He hired me to cook. He never said I’d be the one served. Dimitri Volkov is Manhattan’s most elusive billionaire—brooding, brutal, and whispered to be more Bratva than businessman. I was just supposed to cater his private poker night. Cash-only. No questions asked. But one look from those steel-gray eyes, and I knew I was in trouble. He tastes my cooking like it’s foreplay. Follows me with eyes that burn hotter than his vodka. And when he touches me, it’s not gentle. It’s possessive. The problem? He’s not just a client. He’s the Pakhan of the Bratva. And now I’ve seen too much. I should run. I should be terrified. But every time he says my name, I forget how to breathe, let alone say no. He says I belong to him now. And the most dangerous part? I want to.