Page 14 of Reign
His eyes narrow a fraction, the first visible crack in all that elegant control, and a violently hot sensation twists low in my gut. Not satisfaction, really, more like the thrill of stepping into something that feels weirdly familiar.
Have I provoked him like this before?
“Careful, Nikolaj,” he says, his voice dipping into a low timbre, and the temperature in the room twists. I hear it for what it is, not what it means. My entire fucking body lights up.
The way he says my name hits harder than the headaches ever did—and that pisses me off. I didn’t claw my way to the top of the Bratva by playing verbal games with a King who inherited his throne instead of bleeding for it.
I feel my mouth curve. “Or what?” I say, almost bored. As if I’m not sitting here with my heartbeat a riot in my chest in a room full of people who would kill for a fraction of what I’ve built. “You’ll give me a lecture?”
Vincenzo seems to still—not outwardly, but I see it. In the same way I notice the exact second his attention sharpens and narrows down to me only. There’s something deeply fucked about how much I enjoy that.
“No,” he says, his voice calm and that fake composure back in place. “I’ll correct you.”
That sentence has two meanings, and only one of them is meant for everyone else. And I feel it—fuck me, I feel it low in my gut. That same strange electric pull that’s been riding under my skin since he walked in.
It’s not anger, or even irritation—it’s fucking recognition.
I tilt my head slightly and smirk, watching the minute way his jaw tightens. “You’re welcome to try, Vincenzo.”
There’s that flicker in his composure again—gone before anyone else can catch it. God, why the fuck am I clocking every small thing on his face? And why do I enjoy it?
There’s something deeply fucking wrong with the way this feels. A buried part of me recognizes this exact dynamic—this back and forth, this push and pull—and responds to it like it’s stepping into a role it already knows how to play.
“You mistake patience for weakness, and territory for ownership,” he says.
“That sounds like something a man says when he doesn’t have control of either,” I shoot back without hesitation.
“Control isn’t loud,” he replies. “It doesn’t need to be.”
“Right,” I say, letting a faint smile pull at my lips. “It just walks in late and expects everyone else to adjust.”
“Careful,” he says in a low growl—and it’s that fucking word again. Why does it hit so hard? I don’t fucking like it.
“Please try me,” I straighten slightly, rolling my shoulders back and forcing my body back into control. “I’d hate to think all that reputation is just talk.”
“As entertaining as this is,” Helena cuts in with perfect timing, “we do have an agenda.”
The spell breaks, and Vincenzo huffs a soft breath that might have been a laugh. “Of course. Where were we?” he says, all composed calm again.
The meeting moves on, but I’m not hearing half of it. Every time Vincenzo speaks now, that pull is stronger. Every time I look at him, I can see the cracks I’ve put there.
And every instinct tells me this isn’t new. This isn’t the first time we’ve sat across from each other—pushing, provoking, and testing the line just to see who crosses it first.
When the meeting concludes, Kai’s voice reaches me in Russian, low enough not to carry. “You’re done for today.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion.”
I turn my head to look at him. “You’re forgetting who the fuck you work for,” I shoot back in Russian as well.
“Never,” he says, clearly unbothered, but there’s worry in his eyes. “You’re forgetting you nearly went blind in one eye at the start of this meeting.”
“I can drag you out if you want to make it theatrical,” Maksim comments from my left shoulder.
“I’m surrounded by traitors,” I mutter. Normally, his quips would earn him a warning look or a dry comment, but right now I haven’t got the bandwidth.
What the fuck is everyone keeping from me?
