Ivan: A Dark Mafia Romance (Underworld Book 1)
Ivan: Chapter 8

Goddamn that girl.

I’m back up in my room, pacing the floor.

What the fuck am I doing?

I should just kill her and be done with it.

Either she really doesn’t know who hired her and she’s of no use to me, or she does know but she’s determined not to tell me. In which case, I’m going to have to get it out of her, using methods that turn my stomach just to think about.

In the end, the result will be the same—I have to kill her. Because what’s the alternative, just let her go?

She’d probably turn around and put a bullet in my head the next day. She’s a hitman! A hitwoman. I don’t know what the fuck you even call it, when it’s a girl so goddamned gorgeous that you can hardly look at her without throwing her down on the floor and fucking her.

I hear a soft knock on my door.

I know it must be my brother.

I don’t want to let him in right now—I’m too agitated. But I stride across the room and throw the door open, seeing Dominik’s expression of concern.

“Did you replace out who put out the hit?” he says.

I clench my fists, not wanting to admit it to him.

“No,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Do you . . . want me to assign one of the other men to do it?”

“No!” I bark at him. “No one goes down there but me.”

The idea of any of my men even entering the room where Sloane is tied to that chair fills me with a fury that I can’t understand.

All I know is that she belongs to me, and me alone.

She’s my prisoner.

“Well, it’s obviously Remizov who hired her, don’t you think?” Dom asks me.

“That seems most likely,” I agree.

I have plenty of enemies, but there’s only one person I’ve started a war with in the last twenty-four hours.

“Do you want to put out a hit on him in return?” Dom asks.

“That’s not how we work,” I say sharply. “If I want Remizov dead, I’ll kill him myself.”

“Alright,” Dominik says, holding up his hands.

I don’t know why I’m biting his head off. He hasn’t done anything wrong.

“He doesn’t know we’ve got his assassin,” I say. “He might even think I’m dead. So, here’s what we do: I’ll lay low. Let him think he’s been successful. You get our guns back. Then we hit back. We crush this little bastard once and for all.”

Dom nods. He turns as if he’s about to leave but hesitates a moment in the doorway.

“What about the girl?” he says.

“I said I’ll deal with her,” I snap at him.

He nods and leaves.

I will deal with Sloane.

But I have no idea how.

Dom knows that Sloane tried to kill me.

And Maks saw me carrying her down to the catacombs, which means that everyone else in the house is going to know about it by lunchtime.

She has to be punished, if only to maintain my standing in the eyes of my men. They can never perceive me as weak, or uncertain.

And the truth is, I want to punish her . . .

But not in the way my men would expect.

This girl has confused me, infuriated me, and tied me up in knots.

I want to take out that frustration on her.

I want to break her like I’d break a wild horse.

By dominating her. Taming her. Training her.

I look at my watch.

It’s 7:20 a.m. I can hear some of my men starting to stir around the house. But most will sleep until nine, or ten, or even noon. Most of our work is done in the evening or during the night.

Sloane hasn’t slept at all yet.

As I shift my weight, I feel the throbbing ache on my inner thigh where she kicked me.

I should leave her tied to that chair until her fucking arms fall off.

I won’t, though.

I leave my room, taking a spare blanket out of the closet on my way down the hall. I descend the stairs, past the dining hall, over to the doorway to the lower levels. It’s a hidden doorway that looks identical to the other wooden panels of the wall.

The monks had their secrets. The lower level is riddled with passageways and hidden rooms, and below that, the catacombs themselves, which once housed the tombs of the dead brothers. My men dug them all out, altering the space to suit our purposes.

I was aware of two tunnels leading out of the monastery—I keep them open in case we ever need to pass in or out of the compound unseen. But those tunnels have locked steel doors and surveillance. I don’t think that’s how Sloane got in.

Which means there’s a third tunnel that I didn’t know about.

That annoys me. It’s sloppy.

Sloane will tell me where that third tunnel is, and how she found it. She’ll tell me everything I want to know, whether she wants to or not.

I’ve reached the door to her cell. I check the camera outside to make sure she hadn’t somehow slipped her bonds and is now waiting next to the door to try to brain me with the chair.

She’s still tied up. And still distractingly nude.

