When I came to I was lying down on the couch, still in the same office, with my feet propped up on a leather pillow. Someone's suit jacket was thrown over me and Mr. Two-o-one sat on the edge of the couch, short a suit jacket, and his hip resting against mine as he leaned over my body with his left arm resting on the back of the couch.

"So, whose going to need that ambulance?" He asked with another little laugh as he pushed sweat soaked strands of hair from my forehead and clammy cheeks.

I shut my eyes and brought both my hands up to my face, effectively covering it from view. I was weak, felt faint and sick, and was so embarrassed and frightened that I just wanted to disappear. It took all my strength not to break down in tears right in front of him.

I felt a cool cloth on my forehead and the feeling was divine. With trembling fingers I unfolded the cloth and pressed it to my entire face until it was warm. When I removed the cloth it was taken gently from my fingers and another cool one was placed in my hands by none other than Mr. Two-o-one.

I pressed it immediately to my eyes so that I didn't have to look at him, but managed a very weak, "Thank you" nonetheless. This little ritual was repeated several more times before I felt well enough to sit up.

With a little effort I managed to sit up with my back against the armrest, the side of my head resting on the back of the couch, and what was likely Mr. Two-o-one's suit jacket clenched tight to my neck. I stayed that way, with my eyes closed, for several minutes until the waves of nausea passed.

How was I going to get out of there, I wondered with distress. And how was I going to find the girls without dragging them into the trouble I now found myself in?

The saving grace, I realized, was that I hadn't actually seen anyone do anything to the guy in the room. I wasn't a witness to a crime. Well, that wasn't true exactly. It was better to say I wasn't a witness to a violent crime. All I'd seen was a badly injured man who was tied and barely conscious. So, that was unlawful confinement at worst and unlawful restraint at best, which could be construed as a misdemeanour.

Filled with a little hope that I might get out of this situation somewhat unscathed, if I kept my wits about me, I flung open my eyes and blurted out, "I've got to go. My friends will be worried."

Casting off the suit jacket, I tried to scramble off the couch, but Mr. Two-o-one just laughed lightly and forced me to sit back down. His beautiful blue eyes were smiling openly and I couldn't help but feel a bit relieved. Perhaps he was a good guy, and there was a chance I was just going to walk out of his office with no strings attached.

However, when he began to gently rub my bare arms up and down my opinion changed. He was definitely a predator. Even though he appeared gentle and easy going with all his soft words and amused looks, he was no gentleman. If I let him, there was no doubt in my mind that he would take advantage of me. I wasted no time pushing his hands away for a second time that night.

He responded with a wickedly satisfied grin like he'd meant to rile me up and was pleased I'd responded by pushing him away. Was he the type who liked a fight? Liked a girl who played hard to get?

I felt a little sick at the thought. I wasn't playing here. If he was the last man alive, regardless of his breathtakingly gorgeous eyes, I would not go anywhere near him. I'd learned from my maika's example that a glaven or shef na mafiyata (mafia boss) could not be trusted.

"What do you want from me?" I asked him point blank knowing full well that he was not going to let me get up off the couch and just walk out of the room.

He had a very specific and persistent interest in me. I couldn't figure out why in my queasy state. But, I was aware enough to know this was potentially a significant problem for me and Maika too. The last thing I needed was to become the muse for some glaven or shef (boss) in one of the cartels in the city. 

His face broke into a slow, satisfied smirk, which was followed by the seductively soft statement, "Just trying to be neighbourly."

"If you want to be neighbourly," I said with some thinly veiled sarcasm, "then maybe you could reunite me with my shoes, my purse and my friends."

He gave a low chuckle that might have been attractive if I wasn't actually frightened of him. I crossed my arms over my chest and frowned at him, which only seemed to make him smile more. Heaven knew there was nothing intimidating about me.

"I think that can be arranged, malka zhena," he said sweetly just before he pushed himself off the couch.

I watched him pick up my nude shoes off the floor at the other end of the couch. While his back was to me I swung my legs over the couch and prepared to at least get up to my feet. Getting up and staying upright proved to be more difficult than I imagined. It was clear now that the drinks I'd had earlier that night, coupled with a long day at work and this very stressful situation I found myself in now, all contributed to a very woozy head and wobbly legs.

I put my arms out to steady myself, like a traipse artist on a tight rope, and eyed the heels in Mr. Two-o-one's hands suspiciously. What were the chances that I would stay upright in them, I wondered as he watched me while I swayed precariously on my own two feet.

