Shattered Crown: A Dark Mafia Age Gap Romance (Kozlov Empire Book 4)

My eyes pop open at five, as they’ve done nearly every morning of my life. But this morning, something is different.

The wall of pillows Kira constructed between us to avoid any contact has been kicked away, and her lush, perfect body is flung over mine. The silk tank top she wore to sleep has crept up her stomach and is showing off her every smooth curve, while her amazing tits are pressed against my arm, her leg hooked over one of mine. Dangerously close to my rapidly hardening cock.

Jesus fucking Christ, what did I do in a past life to deserve this sweet torture?

Or maybe the question should be: what did I do in this life? Plenty.

I’m sure she’s seeking out my warmth, and if she were to wake up like this she’d be horrified. She’d probably accuse me of knocking away the pillows between us—which is definitely not the case, but I’m not exactly scrambling away.

Truth is, this feels … nice. Having Kira soft and warm against me. Compliant. It’s been a week since we had dinner at Probka, and we’ve barely seen each other since then. Blame my busy schedule, or the fact that I fall into bed after she’s gone to sleep and wake up well before her, but our distance only heightens my awareness of her now. Which is why I need to get the hell out of my bed and on with the day.

Carefully, I slide out from under her, ensuring she remains undisturbed. I take one last look at her, feeling a pang in my chest. Asleep, Kira loses the fierce edge she carries during the day, her features softening and her expression calm. Quietly, I make my way to the bathroom for a shower, the image of her sleeping form lingering in my mind.

As soon as I step under the showerhead, all the lust brewing under my skin hits me like a ton of bricks. Damn, I can’t seem to make the shower cold enough, and I know the only thing that will take the edge off.

My hand reaches down and curls around my cock—swollen and thick for her. With one hand braced on the wall and cool water falling overhead, I stroke myself up and down a few times, thinking about Kira’s naked body the night after I doused her, chased, and demanded she change into my shirt. My command was meant to put her in her place, to show her that I would always have the power in this dynamic, and maybe that would have been the case if Kira had a demure bone in her body. But instead, she notched up her chin and held my gaze, fierce as a lioness as she stripped naked before my eyes.

Stroking myself, I imagine what would happen if that night had gone differently. If instead of allowing her to put on my shirt, I ripped the fabric from her hands and pushed her down onto her knees. Would she obey my command like she did when I made her take pleasure on my leg in the kitchen, or would she fight me? I’m not sure I’d care either way.

I picture gripping a handful of her hair, pulling her head back until I have her positioned perfectly, before I surge forward, burying my cock in her hot warm mouth.

“Look at me, Kira,” I’d demand. “Look at me while I fuck your mouth.”

The moment I picture her eyes locking with mine, a fiery blend of desire and anger dancing in her gaze, I can’t hold back. I crave her defiance as much as I crave her submission. With a silent roar, cum erupts, blasting all over my stomach.

I stand under the stream, catching my breath, wondering if I’ve officially lost my mind. Our arrangement is supposed to be nothing more than business. Chasing her around the house and making her strip in front of me was definitely not part of the deal. Neither is allowing her to curl up to me in her sleep, and I definitely shouldn’t be jerking off to the thought of her choking on my cock. Yet here I am, breaking all my own rules.

After turning off the shower, I shave and get dressed in my usual black Armani suit, ready for what promises to be another busy day. I have to approve the final Romanée-Conti forgery, meet with international investors, and then do a photoshoot for Society Magazine. With Kira.

Exiting the bathroom, I spare Kira one final glance—her lips parted, her blonde hair spread messily across the pillow. My hand lands on the doorknob but before I can turn it, Kira cries out.

The sound stops me cold. It’s not a normal whimper or mumble of sleep; it’s a sharp, panicked cry, full of fear.

I turn around. Her body is tense, her hands clenched in the sheets, face contorted. She’s trapped in a nightmare, one that seems to grip her with an intensity that’s almost tangible. I approach the bed slowly, watching her struggle against the invisible demons of her dream. Her breaths are quick and shallow, her brows knitted together.

I have no idea what to do or if I should do anything, but witnessing her torment makes my throat constrict. Gently, I reach out and run my hands over her hair, pushing the strands back from her forehead.

“Kira,” I whisper.

She doesn’t wake up. Still, as I stroke her head, she gradually begins to relax. Calm returns to her features, her breathing evens out, and her grip on the sheets loosens.

Good. I have a million fucking things to do today, and this isn’t my concern.

I pull my hand away and turn to leave when her body jerks violently, a muffled cry escaping her lips. It’s more intense, more frantic this time. Her hands claw at the air as if fighting off an unseen assailant.

I should turn and walk away—I don’t have time for this shit. That’s what I should do, but the urge to help her, to do something—anything to ease her distress—seizes me. Fuck.

I whip out my phone and blast an email off to Nadya to delay my morning meetings. Irritated, I turn back to the bed, ignoring the inner voice warning me that I’m crossing the line I’ve set for myself. Don’t get close, don’t get attached, don’t care. Not to mention if Kira wakes up in my arms, she will most definitely get the wrong idea.

But here’s the thing about the voice of reason: it’s easy to block out.

Without shedding my suit jacket, I slip back under the covers and pull her into my arms. I stroke her head and let her nuzzle into my chest. She doesn’t wake, but again, the nightmare seems to recede under my touch.

Maybe I’ve lost the plot because I’ve never cared whether the woman in my bed sleeps soundly or not. All that mattered was that my dick was wet and she wasn’t disturbing me. But Kira’s vulnerabilities speak to my own. I understand how past pain haunts you in your sleep. Even if you evade those thoughts during the day, they come for you at night. Perhaps that’s why I only sleep a few hours each night—to avoid the painful dreams of the car Ilya was in exploding before my eyes.

