Chapter 123 Hands on the Queen
❦ Rosalind ❦
I was eating takeout and watching The Devil Wears Prada.
The volume was high, turned up loud enough to drown out the noise downstairs, or maybe just the noise in my head.
After… everything, Viktor had called his ‘cleaning crew’ to get rid of the body.
I kept my eyes glued to the screen, pretending to care about what Miranda Priestly was saying, but my mind kept drifting.
To him.
He had come for me.
Even when he already had the hotel.
Even when he had no reason to.
What did that mean? Could I dare to hope?
The door opened.
And in walked the devil I’d been thinking about.
He was still bloody, and now, shirtless. The cut on his forehead looked deeper now that I wasn’t seeing it through an adrenaline fueled haze. My heart clenched just looking at it.
Old and new bruises mottled his chest, dark against ink and bulging muscle.
He looked like violence and ruin and home all at once.
When our eyes met, I realized I’d been openly staring.
Even worse, he had too.
Heat rushed up my cheeks under the heat of his gaze.
“It looks like you haven’t cleaned up yet,” he said.
I fumbled for words, gesturing at the takeout cartons. “I was going to bathe after I ate.”
He nodded slowly, leaning against the wall, still watching.
I swallowed and pretended to watch the movie again. Then the screen flickered. Meryl Streep vanished. Viktor had turned off the TV.
My breath caught. “What are you…”
“We have to talk,” he said.
“I don’t want to talk.”
The words came out too small.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then, softly, he responded.
“But we have to.”
Something in me cracked.
The tears came without warning. Hot and unrelenting, my shoulders curving.
Before I could breathe, he was there beside me, his arms solid and warm, pulling me in.
I pressed my face into his chest. The smell of blood and vodka hit me hard, and I clung to it like a lifeline.
I cried until I couldn’t tell what the tears were for… my mother, my father, myself… or him.
Viktor didn’t say a word.
He just ran his fingers through my hair, untangling knots that had nothing to do with hair at all.
His palm pressed against my scalp in slow, steady circles, and I felt like I could finally breathe.
When the tears finally ran out, his fingers stayed in my hair.
I blinked up at him through sore eyes, my chest hollow.
“You took my hotel,” I accused.
He smiled, that dangerous kind of smile that made my stomach twist for reasons I’d long stopped denying.
“I have a receipt,” he said. “Won it fair and square.”
“Fair?” I scoffed, sitting up a little. “You had almost a billion and you hacked into the auction. I should report you for fraud.”
His laugh was deep, the sound rumbling through me.
“As long as you’re ready to explain your own crimes,” he said. “Yours was worse. Sellers aren’t allowed to participate.”
I huffed, pouting before I could stop myself. “You’re impossible.”
The pout didn’t last. I sank back into his heat and sighed contentedly.
“I love you,” he said.
My breath caught. He said it like a fact, not a confession. Like something that had always existed, waiting for me to finally notice.
“I’m not going to keep the hotel from you,” he went on. “If you want it back, take it. But I know you don’t. Not really.”
He wasn’t wrong.
“I was just trying to hold on to…”
“Your father’s legacy,” he finished softly.
I nodded. The words lodged in my throat.
“I’m not asking you to forgive him,” Viktor said. “God knows I never forgave mine. But he did love you. In his own fucked-up way. Why else would he hide the truth so hard?”
I stared at the faint scars on his chest, tracing one with my eyes.
“He killed her,” I whispered. “He killed my mother.”
“He did,” Viktor said. “And he paid for it. You don’t have to keep paying too.”
I folded against him, pressing my cheek into his chest. He smelled like metal and rain and faint cologne. His hand found the back of my neck, soothing out the tension.
“What about the syndicate?” I murmured after a while.
“Gone,” he said. “New York’s safe, for now.”
Safe. The word didn’t even feel real. Not after everything.
“What did Giannis want for your freedom?” He asked suddenly.
I stilled. The air felt thick.
“He gave me a flash drive,” I said quietly. “I never used it.”
“Would you have?”
That hit a nerve. “I didn’t use it, did I? That’s what matters.”
He raised both hands, amused. “Alright. Alright. I’m grateful you didn’t.”
I looked into Viktor’s eyes, at his cut lip, the scar along his jaw, and felt my thighs tighten.
God.
I hoped he couldn’t feel the heat radiating off my skin. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d been this close, and all I wanted was to stay there forever.
Viktor’s gaze lingered on me.
“I don’t want you fraternizing with Dominic, or any other man, ever again. If you want to know anything, come to me.” His voice was firm.
I smiled. “Are you jealous?”
The look he gave me made me shiver.
“Right,” I murmured, “of course you’re jealous. Fine. No more fraternizing with Dominic. Scout’s honor.”
He narrowed his eyes. “And other men?”
I rolled mine. “That too.”
I reached up and cupped his face, brushing around the fresh cut on his lip.
“You need to clean this up,” I said softly. “Have it stitched.”
He smirked. “Lucky for me, you’re here.”
Before I could protest, he scooped me up effortlessly.
I squealed, half laughing, half breathless. “I’m not a nurse!”
“You’ll do.”
He carried me into the bathroom, his large frame filling the small space, making it feel so intimate.
My bare waist brushed against his arm, his fingers traced a sizzling path on my skin.
I gasped.
He glanced up, his eyes dark. “Does it hurt there?”
His hand moved again, slower this time, and my knees went weak.
Viktor chuckled roughly, and leaned in until his breath ghosted over my ear. His palm pressed against the mirror behind me, caging me in.
“Eri fatta per me,” (You were made for me), he whispered, his voice like smoke.
“Non te lo scordare mai.” (Don’t you ever forget it).
Then he caught my earlobe between his teeth.