He placed the shoes on the floor in front of me and crouched down to help me put them on. I had to grab his shoulders with both hands to keep from toppling over. On went one shoe and then, miraculously, the next. I felt quite proud that I could stand upright in them. That was, until Mr. Two-o-one decided to stand up and threw off my entire balance.

I staggered back. One of my heels slipped on the tile floor and the next thing I knew I was caught up against Mr. Two-o-one's button down black shirt and tie. I made a few quick observations, even in my less than stellar state. First, he was warm. I could feel his body heat through his designer shirt and it felt wonderful to me. Second, his heart was beating pleasantly in my ear and, if I kept my eyes closed long enough, I was sure I could fall asleep to that comforting sound. Third, his cologne or body wash or both smelt divine. If I knew what he used I would certainly recommend it to a future boyfriend.

"Comfortable, skŭpa?" He whispered into my hair.

Skŭpa was another Bulgarian word. It was a term of endearment used between loved ones. It meant something like dear or sweetheart. My heart jumped with panic and I tried to struggle out of his grip.

Was this guy for real? Why was he coming on so strong? Why did he treat me so familiarly, as if we knew each other and had some kind of relationship? Was this just his way? Or did he know more about me and my particular Bulgarian connections then I realized - than even Maika realized? If he knew I was related to Bogdan Kiril and connected to the Gabrovo Cartel in any way, that could be very bad for Maika and I.

I heard him chuckling softly to himself. He found my panic amusing. I stopped. I wasn't going to allow myself to be his night's amusement. But, all the struggling had made me dizzy and now I felt like a fool as I leaned into him and gripped his shirt in one hand to help keep me on my feet. I pressed my forehead to his chest and closed my eyes in an effort to stop the spinning and think. Oh how I regretted the last two (or was it three) drinks I had guzzled down in the private club room. What had I been thinking?

"I have her purse and cell," some male voice said from behind Mr. Two-o-one.

"Where is her party?" I heard my neighbour ask.

"Back on the main floor looking for her," the same male voice replied.

"Give me her cell," Mr. Two-o-one commanded.

I was about to protest and tell him he couldn't have my phone but then I felt him place it in my free hand, which was just dangling at my side. I took it and looked up at him with confusion. He looked even more amused than ever.

"Text your girlfriends and tell them you are fine but heading home," he instructed me.

"Am I heading home?" I asked him without disguising my misgivings.

"Yes," he replied with a devilish look in his eyes that didn't give me too much confidence in his words.

However, relieved in no small degree to realize the others would not be drawn into tonight's mafiya (mafia) affairs here in Mr. Two-o-one's office, I was more than happy to let go of his shirt and text with both hands while he held me up. I told the girls I was too drunk to stay and was going home so my mother wouldn't worry.

They replied and begged me to stay longer. I refused. Said my mother would panic. They knew a little about my paranoid Maika and relented. And just like that I was free to go and they were safe from being dragged into something dangerous.

Relief washed over me and suddenly I felt very drunk and very sleepy. It was a good thing that Mr. Two-o-one knew just where I lived. Otherwise, I might not have gotten home that night. It seemed to me that I was more likely to curl up on a set of stairs anywhere in the club and fall asleep then to hail myself a cab home or catch a bus. I was that exhausted.

"Skŭpa?" I heard him ask softly.

My eyes fluttered open. I wasn't sure but I felt like I might have just fallen asleep on his chest.

"I have a name, number Two-o-one," I told him indignantly as I tried to shake my head awake.

"Am I Two-o-one?" he asked with a laugh as he maneuvered me through the office, which had been cleared out of all his chakali.

I covered my mouth with one shaky hand and looked anywhere but at him as his fingers tightened around my waist. He leaned in close to my ear again, as he guided me across the to the door, and responded with a playful, "I have a name too."

"Can you stop breathing on me like some kind of dragon," I mumbled at him angrily as I took a hand and brushed my ear as if trying to rid it of his germs.

He stopped short and laughed uproariously this time. I laughed too in my inebriated state. He swung me around so I was facing him again and pressed comfortably against his chest. He was smiling openly at me and I was mesmerized for a moment by his gleaming white teeth and his shocking blue eyes.

"I'm no dragon," he said pulling off an almost innocent look.

"I know just what you are," I told him with a frown. I looked him over suspiciously. He was not going to fool me with a sweet smile. I wasn't that drunk.

"I bet you do. The question is, why?" He replied slowly and curiously.

"It's none of your business why, Mr. Two-o-one," I retorted primly.

This brought out another devastatingly handsome smile on his increasingly appealing face. I was feeling less and less frightened of him the longer he held me carefully, and caressed the small of my back with a little gentle pressure from one of his thumbs. The less I feared him the better looking he became. I began to wonder if I wasn't going to find myself in a different kind of trouble before the night was done with me.