Twenty minutes later, Kira is sleeping peacefully on my chest, her beautiful face relaxed, her breathing soft and rhythmic against my skin.

I should have been at my desk long ago, with a million tasks waiting, but they can wait a little longer. For the first time in a long while, I’m content to just be still.

Gabriel, my master vintner, holds a wine glass up with an air of self-congratulation. When he takes a sip, he closes his eyes momentarily, letting the flavors flood his palate, and exhales a contented sigh.

I slam the glass down on the tasting table in front of me and turn to Gabriel. “It’s good.”

The wine is good. It’s even exceptional. But it’s a hair shy of perfect, my usual standard. Still, this is a moment worth celebrating. Except today, my mind is elsewhere.

“I’m glad this meets with your approval,” he says cautiously, like he thinks I’m fucking with him.

He looks at me as if I’ve grown two heads because I never give my okay so readily. I always have notes, always push for better. But right now, there’s a storm brewing in my head, and it’s got Kira’s name all over it. I’m glad she didn’t wake up when I finally slipped out of bed an hour after soothing her in my arms.

I run my tongue over my teeth, giving a small shake of my head. Word will get around that I’ve gone soft if I act out of character, and that’s a dangerous proposition. “The finish isn’t long enough, the tannins are too pronounced, and the label texture doesn’t match the original. Try again.”

My unflinching feedback is more in line with what he’s used to. He gives me an efficient nod and turns back towards his laboratory.

Back at my office, I slam the door and sink into the chair behind the desk. My gaze immediately lands on the clock hanging on the wall, its hands inching closer to the hour I’ve been dreading all day.

As if I needed the reminder, Pavel strides into my office, the smug look on his face inspiring violence.

“Don’t say it,” I tell him before I’m forced to throw him through the nearest window.

He lifts both palms innocently. “Then you don’t want me to remind you that you need to leave soon?”

In an hour, I’m expected home to play the doting husband for a Society Magazine feature and photo shoot with Kira. The charade of playing the perfect newlyweds, forcing smiles and answering invasive questions, is bullshit I could do without today. The looming pretense already feels like a weight on my chest, especially after this morning when I broke all my damn rules to comfort her. Because seeing her tormented like that, even in her dreams, caused a tight knot to form in my heart.

Blyad. I’m getting weak.

I don’t know the source of Kira’s nightmares, but I’m guessing it has something to do with her ruthless father.

Pavel sighs and takes the seat across from me. “Your marriage is a necessary evil—you said so yourself.”

My earlier words come back to haunt me. That was before I knew what she smells like, how she likes her pancakes smothered in jam, how she cries out in her sleep and can only be soothed by pressing her body to mine.

When I don’t respond, Pavel takes the seat across from me. “No woman will ever have power over you again.”

“I know that.” His words make me itchy under my collar. I’ll never let a woman mean anything to me—that’s a straight-up fact. “What exactly is your point?”

Pavel’s expression is unreadable as he crosses one leg over the other. Few can address me as he does, but Pavel isn’t just anyone—he’s my oldest friend. We both cut our teeth in the same gritty boxing gym, a place of refuge from the brutal streets. Pavel cleaned the place in exchange for training and a handful of rubles. While I had some family, Pavel was orphaned at twelve. He was thrust into adulthood prematurely, hustling on the streets to provide for his younger sister. Her disappearance—a void that swallowed his hopes—brought us together. I helped him search through the darkest corners of the city. We never did find her alive.

And when Ilya was taken from me, Pavel was one of the few who understood my anguish. He kept me going during my darkest days.

Our grief is a bond that goes deeper than blood.

“My point is that a woman will never have power over you like that again. Once Kira serves her purpose, you can send her back to her brothers or whatever it is you plan to do once the war with the Black Company is behind us.”

“You’re forgetting that Kira is my only connection to Alyona.”

“Lots of good that’s doing you. Have you spoken with Alyona once since getting married?”

“And say what? ‘So sorry I threatened to kill everyone you love. I was prepared to coerce you into doing what I want but … what, had a crisis of conscience?’ I’m not sure she’s ready to hear from me.”

“I’m no expert,” Pavel says, lifting his arms in the air. “But ‘sorry’ is always a good start.”

Sorry is not part of my vocabulary but if given the chance, I would apologize to Alyona because she deserves it.

Discovering Alyona was my daughter years after losing Ilya was like a little piece of me coming back to life. Alyona shares the same eyes as Ilya—a striking shade of blue—and the same dark thick hair. Looking at her reminds me of what I’d lost and found again.

Alyona was in her teens when I discovered she’s my daughter. I had to wait eight years before I could reach out and tell her I was her biological father because of a deal I’d made with her mother. She made me promise I wouldn’t disrupt Alyona’s life until she turned twenty-five. Maybe it was because I had to wait so long, but when I could finally contact her, I was impatient. I wanted her safe and in my world, ASAP.

But my impatience blew up in my face. And now, I’m paying the price.

“She’s not ready to hear from me yet,” I grumble, rubbing the back of my neck, exhaustion pulling at me after a lifetime of not enough sleep. I stand, indicating that this conversation is done. “Let’s get this over with.”

“There is no ‘us’ in this. It’s all you,” Pavel adds with glee.

“Don’t you have something better to do?” I straighten my tie.

“Actually, I thought I’d tag along for the lovey-dovey newlyweds’ shoot⁠—”

My glare cuts him short.

“So that’s a no then?”

‘That’s a fuck no.”