The Hermit (Mafia Empire Book 1)

When Grace stills in my hold, and I hear her breaths burst over her lips in quick puffs, my predatory side retreats and I spin her around.

Seeing the glazed-over look in her gaze, I realize she’s having another panic attack, and before I can try to do anything about it, her eyes flutter closed, and she slumps against me.

“Jebat,” I mutter as I catch her before lifting her into my arms, bridal style.

She was all fire and fight until she…wasn’t.

I just wanted to test how much fight she has, but now that she’s passed out, regret pours into my chest.

Glancing down at the unconscious woman in my arms, I can’t help but notice her exposed bra and the top swells of her breasts.

Once again, unwelcome attraction stirs in me, and I quickly set her down on the bed before covering her with a blanket.

Staring at Grace Devlin, that’s been a hell of a surprise, I realize I’m too impressed by the woman. The way she amuses me instead of pissing me off should be alarming as fuck.

But it’s not.

It’s becoming addictive.

But then there’s the panic attacks.

A frown forms on my forehead as I continue to stare at her.

She constantly gives me the impression she’s a fighter, but I’m starting to think she’s broken beyond repair. A person only becomes this reckless with their life when they’ve already faced their worst nightmare and it destroyed them.

She doesn’t fight for herself, only for her sister.

“Hmm,” I grumble while taking in every inch of her beautiful features.

Before I can stop myself, I bring my hand to her face and gently nudge soft blond strands away from her cheek. My fingers begin to trace the curve of her jaw until I reach her lips. Softly, I brush the pad of my thumb over the scab, wishing I could wipe it away.

“I’m beginning to think you’re the crazy one between us,” I murmur. “Never thought that would be a turn-on for me, though.”

Shaking my head, I pull away from her and walk to the door, where I let myself out. On my way to the staircase, I lift my hand to my neck again, and my fingers brush over the sensitive spot where I’m sure Grace left a bite mark.

The corner of my mouth lifts at the memory of how she didn’t hesitate to sink her teeth into me.

Knowing she’s marked my skin makes my cock harden as satisfaction creeps into my chest.

I better be on guard around the woman, or I’ll soon find myself in a world of trouble.

Just as I step into the foyer to head toward the French doors, Ian comes out of his office. Looking shocked at seeing me, he says, “I thought you already turned in for the night.”

I shake my head as I change direction and head toward him.

He steps back into his office and waits for me to take a seat before he does the same.

“I have to apologize for Grace’s behavior…” he begins, but I hold up a hand to silence him.

“Stop intervening,” I order.

“But…”

My eyes slant to him with a clear warning not to try and argue, which makes him shift uncomfortably in his chair.

When his eyes lock on my neck, a frown quickly forms on his forehead. “You got hurt?”

I let out a chuckle. “Grace bit me.”

“What!” he exclaims.

“I deserved it,” I tell him so Grace won’t get in trouble.

I watch as Ian’s fear for me wars with anger. “Why did my daughter bite you?”

“I restrained her,” I answer honestly.

“Jesus Christ! I know things have been tense between the two of you, but was it really necessary?”

Knowing I’ll piss him off, I smirk. “It was entertaining.” Before he can respond to what I just said, I add, “Grace would be the better option for me to marry.”

Shaking his head, Ian says, “She’s not an option.”

I lift an eyebrow at him. “Why not?”

He lets out a sigh before admitting, “She’s already carried out her duty to the family. It’s Ciara’s turn.”

Not pushing the subject right now, I change the topic and ask, “Any word from the bratva?”

Ian lets out a sigh while he scrubs his hand over his face. “Pavlov sent a message that he’s far from done with me. He plans to retaliate.” Looking older than the sixty years he is, he adds, “I’ve heard I’m not the only one being attacked. The Italians, Portuguese, and Greeks are being targeted as well.”

“Hmm,” I grumble as I lift my hand to my mouth, rubbing my thumb over my bottom lip while my mind races to form some kind of plan.

After a few seconds of thinking, I say, “If the bratva takes over Europe, it will cut out a huge chunk of my business.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Ian mutters. “It will affect my business as well.”

His business. Funny.

Sooner rather than later, Ian will realize he has no power anymore.

