Absolute Authority

POV: Chiara

The crushing silence of this fortified estate has a way of suffocating you alive. It’s been three months since my entire reality was hijacked, traded away like a pawn in a brutal territorial war between my father and his absolute worst enemy. If anyone had warned me a season ago that I’d be living under the roof of a ruthless Russian boss, I would have called them crazy. I kept my distance from my family’s syndicate. Yet here I am, Dima Volkov's personal captive. Just proves how violently your world can flip on its axis without notice.

The first time I saw Dima, I couldn't read him. Across a crowded restaurant that night, he looked exactly like the legends painted him—cold, intense, radiating an aggressive magnetism. He didn't offer a single syllable, just locked his gaze on me in a way that made my temperature spike. I stupidly assumed that was the end of it, since my father cranked his security tactics from zero to a hundred immediately after.

A sharp knock against the mahogany door slices through my racing thoughts.

"Come in."

Oksana steps into the dim room, wringing her hands. "I wanted to check in. You didn’t come down for dinner. Hannah said you didn’t want anything brought upstairs either."

"I’m not hungry."

"Mr. Volkov isn’t going to like that you skipped dinner," she warns.

This is what infuriates me the most. Why is my appetite his business? If I choose not to eat, that falls entirely on my shoulders, not his.

"I’m tired, Oksana. I’m going to take a shower if you don’t mind."

"At least let me bring you something light to eat."

"No, thank you."

I turn and head straight for the bathroom, not sticking around to see if she argues. It might be childish to rebel by starving, but it’s upsetting that Dima thinks he can control me like he controls Miami. I’m not his employee or client. We aren't friends.

I crank the shower on, the heated tiles welcoming my bare feet as I strip. But every piece of clothing I drop on the floor drags my mind directly back to exactly forty-eight hours ago, when Dima casually walked in on me showering.

"Are you enjoying the shower?" Dima asked, strolling into the humid space.

I scrambled to cover my chest, but the clear glass offered zero protection.

"Get out of here!" I yelled.

"Why? Are you afraid of what will happen if I stay?"

I wanted to scream a definitive yes, but I refused to admit that out loud.

"You are in my personal space."

He stepped directly toward the stall, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. God, how the hell did I miss his massive size?

"Last I checked, this entire estate is my space." He stopped inches from the door.

"Dima, go away," I snapped, awkwardly crossing my legs to block his view.

Instead, he gripped the handle and pulled the glass door wide open. The raw hunger in his eyes woke something inside me I couldn't explain.

"Why?" He dropped the towel and stepped directly under the spray.

I couldn't help it. My gaze dragged down his heavy muscles. He caught me looking, a cocky smirk pulling at his mouth.

"Do you like what you see?"

"No," I lied, shuffling backward.

"You are lying. It’s written in your eyes." He stalked closer, matching my steps.

"Dima—"

That was the last syllable I managed before his massive hands clamped around my face. He pushed me flush against the wet wall and crushed his mouth over mine. The kiss was animalistic. No love, just absolute, dominating lust. I wanted to break the kiss and prove my strength, but I couldn't. No man had ever made me feel so alive. When he finally tore away, the sudden loss hit me instantly.

"I’m going to wash your hair. Get your shampoo."

The words sounded harmless, but the lethal authority was undeniable. Trembling, I obeyed him.

"Good girl. Wet your hair and turn around."

I was suddenly soaking wet between my legs, and it wasn't from the water. After he scrubbed my scalp, deliberately pressing his hard body against mine a few times, he stepped out and left. The audacity to invade my shower, make me burn for him, and leave me high and dry completely infuriated me. It’s exactly why I refused dinner today. I won’t let him dictate my life.

Twenty minutes later, I shut the water off before my treacherous mind gives in to the temptation of touching myself. I refuse to give him that satisfaction. Drying off, I put on a bathrobe and march into the massive walk-in closet. It’s the size of a private boutique, stocked exclusively with delicate, expensive, and overly revealing sleepwear. When I first arrived, I couldn't find a single t-shirt or pair of sweats. I don't want to be his Stepford Wife, yet this is how he treats me.

I settle on the most modest option—a rose-colored silk lace nightgown. It feels like velvet against my skin. Once my hair is dry and my teeth are brushed, I crawl into bed. I just want this miserable day to end. Staying awake only invites explicit thoughts of what Dima can do to my body. I’m seriously questioning how I’m going to survive him.

