Silva

Chapter Twenty-Eight

• Silva •

—

"Does winter run in your family?" her dainty voice asks.

The ice clinks against the glass of bourbon as I switch my attention to her. The sensual curve of her back faces me, her hands pressing on the full-length window, and the harmless wonder in her voice heats my body more than the liquor.

I should not be imagining her begging me to fuck her harder against the window. I made a vow to myself that I want her to be completely dependent on me before I take her virginity.

It's rightfully mine, but the timing isn't right.

Two days ago, when she asked me to fuck her, it took too much concentration to resurrect my self-control.

"What do you mean?" I take another swing, and I finally notice the choice of drink.

Every liquor I choose to drink has a sweeter hint than what I'm used to. On the contrary to popular belief, I prefer mine to be bittersweet. The perfect balance can't go wrong.

"It's winter where we live, your mom took me to Moscow, and now Norway," she notes as she counts her little fingers on the glass.

We're on vacation away from the crushing tension. I'm not a mafia boss, and she isn't—

What is she?

Irisa is far from normal, but she isn't dangerous either. I think she's just a girl forced to grow up in a horror house with no guidance. That's why she needs me to help her—to guide her into my arms and stay there.

I'm her home.

She doesn't tell me her goal or why she does certain things, but I'm not going to ask her. Irisa tends to look like she wants to cry when the conversation has an inkling of going in that direction.

I like seeing her cry, just not that way.

Not when anguish clouds her eyes, suppressed frustration at the corners of her lips, and frightened retreat in her shoulders.

It's a cry that will turn into sobbing—a cry coming from the bottom of her heart.

I can't guarantee I can hold back from destroying the very thing that's hurting her. I want her to get the closure she needs in her own way.

So, I won't ask.

Whatever she needs, I'll give it to her. Manpower, money, and time; anything she needs, it's hers.

This villa is hers. She can break everything in here, and I won't be angry. Taking the frustration out on broken things can be therapeutic, I've done it before.

Although, it was on unwilling bones.

I want to see her smile, the naïve and carefree grin that unsettles my heart.

It's been a while since I've seen one.

When she turns to me, I ingrain the smile into my head and make a mental note to take her to a tropical island. Maybe a hot sun can bring a different kind of smile to her face.

"Look!" Irisa squeals happily, tapping her finger persistently on the glass with her head turned over her shoulder.

I follow her finger to the veil of iridescent green surging through the black sky.

Putting the bourbon glass down, I pick up a thicker coat to drape over her small shoulders. She lets me dress her when she's too taken aback by the brightness in the sky.