"It's Dimo. Dimo Zaltan," he told me while still smiling at me. "And what's your name, skŭpa? Or should I keep calling you skŭpa?"

Unable to trust myself to stare at him any longer I closed my eyes and pressed my face to his silk tie. I felt the heat of his body through the soft fabric and let myself enjoy the feeling for just a moment before I replied in a very sleepy voice, "It's Zora, not skŭpa."

"Zora what?" He asked me softly.

"Zora none-of-your-business," I replied suddenly as I realized Maika would have my head the moment she found out I'd given him my name. Cursing under my breath I looked back up at him and in a rush told him point blank, "I need to get home. Maika will be panicking."

"I'll get you home Zora," he said with a soft look in his eyes that reassured me he was not going to take advantage of me in my less than stellar state.

I smiled back a bit weakly as he turned me around to face the door and walked me out into the brightly lit hallway. Why was he being so reasonable, I wondered with increasing unease. Why would a glaven (chief) in the Vihren Cartel treat me so well? Especially, when he didn't know me. Was it just because I'd helped patch him up several weeks ago? Or was there more to it? Not knowing was a bit nerve wracking.

It just took us a few minutes to reach his 2015 Italian Racing Red Jaguar - a very sleek and sporty European sports car. The car and the colour - an understated red - certainly suited him and Club Sho's image, but it was entirely out of place in our sketchy neighbourhood.

In fact, as I slid into the all-black interior and admired the very fine aesthetics of the most expensive ride I'd ever sat in before, I wondered for the first time why he bothered to live in the dumpy apartment building Maika and I had called home for nearly two years now? Admittedly he was there so irregularly that it was possible Apartment 201 was a secondary home for him, but why live at all in such a dive when cash flow wasn't exactly an issue for him?

I turned to pull on the seat belt as he slid into the driver's seat. My fingers didn't seem to know how to work a buckle anymore in my intoxicated state and I struggled unsuccessfully to buckle myself in. I heard him chuckle gently and then watched him slowly lean over me before effortlessly pulling on the strap. 

He was so close, so warm, and smelt so good that I felt a little light headed. There was just no denying he was the most attractive man I'd seen in years - maybe in my entire life. 

Those blue eyes caught mine as his face hovered next to mine for the briefest moment. I held my breath and looked away from him. His lips were just too close for comfort and I knew better than to trust those wolfish eyes. He was ready to eat me up. 

The buckle made a satisfying click noise and then he was back in his seat. I nervously let out a pent up breath. The trembling was back in my limbs. So I crossed my arms over my chest and pressed my knees together in an effort to hide it from him - from Dimo. 

The Jag roared to life, but Dimo did not peel out of the club's private parking lot like a cocky hot head. Instead, he let this powerful machine roll gently onto the street with its spotty nightlife traffic. The drive home was so quiet and uneventful that I dozed off a number of times before we arrived in the parking lot of our apartment complex.

I was relieved to find myself home and unscathed but also terrified to face Maika. She was going to explode when she saw who brought me home and there was no way she wasn't going to notice. The woman had likely spent every minute since midnight at the apartment door scanning the road and the parking lot for my return. There was no way I was going to be able to sneak in without her seeing me and seeing who had brought me home.

Not for the first time that night, I found myself wishing I'd never gone out with the girls. Honestly, it was more frightening to be on Maika's bad side than it was to be on Dimo Zaltan's radar. Maika was impossible to live with when she was angry. She became a whole other person - a stranger to me – and she could be every bit as frightening as a Shef na mafiyata (mafia boss).

I let Dimo unbuckle me. He assisted the belt back into place, which meant he was leaning over the console and into my personal space once more. I kept my head turned to the window. I didn't want to do something stupid in my sleepy, defenseless stupor. Something stupid like kiss him impulsively.

His long, elegant fingers found my cheek and turned my face back toward him. I bit my lip and looked around the interior anxiously, not daring to look at him at all. I knew what I'd see there. I knew what he wanted.

"I gotta go," I said airlessly.

His warm breath on my lips set my heart racing. I reached for the door and wrapped my tremulous fingers around the handle. But, before I could make my escape, his velvety soft lips met my small round mouth.

I gawked at him like an awkward teenager being kissed unexpectedly. Then that warm hand of his that was pressed to my cheek, slipped past my ear and into my hair, which had been pulled back in the top knot. I felt a million tingling sensations burst over my sensitive scalp in response. The feeling flooded my limbs and reached right down to my toes.

That's when I closed my eyes to this slow burning kiss and forgot all about Maika.