blind to.

Of course.

Of. Fucking. Course.

But I don’t give Ilya the satisfaction of seeing my reaction. I keep my face carved from stone as I stare him down.

“Get out,” I say quietly. “And if you ever point a gun at her again, I will end you. Brother or not.”

A smile spreads across his bloody face. “See? This is why I had to tell you. Family looks out for family.” He stands, straightening his suit jacket. “Give Nova my regards. Or should I say, Officer Pierce’s daughter?”

I watch him leave, my hand white-knuckled on his gun.

Only when I hear the elevator doors close do I allow myself to process what this means.

For my business. For my safety.

For us.