Inked Adonis (Litvinov Bratva Book 1)

I’ve been waiting on this bronze bench long enough for my ass to fossilize.

Lincoln Park is alive with the kind of people who have time to stroll around at 10 AM on a Tuesday: nannies with thousand-dollar strollers, retired couples in matching athleisure, and way too many joggers showing off bodies that clearly came with personal trainer price tags.

But none of them are the person I’m here to meet.

I check my phone for the millionth time.

NOVA: she’s late.

HOPE: who, me? did we have plans?

NOVA: no, not you, dingbat. Ms. Alekseeva. I’ve been here 45 min. do i bail?

Hope’s response is immediate, like she’s been hovering over her phone waiting for me to crack.

HOPE: DON’T YOU DARE. this woman has connections that could make or break us.

NOVA: so i just sit here like an idiot?

HOPE: like a *professional* idiot. and nova? don’t do that thing you do.

NOVA: what thing?

HOPE: that thing where you get all judgy about rich people who treat their pets like accessories.

NOVA: i would never

HOPE: you literally did it yesterday. twice.

I stuff my phone in my bag before I can argue further. Hope knows me too well. But in my defense, who spends eight grand on a Great Dane and then hires someone else to walk it? Psychopaths, that’s who.

Right on cue, a familiar bark thunders across the park.

Rufus comes bounding toward me, one hundred and thirty pounds of pure chaos, completely off-leash. Which means his owner must be close behind.

Before I can identify the psychopath in question, though, Rufus slams into my legs like a furry freight train, nearly taking me out at the knees. His tail whips back and forth like a baseball bat.

“Hey, big guy,” I whisper, scratching behind his ears. “Where’s your⁠—”

The words die in my throat.

Because holy shit.

A woman emerges from between two ancient oaks, and suddenly, I get why she made me wait forty-five minutes. Beauty that absurd takes time to craft.

She floats across the grass in head-to-toe Lululemon. The morning sun catches her hair—white-blonde and straight as rain—making it look like she’s wearing a halo. Every guy jogging past nearly breaks his neck doing a double-take. One even runs straight into a tree.

She doesn’t notice.

Or maybe she’s just used to leaving destruction in her wake.

Her glacial blue eyes finally land on me, and I feel about two inches tall. They’re the kind of eyes that could freeze hell over. I’m guessing they probably have.

“Nola?” she asks, her tone suggesting my name isn’t worth the effort it takes to say it.

“Nova,” I correct, forcing myself to stand straighter. “Nova Pierce. It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Alekseeva.”

I stick out my hand. She stares at it like I’m offering her roadkill.

“Katerina,” she drawls, already looking at her phone. “Hope speaks highly of you.”

Rufus headbutts my hip, whining for attention. His owner doesn’t even glance his way. Eight grand for a dog she won’t even look at.

I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood. Remember what Hope said. No judging.

Even if this woman is exactly the kind of client that makes me want to scream into a pillow every night.

“Shall we walk?” Katerina asks, though she’s already clicking away on her crystal-covered iPhone, clearly expecting me to follow.

Rufus and I exchange a look.

This is going to be a long morning.

“He’s making real progress with the basic commands,” I say, jogging to keep up with Katerina’s runway strut. “Especially his leash manners. Though it would help if⁠—”

“Have you heard of Daytona Dog Spa?”

I pause and blink at the conversational U-turn. “The obedience school?”

“Mm.” She taps something rapid-fire into her phone. “They charge ten thousand annually. Very exclusive. The mayor’s chihuahua goes there.”

Of course it does.

“Rufus doesn’t need⁠—”

“I’m thinking of enrolling him.” She glances at me for approximately half a second. “For some actual training.”

There aren’t words to describe how annoyed that makes me. For one, she says it like all the work I’ve been putting in with him isn’t worth a damn thing. And, granted, it’s not been the smoothest ride, but I’m good at what I do and Rufus is a handful and a half and it’s pretty rude of her to belittle me without so much as meeting my eyes.

