High Stakes

The rhythmic thud of fists against leather echoed through Nikolai's private gym. Sweat glistened on his bare torso as he unleashed a barrage of punches on the heavy bag, each impact a futile attempt to drive Alessia Russo from his mind.

Hours had passed since their encounter, yet he could still feel the ghost of her body pressed against his, could still smell the faint scent of her perfume mingled with antiseptic. It was maddening.

With a growl of frustration, Nikolai landed a vicious hook that sent the bag swinging wildly. He steadied it, breathing heavily, his mind racing.

What was it about her that had gotten under his skin so thoroughly? Her defiance? Her compassion? The way she looked at him not with fear, but with a dangerous mix of curiosity and understanding?

"Bozhe moy," he muttered, reaching for a towel. "Get it together, Nikolai."

A knock at the door interrupted his brooding. "Enter," he called, not bothering to turn around.

Sergei's reflection appeared in the mirrored wall