I Kissed a Stranger to Make My Ex Jealous—He Turned Out to Be a Mafia Boss

The Night I Walked Into My Ex's Celebration

Eight months had passed since Trevor Ashford shattered my life. Eight months of rebuilding, of telling myself I was fine, of convincing my reflection that I didn't miss him. But the moment I stepped into Maverick's, all that work crumbled like a sandcastle in a tide.

The bar smelled of bourbon, citrus peel, and rain-soaked wool. Amber light gleamed over polished bottles, softening everyone except Trevor. He stood beneath it in a navy suit, one hand resting on Harper Lane's waist. My former boyfriend. My former best friend. Together.

Harper saw me first. Her champagne glass paused halfway to her mouth, and something bright and cruel awakened in her face. She whispered to Trevor, who turned wearing the patient smile he used whenever he wanted me to feel unreasonable.

"Cammy," he said. "I didn't know you came to places like this."

My fingernails cut into my palm. Five years. Five years of promises, of future plans, of him telling me I was the only one. And then he cheated with Harper, and somehow, he still believed my humiliation belonged to him.

"I'm meeting someone," I said.

Harper glanced behind me. "Who?"

I should have left. I should have turned around and walked out, let them wonder. But I was so tired of running, so tired of being the one who looked weak. So I looked toward the bar and saw the largest man in the room sitting alone.

He wore a black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. A pale scar crossed one eyebrow, and his profile had the severe stillness of something carved from winter. Everyone left an invisible circle around him, like he was a fire no one dared approach.

I crossed the room before fear could catch me. "Excuse me," I said.

He turned. His eyes were gray—not soft gray, but the color of steel beneath ice. They moved over my face, my trembling hands, and finally the table where Trevor watched us. "Yes?" His voice carried a Russian accent and the quiet authority of a man who had never needed to repeat himself.

"I need you to kiss me."

One eyebrow lifted. "Do you?"

"Please."

He studied Trevor again. Understanding entered his eyes, followed by something darker. "Is this what you want," he asked, "or what you think will hurt him?"

"Both."

He stood. I was five feet four in heels. He towered over me, broad enough to block the room from view. Yet when his fingers touched my chin, they were unexpectedly gentle. "You may change your mind," he murmured.

"I won't."

His mouth covered mine. It was not the polite kiss I had expected. His hand settled at my waist, drawing me against him as though he had been waiting for me. Heat swept through my body, violent enough to erase Trevor, Harper, and every wasted year between them. I felt the roughness of his stubble, the warmth of his chest, the way his fingers pressed into my back like a brand.

When he lifted his head, my fingers were twisted in his shirt. Trevor was already approaching. "What the hell are you doing, Camilla?"

The stranger shifted, placing himself between us. "Walk away," he said.

Trevor laughed, but the sound cracked. "This has nothing to do with you."

"It does now."

Harper hurried after him. "Camilla, are you seriously using some random thug to make Trevor jealous?"

The stranger's expression did not change. "You will speak to her with respect."

"And who are you?" Trevor demanded.

The room seemed to hold its breath. The stranger reached into his pocket, placed a black card on the bar, and pushed it toward Trevor. Trevor read the name. Every drop of color vanished from his face.

The stranger's arm closed around my waist. "My name is Adrian Markov," he said. "And the woman you betrayed is under my protection now."

Trevor stared at him, suddenly sober. Harper looked from the card to me, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.

Then Adrian lowered his mouth to my ear. "You chose a dangerous man to kiss, malaya," he whispered. "And someone has already called my enemies."

I froze. "What?"

"Later." He turned to Trevor and Harper, his voice turning to ice. "Leave. Now."

Trevor grabbed Harper's arm and pulled her toward the door. She stumbled, looking back at me with a mixture of fear and fury. And I was left standing in the middle of a silent bar, my heart pounding, my lips still tingling, beside a man who could make Trevor Ashford tremble with a single name.