Secondly, she says “training” like all condescending upper crusties do: as if the dog is a malfunctioning robot, not a living thing with a soul and a personality. If she’d bother to just peek at him, even for a second, she’d see how full of love he is.

“He’s really very smart,” I try again. “He just needs consistency and⁠—”

“I’ll need you six days a week instead of four.” Her tone makes it clear that it isn’t a request. “Same times. Longer walks.”

Rufus starts pulling toward a squirrel, giving me an excuse to pause and gather my thoughts. And my temper.

“I’d have to check my schedule⁠—”

“Great, thanks.”

I watch as she slides her phone into a tiny designer crossbody. Finally—finally—she looks at her dog. But it’s not even with disgust. Just apathy. She doesn’t care enough to despise him.

“He’s just so… energetic,” she sighs, like it’s a character flaw. “I haven’t had time to walk him myself lately. I’ve been in Paris, New York, Milan…”

She keeps going. I stop listening. Meanwhile, Rufus is practically vibrating with joy just from finding a stick.

I think of the empty food bowl I saw in her entryway last week. The unused dog bed still wrapped in factory plastic. The way Rufus practically explodes with happiness every time someone—anyone—pays attention to him.

Eight thousand dollars. And she can’t spare eight minutes.

But Hope’s voice echoes in my head: Don’t blow this.

So I swallow my pride, my dignity, and what feels like a whole flock of angry birds.

“Six days works for me.”

A flash of movement across the park catches my eye, and my heart does that stupid flutter thing before I realize it’s just another suit heading to work.

Not him.

Not Samuil.

Thank God, because the last thing I need right now is Rufus losing his mind over his Armani fetish yet again.

But now that I’ve let my guard down, the memories flood in. His hands spanning my waist in my tiny bathroom. The way he snarled against my neck. How he picked me up like I weighed nothing and⁠—

“Are you even listening?”

Katerina’s sharp tone snaps me back to reality. She’s staring at me like I’m something sticky on the bottom of her designer sneakers.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about Rufus’s training schedule,” I lie, my face burning. I was absolutely not thinking about the way Samuil Litvinov’s mouth felt on my⁠—

“As I was saying,” she continues, already back to her phone, “I’ll need you to pick up his new supplements from Gold Coast Veterinary. They’re three hundred dollars a bottle, so try not to drop them.”

I can only sigh. At a certain point, someone this repulsive just becomes amusing, right? Like, a funny caricature of a bad person? I hope so. I don’t have enough hate in my body for her.

Rufus bumps his big head against my hip, and I scratch behind his ears. At least someone here appreciates me.

“Take him,” Katerina commands, shoving Rufus’s Gucci leash into my hands. “I have a call with Tokyo in ten minutes.”

She’s already walking away, her perfect blonde hair swishing like a shampoo commercial, when she turns back.

“Oh, and Nova?”

My name sounds wrong in her mouth, like she’s tasting something bitter. “Yes?”

“I expect excellence from the people I employ.” Her smile is all ice and warning. “I’d hate to have to tell Hope that her little business venture isn’t up to snuff.”

The threat slides across my skin like oil. “Of course, Ms. Alekseeva.”

She’s gone before I finish speaking, leaving nothing but a wake of expensive perfume and unease.

Rufus whines beside me, his tail drooping. I kneel down next to him, pressing my face into his warm fur.

“Don’t worry, buddy. We’ll figure this out.”

My phone buzzes and I pull it from my pocket to read the text.

HOPE: how’d it go??? did you play nice???

NOVA: define ‘nice’

HOPE: oh god

NOVA: relax. i was a perfect angel

HOPE: and??

NOVA: and your VIP client is warm and fuzzy. Like… oh, idk… chlamydia.

HOPE: LMAO. but you’ll keep the job?

NOVA: yeah. i’ll keep the job.

I don’t tell her about the subtle threats. Or the way Katerina’s eyes reminded me of broken, bloody glass. Or how every instinct I have is screaming that this is a terrible idea.

Some things are better left unsaid.