Those blue eyes, Strong muscles More danger than I could have imagined For I am just a small town girl lost in the city lights, sexually drawn to a brutal bratva mafia beast who spoils me with pleasure. He wants complete possession of me, dominate me and to own every piece of me. But before I could realize his dangerous game, I was deep in love, it was too late. Trapped in his game with no way out. I struggle to balance between cruelty and sweet blissful pleasure With high stakes I gamble with love but I fear even love can’t save us. Maybe the two little heartbeats in my womb can…
View MoreEliza
Mistakes don’t happen, only happy accidents.
I press my paintbrush against the canvas, elongating
the bright white streak until it’s stretched to the edge. There, now it looks like it’s supposed to be that way, a blur of light against the bleak New York sky.
It’s a happy accident, not a mistake. There are no mistakes.
I breathe a judgmental laugh out of my nose as I watch a woman come out of the luxury boutique with so many bags she can hardly carry them. Her expression is one of pure annoyance, as though the world has cursed her with so much money.
How can someone have so much, yet be so ungrateful? Is that also a happy accident?
There must be something I’m missing. They say money can’t buy happiness, but being broke hasn’t bought me anything at all.
Except some half-used tubes of oil paint, a simple canvas, and a shoebox apartment that I’m about to miss my rent on if I can’t sell any of my artwork. It’s hard to feel grateful for any
of that, but not being grateful would only prove to my toxic ex-boyfriend Noah that he’s right.
He wanted me to stay in the small town we were both born in. I said, “Fuck it, I’m moving to New York City!”
And… that was about the time we broke up. I can’t say I miss him.
I won’t say it.
But it does get lonely in a place like this. I’ve been running around, trying to get my paintings hung up in galleries and sold, so I haven’t had time to meet anyone. I’m just a lonely girl in a big city, and I doubt that’s going to change until I get some money rolling in.
And that better happen soon. I’ve been living off ramen noodles and tap water for the past two weeks to make sure I have enough money to cover rent, and even that isn’t going to be enough. I need to sell a painting. Even one would cover the difference, but it feels like no matter how many people I show my work to, nobody is interested in putting them in their gallery, restaurant, or bar.
I carefully trace the side of the boutique building on the canvas, and the color of the building nearly disappears into the darkening grey sky. The gold window frames provide a glowing, luxurious contrast to the otherwise brutalist exterior. I do those next, taking great care to capture the warm feeling of wealth they effortlessly exude.
It’s coming along quite well, even with the mistakes I’ve made. The four years I spent getting a degree in Fine Arts weren’t wasted on a girl with no talent. Everyone from my hometown was forced to admit that I knew how to paint when I graduated top in my class, and even Noah was impressed when I made my first sale.
But in the six months following graduation, that was the only sale I made. Nobody wanted to dish out the hundreds of dollars it cost to produce an oil painting from scratch, and my student loans were clambering over the horizon, their green
dollar-sign eyes lit up with the expectation of large monthly payments.
My attention is torn from my canvas as a man walks out of the boutique carrying a black leather suitcase with silver buckles. He walks like he has somewhere to be but has all the time in the world to get there.
I’m stunned for longer than I’m willing to admit, taking in his sharp, almost jarring, features. His overgrown coffee-colored hair is slicked back to reveal thick furrowed eyebrows and eyes so blue that they send an electric shock through me from across the street.
He’s dressed in a deep navy suit, but it’s unlike the ones I see other businessmen wearing as they buzz to and from work on the busy streets of New York. This suit has a sheen to it, a certain level of fineness to the fibers that couldn’t be achieved at anything but the highest price point.
I bet he could pay my student loans. It would be a drop in the bucket for a man that rich.
Alternatively, he could beat the ever-loving shit out of anyone who tried to collect said money from me. His muscles are so big they threaten to tear the fabric of his suit, ruining it and probably giving every woman in the vicinity a heart attack as his perfect physique is laid bare for the world to see.
I try not to stare, but my eyes follow him anyway, gliding along with his handsome yet ominous figure as he ditches the crosswalk and makes several cars stop for him so that he can cross the street where he pleases.
He doesn’t pick up his pace. He continues on at the exact same speed.
Somewhere to go, all the time in the world to get there.
And not a single horn is punched in response to his antics. Not a raised fist or a middle finger comes as a result, as though he has the God-given right to cross the street in the middle of traffic.
Men like him aren’t just confident and attractive.
They’re dangerous.