Shifting in my seat, I pull out my phone and open a group chat where I add Leo Toscano, Enzo Oliveira, and Ilias Dimitrou. Sending a voice message, I say, “I hear the bratva is attacking. It’s time to form an alliance or face them on your own. Decide now.”

While I wait for their responses, I glance at Ian. “Things are about to get really interesting.”

He lets out a tired-sounding chuckle. “I’m not looking forward to it all.”

My phone vibrates, and I watch as one message after the other comes in.

Leo: I’m in.

Enzo: Fuckers raided two of my warehouses and killed over ten of my men. I’m in.

Ilias: What’s the catch?

I let out a soft burst of laughter before I send another voice message, “There’s no catch, old man. Either we stand together, or you fight on your own.”

Ilias: I hear you’re making a play for fifty percent of Devlin’s business. What guarantee do I have you won’t try to do the same once I agree to an alliance?

Dominik: I’m not interested in your business.

Leo: I don’t have time for this. Are we going to meet?

Dominik: I’ll find a safe place and set up a date and time.

I get a thumbs up from Leo and Enzo, and only then does Ilias reply.

Ilias: Fine, but this better not be a trick.

When I tuck my phone back into my pocket, Ian gives me a questioning look.

Climbing to my feet, I say, “I’m setting up a meeting with the Italians, Greeks, and Portuguese. If we form an alliance, we can beat the bratva.”

A frown quickly forms on his forehead while he stands up as well. “Why didn’t you add me to the group?”

Grace storms into the office, but it doesn’t stop me from replying, “After signing fifty percent over to me this afternoon, you now only have a quarter interest in the arms market, Devlin. You don’t have a place at the table.”

His features darken with anger.

I walk toward Grace, and when she shoots me a glare, I stop beside her and ask, “Would you feel better if I let you bite me again?”

Her expression becomes downright savage as she stares at me. “Next time, I’ll draw blood.”

“I’ll take that as a promise,” I reply with a smirk before walking to the door. “Have a good night.”

When I step into the hallway, I hear Grace hiss, “That man has to go, Dad!”

“Hush,” Ian whispers. “He can hear you.”

“I don’t care!” she exclaims. “He attacked me in my bedroom.”

I stop walking, shamelessly listening in on their conversation.

“Maybe you should go stay with your aunt and uncle,” Ian suggests.

“There’s no way on God’s green earth I’m leaving Ciara alone,” she snaps. “It’s clear Dominik has you under his thumb. It doesn’t matter what you have to sacrifice as long as you keep him happy, right?” I hear movement then she continues, “Just because you’re too weak to fight him doesn’t mean I’ll back down.” Her tone drops to an aggressive hiss. “It will only make me fight harder.”

“And you’ll end up dead! Is that what you want, Grace?” Ian shouts.

Her tone is ice cold as she replies, “I don’t care about what happens to me. Only Ciara matters.”

My eyes narrow, and I turn my head slightly.

I don’t like the idea of Grace dying for Ciara one bit. The world needs more people like her.

Having heard enough, I start walking again and head straight to the cottage so I can get to work on finding a place for me to meet with the others.

GRACE

Not getting much sleep the past two days has me feeling like a zombie while I whisk pancake batter.

My eyes feel so scratchy I keep blinking until I give up and set the bowl and whisk down on the counter. Walking to the cupboard where we keep our first aid kit, supplements, and over-the-counter medicine for colds, I search through everything until I find eye drops.

I wish Dominik would leave. Having him around the house is too unnerving. Ciara is a nervous wreck, and it feels as if I’m a split second away from being killed.

Taking the cap off, I tilt my head back, but when I try to get a drop into my eye, I keep missing, and it rolls down my temple or cheek.

Suddenly, the small bottle is taken from me, and Dominik says, “Keep your head tilted back.”

Not listening, a glare quickly forms on my face, and I mutter, “I can do it myself. I don’t need your help.”

His blue eyes meet mine, and he gives me a don’t-fuck-with-me look. “Tilt your head back, Grace!”

I’ve never heard that tone before, but it makes intense fear shudder through me, and I feel like a lamb that’s about to be slaughtered.

When I don’t do as I’m told, he steps right up to me, grips a fistful of my hair, and lightly tugs at the strands, silently telling me to tilt my head back or he’ll force me.