I straighten my shoulders, trying to steel my resolve.

I have to maintain control.

This girl isn’t some mafia princess or gold digger or club rat. She’s a professional, like me. She’s going to do whatever she can to get under my skin.

As I push open the door, she looks up at me. Her arms are still pinned behind her back. She must be getting extremely uncomfortable by now, but she’s refusing to show any hint of that.

I can’t help allowing my eyes to sweep down her body once more.

Fucking hell, what a body it is.

I’ve seen a lot of beautiful women naked.

But there’s something about her figure that arouses me like nothing ever has before.

Perhaps it’s those bare breasts, thrust toward me—small and natural, but beautifully teardrop-shaped, with the most delicate, tender-looking nipples. Maybe it’s her long limbs, slim but lightly muscled. Maybe it’s her thick, black curls and the slight tint of color in her skin that adds to the mysterious look of her, the ambiguity of who she is and where she came from.

Or maybe it’s just the fact that, tied to that chair, she’s so deliciously vulnerable.

I’ve dominated women in bed, but never quite like this.

The sight of her bound and helpless is achingly erotic. It’s awakening something inside of me I’ve never known before.

It’s waking a beast.

And that beast is hungry.

She sees the lust in my eyes. Her lips part ever so slightly. Her breath quickens.

I try to make my voice as cold and stern as possible.

“I’m going to cut those ties,” I tell her. “If you try to attack me, or to escape, I’m going to wrap you up like a mummy. So don’t do anything stupid.”

I see her look of surprise that I would cut her loose. Then her glance toward the door. She can’t help herself, thinking how she might escape.

“It’s locked,” I tell her flatly. “There’s a camera up there.” I point to it. “And there’s a dozen men between you and any door out of here.”

“I know,” she says calmly. “I’m completely trapped.”

She’s acting like she’s resigned to that idea, but she doesn’t fool me. I know she’ll be out of here like a rabbit the moment she gets a chance.

She’ll learn soon enough.

I go around behind her and slice the zip ties holding her to the chair.

She lets out a sigh of relief, massaging the red marks on her wrists.

I loose her ankles too, taking a step back in case she gets any bright ideas.

She just stands up, bending and stretching a little to get the blood flowing once more.

Her breasts sway as she leans first to the left, then the right.

I see the lines of her hipbones above the skimpy waistband of her panties, and the round curve of her ass as she turns to stretch.

I’m astonished that I ever mistook her for a man, even in her tactical gear. There’s never been a more luscious, feminine figure.

I can feel my cock swelling inside my boxer shorts. It presses painfully against the fly of my trousers.

I hold the folded blanket in front of me to conceal it.

“Did you bring me some clothes?” she asks, looking pointedly at the bundle of material.

“You can earn your clothes back,” I tell her. “Food and water, too. But you need to answer my questions. And not your half-truths, either. I know when you’re lying.”

“Then you should know that I have no idea who hired me,” she says angrily, tossing her dark curls over her shoulder. The movement makes her bare breasts bounce and sway once more. Goddamnit, this is so much harder than I expected.

I won’t let her distract me. I glare down into her face, standing closer than is really safe, daring her to try to hit me again.

“I want the name of your broker,” I tell her.

“I don’t know it.”

But there’s that flutter of her thick, black lashes. The slightest suggestion of a blink. It’s her tell, when she’s not being entirely honest.

“You know something about him,” I growl at her.

“How do you even know it’s a him?” she says, raising those straight black brows. “You really need to reexamine that gender bias.”

I step even closer to her.

“You need to rethink your strategy,” I tell her. “No one knows you’re here. No one cares. Why are you protecting this person? He’s not coming to save you. You want to draw this out, but for what? I’m the one with all the time in the world. You’re the one who’s going to get colder and hungrier by the day.”

I throw the blanket at her so she stumbles backward a little as she catches it.

“I’ll give you some time to think about it,” I tell her.

Then I leave the cell, locking the door behind me once more.

This girl is intelligent. She’s used to doing whatever she wants, when she wants. I don’t have to torture her—the boredom of captivity will do it for me. Every hour that passes is going to torment her.

I leave her alone for a few hours to sleep.

But I’m already planning our next encounter.