I don’t know how long I’ve been staring at the ceiling. Sleep is hopeless.

Suddenly, the heavy thud of footsteps echoes outside my bedroom door, which is incredibly rare. Dima is aggressively particular about who comes near my room. The footsteps halt. The brass knob clicks. I roll onto my side and squeeze my eyes shut, pretending to be asleep. Only one person would dare enter.

"There is no need for you to pretend you are asleep," his deep, low voice slices through the dark.

I freeze, not saying a word.

"Get out of bed. I want you in front of me now." A pause hangs in the heavy air. "You know I don’t like to wait or repeat myself."

"I’m tired. I need to get some rest," the words tumble out before I can stop them.

I hear him chuckle. "Is that how you want to play this? Because I don’t have a problem reminding you who is in control." The vibration of his voice hits my core. "You won’t like it if I am the one who grabs you out of bed." He takes a heavy step forward. "Chiara," he growls.

My defiance shatters. I get out of bed.

"Good girl."

I walk over to where he stands in the center of the room, stopping exactly a foot away.

"Take everything off."

"Excuse me?"

"Would you like me to undress you?" The octave drops into a brutal warning.

Rolling my eyes to mask my racing pulse, I push the spaghetti straps aside, letting the silk nightgown pool at my feet.

"I want everything off," he demands.

With shaking thumbs, I hook my thong, shimmering the lace down my thighs until it joins the silk on the floor.

"Good girl." His commands are making me shamefully aroused. He closes the final gap between us. "You are a beautiful woman." His large hand gently caresses my face, making me gasp. "But," he emphasizes the word heavily, "you don’t follow orders."

He spins me around, takes a soft hold of the back of my neck, and presses my naked back completely flush against his chest. It happens so violently fast I can't react. I instantly feel how thick and punishingly hard his desire is for me. At the very least, I know he wants me as badly as I want him right now.

"You will not skip any dinners, you will do as you're told and won’t complain about it," his voice reverberates right through my spine. "Do I make myself clear? Chiara."

I try to find my voice, but nothing comes out.

"Yes."

"Yes, sir," he corrects, his grip on my neck tightening just slightly to prove his absolute control.

"Yes, sir," I whisper.

"Good girl." He pushes my head back so I can see his face. "As long as you do as you are told, you will continue to have the freedom I’ve given you."

He dips his head and kisses me gently. It’s surprisingly tender, completely scrambling my brain.

"Get in bed." He lets go of my neck.

I turn around, utterly confused by his game. I bend down to retrieve my nightgown.

"I didn’t say for you to dress," Dima warns smoothly. "I said to get in bed. I want your silhouette to be printed on the silk sheets."

A smirk pulls at his face, completely infuriating me. I march to the mattress and climb under the covers, expecting him to leave.

He doesn't. He walks straight toward my side of the bed.

"What are you doing?"

"I ask the questions." He unfastens his sleep bottoms and lets them drop.

He stands completely naked in the shadows. I can't tear my eyes away from him, my breath catching in my throat. He smirks again.

"In bed, now," he commands.

I scramble onto my side, pulling the sheets tight. I’m so aroused by the display that just the fabric against my skin makes me gasp. A low chuckle rumbles in his chest as he gets in. It's a king-size bed, so I put as much distance between us as possible. But he has other plans. The second he lies down, his massive arm hooks my waist, forcefully hauling my bare back completely flush against his scorching heat. His overwhelming desire presses right into me. There is no way I'm sleeping now.

"Going forward you will sleep naked and be at the dining room at seven for dinner without exception." I can barely focus on his words. "Chiara."

"Yes, sir," I manage to breathe out.

"Now go to sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long day. You will be accompanying me on a business trip. Oksana will pack what you need."

Trapped against him, a violent war tears through my mind. I want to scream at him to get the hell out of my bedroom. I want to scream at him to let me go home, to leave me out of this bloody mafia war. But in the exact same frantic breath, I want to scream for him to make me his. I want his large hands actively claiming and bruising every inch of my body.

Dima Volkov is the most dangerous kind of mafia boss. He takes whatever he wants without a single second thought. Unfortunately for me, I am his latest acquisition. One I am chillingly beginning to see he is never, ever going to let go.