My heart leaps into my throat, choking me with the pounding adrenaline of getting caught when his blue eyes flicker over to where I’m standing. I duck behind my canvas, letting out a squeak that’s washed away by the sound of resuming traffic.
He saw me! He saw me! Fuck, he saw me!
It’s not like I know him or something. He’s just a stranger, someone who will forget me in a few seconds. I know he’ll be burned into my memory for days, if not months, but he’ll be gone eventually, too.
“Hey.” His voice is so low and penetrating that it feels like it’s coming from inside me.
I look up from my canvas to see the handsome stranger standing right in front of me.
How did he get here so fast?
“Hi,” I say, but that’s all I manage to get out before my throat closes up and refuses to let me explain myself.
I’m just a painter. A painter who paints things, and he happens to have walked right in front of what I was painting.
“I noticed you were painting,” he says, leaning over my easel to see the painted side of the canvas.
Everyone who has walked past me this evening has seen it already, but I feel especially nervous about allowing him to see it. It’s just art, but every stroke has a little piece of my soul in it. I feel like he’s the type of man who could pry those pieces out and use them against me.
Silly, but the feeling remains, regardless.
“Very nice,” he purrs, his Russian accent becoming obvious. He moves closer to see more. “You’re quite the artist.”
“T-thanks,” I reply, trying my best not to be awkward but failing horribly. I don’t know what to do with my hands. They’re hovering over the canvas, my paintbrush wet with a
steely blue-grey paint that matches the building behind my handsome visitor.
I pull my hands behind my back, pursing my lips and praying that’s the last of his comments. I just want him to go away. I don’t need this kind of pressure right now.
“Really beautiful,” he continues, his eyes leaving the canvas and wandering over to me. “A true artist. That’s hard to find, these days. Everyone is using computers, and here you are, putting brush to canvas the way God intended. And outdoors, too. Risky behavior in a city where crime makes money hand over foot.”
I wasn’t under the impression that I was the one taking risks, here, but perhaps he knows more about New York City than I do.
“You’re not going to steal it, are you?” I ask, breaking the one- sided tension with humor. It’s always been my defense mechanism, even when it wasn’t appropriate. I’ve still not learned when to dial it back.
“Quite the opposite, actually,” he replies, his eyebrows rising like a wave across his forehead. “Once you’re finished, I’d love to buy it from you. It would fit perfectly in my cigar lounge.”
My heart rate doubles at the prospect of making a sale. If I got enough for it, just a hundred dollars or so, I’d be able to pay my rent and give myself another month to try my hand at becoming a professional artist here.
A hundred doesn’t seem like a lot to ask from a man who is probably worth a million times that, but I still struggle to put a price on my work. I know he expects me to, but I’m terrible at sales. I’m an artist, not a businesswoman.
I look at my canvas, and suddenly every stroke looks wrong. The building isn’t quite right, the lighting is wrong, the shadow is crooked, the sky is –
“How does a thousand sound?” the man says, interrupting my spiraling thoughts.
“A… thousand?” I ask, looking up at him. I’m instantly lost in his eyes, leaning closer to him until I’m almost touching the canvas. Between the unbelievable sum of money and the way his eyes put me in a trance, I’m having the damnedest time keeping my head on straight.
“Is that too little?” he asks, pulling back a bit. “Perhaps two thousand, then. I know your time is precious.”
I brace myself against the easel to keep from falling over. My legs are shaking so badly that my knees are hitting each other, so I widen my stance, planting myself into the sidewalk so that I can concentrate on responding to this man without sounding like I’ve lost my mind.
“That’s more than enough,” I say, “but it’s going to be a little while until I finish it. Maybe a few days to get it perfect.”
He shrugs his impossibly wide shoulders, and it feels like the entire world moves with them. “No problem. I’ll give you my card and you can call me when it’s ready.”
His hand glides into his suit jacket and comes back out with a black card between his fingers. He hands it to me, and I put down my brush to hold it with both hands like it’s as precious as he claims my time is. I’ve never had someone say that. Most people are eager to waste as much of it as they can before leaving me with nothing in return.
Noah, for example, but I can hardly get a clear mental picture of him in the presence of this new man.
I look down at his card. Lev Andreev.
“And this is half upfront,” Lev says, reaching again into his jacket and pulling out a neatly folded stack of crisp blue hundred-dollar bills. They’re so new that they almost feel fake as he tucks them between my fingers. “Don’t let anyone see you carry that around. This city is full of wolves.”
He winks, and I swear I see the moon in his eyes for the briefest of moments.
