The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 226

Vivian

For a moment, Dmitri's piercing green eyes seemed to lose focus, as if he was seeing me—really seeing me—for the first time. The brief flicker of surprise across his features sent a wave of satisfaction through me. Good. I had his attention.

Without waiting for him to speak, I gestured toward the black briefcase sitting between us like a loaded weapon.

"Five million dollars in cash," I said, my voice steady and businesslike, each word carefully measured. "My request is simple: betray your previous employer, Devan Blackwell. Then have your people 'handle' Devan, Dwayne, and their ally Charles permanently. Remove them from this world entirely."

The booth fell into stunned silence. Even the ambient noise from the main bar seemed to fade away. Every pair of eyes in the private space was fixed on me, but Dmitri himself remained eerily still, studying me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

Was that... intrigue?

I couldn't help but smile as I slowly approached the table. The other occupants—his men, the busty women who'd been draped over him like expensive jewelry—all instinctively stepped back, creating a clear path between us. Perfect.

With deliberate ceremony, I flipped open the briefcase. Stacks of pristine hundred-dollar bills were arranged in neat rows, the crisp green paper practically glowing under the booth's dim lighting. The sight of so much cash in one place had an immediate effect—I could see the hunger in their eyes, the way their breathing changed.

This was going to be easier than I'd thought.

Finally, Dmitri spoke. His voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried absolute authority.

"Close it." Then, without looking away from me, he added in that same quiet tone, "Everyone out."

His crew and the women scattered like startled cats, but not before I caught the naked greed in their expressions as they glanced back at the open case. Yes, they wanted this deal to happen almost as much as I did.

I snapped the briefcase shut, the sound sharp as a gunshot in the sudden quiet.

But then Dmitri surprised me.

"You too," he said, his eyes never leaving mine. "Get out."

The words hit me like a physical blow. For a moment, I couldn't process what I'd heard.

"What?" I stammered, my composure cracking. "Is it not enough? I can add more—you know a job like this is worth more than five million, I can—"

"Stop." His voice cut through my babbling like a blade. "Little girl, I know you overheard me complaining about how cheap Devan and his brat were being. Yes, I told you I'm greedy. But I don't take every deal that walks through my door."

He leaned back in the booth, his posture casual but his eyes deadly serious.

"Go home, princess."

The dismissal stung more than it should have. I found myself rooted to the spot, unable to accept this rejection.

"Why?" I demanded. "Why won't you make a deal with me?"

Dmitri's smile was sharp as broken glass. "No particular reason. You're not from this world. I don't trust you." The smile faded, replaced by something darker, more menacing. "You waltz in here thinking money solves everything. That you can wave some cash around and buy yourself a clean slate."

His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "You're trying to insult me with your money. Don't underestimate me, sweetheart."

I stared into those deep green eyes, searching for the truth beneath his words. He wasn't lying about not trusting outsiders, but there was something else. Something in the way he looked at me—not with disgust or contempt, but with a kind of desperate resistance. Like a man fighting against his own instincts.

He was lonely. Bone-deep, soul-crushing lonely. And that loneliness made him dangerous to approach.

Slowly, deliberately, I walked around the table. I poured myself a glass of his premium vodka—the bottle probably cost more than most people's rent—and settled into the seat directly across from him. Our knees were almost touching.

"You're right," I said, raising the glass in a mock toast. "The money is insulting. Because I can see that you don't actually give a damn about it."

Dmitri's eyes sharpened. Bingo.

I leaned forward, closing the distance between us until I could smell his cologne—expensive, masculine, dangerous. My voice dropped to barely above a whisper, but every word was designed to cut.

"I've been watching you for exactly five minutes, Dmitri. In that time, I've seen beautiful women hanging on your every word, but your eyes were completely empty. You've got the most expensive liquor money can buy sitting right there, but you're drinking it like it's tap water. Your men worship the ground you walk on, but all I see in your face is boredom."

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. I was getting to him.

"You've got everything a man could want through money and violence, but you're miserable. You're like some exotic predator trapped in a golden cage, and you lost interest in the easy prey they keep throwing at you a long time ago." I paused, letting my next words sink in. "What you really want—what you're dying for—is something that makes you feel alive again. A real hunt. A worthy opponent. Or maybe... someone who sees through all this bullshit to the man underneath."

The change in his expression was immediate and electric. The mocking smile vanished. His eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. For the first time since I'd entered his domain, I felt like I was looking at the real Dmitri Petrov—not the crime boss, not the cold mercenary, but the man.

And that man was fascinating.

A slow, dangerous smile spread across his lips. This wasn't the sardonic smirk from before—this was something predatory, interested, alive.

Without breaking eye contact, he reached across the table and deliberately pushed the briefcase back toward me.

"You're absolutely right," he said, his accented English rough as sandpaper. "Everyone knows my reputation. The man who works for the highest bidder." He let out a short, humorless laugh. "But God, I am so tired of it. My life... it's been an exercise in satisfying every impulse, every desire, to its absolute limit. And when you have everything, you find that nothing has value anymore. Nothing is... interesting."

He let his gaze drift over me, a flicker of genuine life in his eyes. "But you know what?" he murmured, leaning forward slightly. "You might be the first interesting thing to happen to me in a very long time."

He leaned back, but his gaze never wavered. "First time, I saw you tied up in that warehouse, spitting fury even with a knife held to your face. Tonight, you walk into my territory alone with a suitcase full of cash, asking me to betray my employer. Either you're incredibly stupid, or you've got balls of steel."

I felt heat bloom in my chest at the compliment—if that's what it was.

"Here's what I don't understand," Dmitri continued, his tone conversational but his eyes still predatory. "If I were still on Devan's payroll, I could kill you right now and keep your five million as a bonus. What made you so sure I wouldn't?"

I met his stare without flinching. "Maybe being too clever would make you suspicious. Sometimes the direct approach is more trustworthy than elaborate schemes."

Something shifted in his expression—surprise, maybe even respect.

"Your deal is three targets," he said slowly. "You understand how complicated that gets? If you really want to do business with me, I prefer to work one target at a time."

My heart leaped. "You're saying yes?"

Dmitri gestured dismissively at the money. "I'm saying I don't want your cash."

"Then what—" I started, but the look in his eyes stopped me cold.

"You said I was looking for something to make me feel alive," he said, his voice dropping to that dangerous whisper again. He leaned closer, his eyes holding mine. "You were right."

The implication hit me like lightning. My body responded before my brain could catch up—a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the way he was looking at me.

His gaze traveled slowly from my eyes, down the curve of my neck, lingering on the way my red silk dress hugged my body, before returning to my lips.

"My payment," he said, each word deliberate and devastating, "is you. One night. One target eliminated."

He paused, letting that sink in.

"No emotions. No promises. Just a transaction. You want my killing, I want your body. Seems fair."

The crude honesty should have offended me. Should have made me feel cheap, used, degraded.

Instead, liquid fire shot through my veins. My body betrayed me completely—I could feel myself growing wet, my pulse hammering in places that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with want.

This was insane. He was a killer, a criminal, a man who'd just propositioned me like I was merchandise. But God help me, I'd never wanted anything more in my life.

I looked into those winter-green eyes and saw my own hunger reflected back at me.

"Deal," I whispered.