As Viktor takes a fighting stance, my thoughts turn to the fucking sexy scene I walked in on earlier when Mariya flipped her father to the ground.
God damn, it was hot. I knew she received training, but I didn't realize she was that good.
Viktor's foot connects with my thigh, and I only have time to lean backward before his other foot narrowly misses my head.
"Stop fucking dreaming and fight," he taunts me.
I focus on the sparing session, and we start to move. Having done this many times before, neither of us gets a good hit in, and by the time we're done, we're soaked in sweat and gasping for air.
Also, thinking about Mariya when I'm facing off with Viktor is just plain stupid, but damn, the woman is distracting.
She radiates elegance, beauty, and power - royalty in the mafia world. A true princess who's worth killing for.
She's one of the reasons I'm still single at thirty-four. The other is that I've been too busy working my ass off to bother dating. But I'm not getting any younger. I'll have to figure out a way to erase the line between Mariya and me.
"Are you coming to Mariya's birthday party tomorrow night?" Viktor asks.
"Of course." I wouldn't miss it for the world. It's an excuse to be around the woman I consider my future wife.
People see her as a spoiled socialite who has nothing better to do than spending her parents' money.