I feel vulnerable as I reluctantly carry out his order, and even though I blink like crazy, he manages to get a few drops into each of my eyes. The liquid is soothing, and I can’t keep myself from closing my eyes while the burn and scratchy sensation eases.

“Dobré dievča,” he murmurs, his deep voice sounding so intimate my eyes pop open, and I quickly pull away from him.

I use my hand to wipe the stray drops from my face and rush to the counter where I left the pancake mixture.

As I pick up the bowl and whisk and begin to beat the crap out of the batter, I ask, “What do the words mean?”

I hear him move closer, and only when he leans his hip against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest does he answer, “Good girl.”

Unlike yesterday, Dominik isn’t wearing a suit jacket today, and the sleeves of his black dress shirt are rolled up to beneath his elbows. A gun is strapped to his chest, and most of his skin on his forearms are covered with tattoos. It looks like a skeleton has been inked all over his skin, with flowers and guns worked into the design.

It’s both beautiful and menacing.

My eyes lift to his neck, and with the top three buttons of his shirt undone, I can see an angel with spread wings tattooed across the crook of his neck.

When my gaze lifts higher, our eyes connect and heat flushes my cheeks. I quickly look at the bowl.

A moment of silence passes, filled only by the sound of the whisk hitting the bowl, then he asks, “Do you like cooking and baking?”

“None of your business,” I mutter.

“Fine,” he chuckles. “Can Ciara cook?”

My eyes flick to his face, and I glare at him. Not willing to tell him anything about Ciara, I reply, “I like it.”

“Hmm.” The sound rumbles from his chest, making more heat flare in my cheeks.

I ignore the attraction and my body’s reaction to the unnerving man and move to the stove. I drizzle oil into a pan and wait for it to warm before I pour some of the pancake mix in.

While I wait for the bubbles to appear in the batter, I’m overly aware of Dominik staring at me.

“Take a photo. It will last longer,” I mutter.

“I prefer the real thing.”

Ciara comes into the kitchen, and not seeing Dominik, she sighs, “It feels like I’m walking around on eggshells. Do you think we could talk to Dad again?”

I gesture with my eyes in Dominik’s direction, and the moment she notices him, she turns around and hightails it out of the kitchen.

My gaze flicks back to Dominik, and it’s in time to see his eyes narrow on the doorway while looking annoyed.

When he becomes aware I’m staring at him, he says, “It’s difficult to believe you’re sisters.”

My tone is brisk as I ask, “Why’s that?”

“She’s nothing like you. A breeze can probably knock her on her ass.”

“Don’t talk about my sister like that,” I snap, then I smell something burning and exclaim, “Shit!”

I quickly remove the pan from the open flame, and after turning off the heat, I grab a spatula. While I try to scrape the burned pancake off so I can throw it away, the spatula slips and my palm connects with the hot pan.

I hiss when my skin burns and drop everything on the floor, where it clatters loudly.

Before I can even process that I just burned myself, Dominik grabs hold of my right wrist and yanks me toward the sink, sticking my palm beneath the cold water faucet.

His tone is tense and sounds downright angry when he orders, “Boha vyjebaneho! You need to be more careful.”

My eyes dart between his strong fingers wrapped around my wrist and his face. As I watch him inspect my palm, lightly blowing on the red area, I’m stunned out of my everloving mind.

First, he helped me with the eye drops, and now he looks angry because I got hurt?

He blows on the tender spot again, and as his thumb brushes over my wrist as if to soothe me, his eyes flick to mine.

The air tenses between us, and my heartbeat breaks out into a crazy pitter-patter against my ribs.

The instant my stomach flutters, I rip my hand out of his hold and back peddle until I slam into one of the kitchen chairs.

Dominik’s head jerks slightly as if he just caught the scent of a wounded animal, then his eyes narrow with the predatory look I’ve come to fear the past few days.

Just like Ciara did, not even fifteen minutes earlier, I spin around and hurry out of the kitchen.

Rushing toward the stairs, I place my hand over my thundering heart, willing it to calm down.

I’ve never in my life been attracted to someone as dangerous as Dominik Varga, and I don’t like it one bit.