4

~Ace Romano~

This information given to me by Alexa's doppelganger was giving me the excitement that’s sipping into my core. The kind that I haven't felt in a long... long time.

She's to wed the Russian mafia second in command, Alek fuckin' Orlov. That asshole’s bride to be is my prisoner. What a blessed day this is.

"What are you smiling about?" Luka asked as he entered my office. He transferred the girl into a different cell, much more comfortable with a bed, and tended to her wounds. I didn't argue with his suggestion because I needed that girl alive for my plan to work.

"Don't tell me you're planning to use that girl." My best friend continued, pouring himself a glass of whiskey and slouched down on the couch in front of my desk.

"I want to know who she is. Why is Val Orlov willing to let his son marry a regular whore." It puzzled me. Most of the weddings in each mafia family are done for one purpose. To strengthen their clan. Question is, why is that girl about to wed Alek? She’s not from any powerful crime family, nor from influential people in the regular world. If she was, I would’ve known her by now. And if she was, she would’ve been dead by now for looking like Alexa.

Luka took a big swig of his whiskey. "This goes against your own perspectives, Ace."

I shake my head. "If it means were to put an end to the Russians, I'm willing to sacrifice one whore."

My best friend heaved a sigh in resignation. "Lian seems like a good kid, Ace. I hope you're not the one who'll destroy that girl's future." With that, he stood up and stormed out of my office.

One whore versus hundreds of thousands that will be saved from the Russian's hands seems like good odds to me. I don't care who she is, she's a fucking mirror image of my sworn enemy. Killing her or even making her life miserable will give me satisfaction.

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She seems like a nice little kitten at first, doing warm-ups in her cell each morning, eating her meal properly, and does her bathroom routine without giving my men a hard time. It all changed after a week of her stay in the estate. She put five of the guards in the infirmary with broken bones and one of them will surely not be able to stand without the help of a walking stick.

To her defense, they tried to kill her and attempted to touch her more than once. It was only logical for her to protect herself but no one can blame my men. They thought she was Alexa, the assassin who killed their Don and killed hundreds of their comrades.

The whore doesn't talk much, she speaks when she's asked but she doesn't talk to defend herself, she acts for it. Seeing her suffer is fun, it gives me satisfaction to see her bleeding

Luka visits her whenever he's not busy. He was the only person she talks to, she smiles and laughs towards him but when it comes to me, she's like a stone-cold vixen. I visited her cell one time, I asked her if she knew who Alexa was but she just stared at me like I was speaking an alien's dialect.

It was her tenth day in the cell, the tenth night actually, I watched her sleep, fascinated by how beautiful this whore was. No one knew how Alexa and I first met except for Luka.

I fell for that girl's beauty. She's the justification of the word femme fetal.

Alexa was this innocent beautiful girl I met in Paris, lost and confused about the world. I always look at Luka’s perspective towards the damsel in distress as his weakness because it is my weakness as well. If I knew who she was, I would have never allowed her in my life.

The whore stirred in her bed as if she was in pain. She gasped for air and shot up from her bed. She's having nightmares every night but tonight was different though. I watched her stand up from her bed and curled to one corner of her cell. Most of the night she'll just stay in her bed and stare at the ceiling but what's so different from tonight?

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~Lianna Black~

‘Stop’ I pleaded as I faced the fire of his dark brown hues, his burning gaze boring whole on my body, igniting me to embers and turn to ashes. ‘Por favor, Señor... No más…’ I begged, raising my hand, succumbing to the pain of his torture. (Please sir. No more.)

With the soap wrapped in a fluffy towel on his hands, Dante looked down at my weak state on a sandy beach. The sandcastle I built for hours crumbling down, the beach taking back the sand that it owned.

‘You skipped class to make a sandcastle again, niña estúpida?’ Dante growled, raising his choice of weapon this time. With each collision of the towel wrapped soap against my body, I can feel my hope breaking, crumbling like the sandcastle I built. (Stupid little girl)

It hurts, it burns like hell, I can feel the searing pain everywhere. Pushing myself off of the bed, I gasped for air as if I was hit by Dante’s weapon all over again. I can't go through that anymore, I plonked myself on the corner of the room, hugging my knees close to my chest... The pain was surreal that my skin hurts from touching the cold floor.

Crying was a weakness, it’s what Dante taught me but I never believed him.

Why was he so mad at me?

What did I do for him to hate me like this?

I got tired of asking the same thing because the answer to that question was never there.

All I did was run.

No time to stop.

Just run.

The loud banging of the door startled me. Didn't these Italians learn their lessons? I won't back down without a fight. I’m done being the punching bag all my life. I’ve learned to take what I can from Dante, the knowledge he wanted me to possess was also the weapon I needed to escape from his hold.

He taught me things, from using weapons to speaking different languages to dancing and even playing the piano. I never understood why he wanted me to learn those things but I never asked, since I knew it would help me escape from that hell hole Dante called his palace.

It was dark and I couldn't see who it was but I stood up and took on my defensive stance, ready to protect myself.

The flicker of lights blinded me. I closed my eyes and felt my surroundings. It smelled like him, his minty forest pine scent, that gorgeous man with the friendly Italian.

"Take a seat" his deep raspy voice resounded through my cell.

He's icy gray eyes are filled with hate towards me. I'm used to being hated but I don't like the feeling he was giving me. His anger reverberates through his gaze like a demon who despises his kind.

He motioned for me to sit on the bed, I did what I was told because I have no intention of fighting anyone tonight if there was another option. My body was screaming with exhaustion and deprivation.

He took the chair from the corner of the room, dragged it, positioned himself, and sat in front of me.

"Give me your hand" I only stared at his waiting hand. "I won't hurt you."

I find it hard to believe. What's his game?

The irritation crawled in his face. He grabbed my hand roughly and scowled. He flipped my hand and frowned when he saw my wounds. He ordered the guard standing outside my cell in Italian and the latter came back with a medicine kit.

He cleaned my wounds and I wince when he patted them with cotton soaked in alcohol. His hands were actually gentle as he placed Band-Aids over my wounds.

I was expecting him to leave but he surprised me when he stayed and lit up a stick of his Treasurer, his gaze never leaving my face while taking a drag of his cigarette. His icy orbs were intimidating but I stayed locked in them, drowning in them.

"Is this a bad time to ask for a smoke?" I’ve been dying to get a whip of that cigarette he was smoking.

"It is" he replied with his stone-cold voice. He leaned closer, flipped his cigarette stick, offering me a drag of it. His fingers grazed my lips, they lingered longer than they were supposed to, igniting wildfire all over my body. His rough fingers felt so good

I took a long drag, breathing it out away from his direction.

"Would you like to work for me?"

It took a while for his words to sink in. "What kind of work?"

"Be my fiancée."

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AN

Merry Christmas Babes.

Thank you so much for your continued support. I love you all.

Much love

Lj