“Thank you,” I say, blinking a few times like I’m dreaming. Someone could’ve slipped me something, but who would waste a drug this good on a girl with no money?
I put the money and his card into the front pocket of my black corduroy dress and grab my paintbrush from the easel. I’ll probably get two strokes done before I run to the bank before it closes to put the money into my account.
Lev tilts his head to the side, his powerful jaw moving as he studies me. “I didn’t get a name.”
“Oh, um, Eliza. Eliza Wilson,” I say putting the brush down again and finally stepping away from my easel.
There’s nothing between us now, no illusion of safety as he steps forward and wraps his enormous hand around mine. His skin is pleasantly warm, but there’s a roughness there as well. He’s not soft and fragile like some of the men I know.
Noah! My brain screams it like I’m not even supposed to be looking at another man. Should I feel guilty for enjoying Lev’s company? Noah and I broke up almost a full month ago, and he hasn’t talked to me since.
“Nice to meet you, Eliza,” Lev says, his voice awakening demons in me that have been lying dormant my whole life.
Now that he’s closer, I can smell him. His cologne is dark and rich, like leather soaked in smoke and whiskey. There are notes of licorice and peppermint floating on top, but only enough to tease me, like I need to lean in closer… and closer…
Lev lets go of my hand, and the connection is broken. It feels like I’ve been doused in ice water, brutally awakened from the dream of being so close to a man who probably doesn’t care about me in the slightest.
I’m just another woman, and he’s, well, something like a God. Or maybe the Devil. I’m not sure which.
To make it all the worse, he must be at least fifteen years older than me. It would be laughable to think he’d want anything to do with me.
Rich guys and younger women, though, right?
I’m probably getting my hopes up. I need to chill out, like, yesterday.
Lev gives me a small nod and drifts away, his long legs taking him from me faster than my lonely heart can follow him. I’m sure I’ll see him again, but his absence leaves a void in the middle of the sidewalk that repels me.
The moment he’s out of sight, I pack up my easel and canvas, taking them with me to the bank so that I can deposit this outrageous sum of money.
Then, I’ll have to finish the painting.
I put my hand into my pocket, my thumb running over the edge of his card. Once the painting is finished, I’ll have to see Lev again. I’m not sure why, but it feels horribly important that I wear nice underwear.
Epilogue 1 As we step off the private jet, my heart flutters with excitement. Las Vegas—the city of lights, the city of dreams— it is the perfect destination for our wedding, a place where magic and passion intertwine.Nikolai had arranged a limousine to take us to our hotel. As we drive down the Las Vegas strip, I am amazed at all the lights and scenery. Nikolai takes my hand and tells me, “You’re going to be my wife.”I blush; it still feels like a dream. “I never thought this would happen, especially after everything we’ve been through.”Nikolai smiles and squeezes my hand. “You’ve changed my perspective on relationships. I never imagined feeling this way about someone. You’ve become the most important person in my life.”Tears fill my eyes as I tell him, “I never thought I would find someone who accepts me for who I am, flaws and all. With you, I feel safe and cherished.”Nikolai leans in and whispe
Nikolai Once we arrive at the compound, I guide Adalina upstairs to our bedroom. My gaze lingers on her, and I feel a shift in my heart. It feels lighter, no longer burdened. Leaning in, I press my lips against hers, my arms encircling her waist. She responds eagerly and wraps her arms around my neck.In that moment, everything else fades away as I surrender to the overwhelming passion, I feel for Adalina. This intense connection is unlike anything I have ever experienced before, and I can no longer deny or ignore these feelings.As we part from the kiss, I express with conviction, “You’re mine. You belong to me. And I belong to you.”The next morning, I find out which hospital Gwen Vincenzio was taken to. As I enter the ICU waiting area, I spot Paul sitting with a few unfamiliar faces. Bobby is absent, most likely at his wife’s side.“Paul, how is Gwen?” I inquire.Paul rises from his seat an
AdalinaI haven’t spoken to anyone, not even my father, in two days. The only people I have seen are my father’s bodyguards bringing me meals on a tray. My face, arms and legs are covered in dark bruises. The wedding gown will hide most of them. Except for the ones on my face. I refuse to cover them up, I will wear them proudly and show the world what my father does to me behind closed doors.I get ready for my wedding day alone. No makeup artist, no hairstylists, nothing. No reception, no family—just a quick church ceremony. No photographer, no flowers, no bridesmaids. I slip into the wedding gown and style my hair. I do not wear the wedding veil; I want my face to be seen. I am ready to embrace what lies ahead in my future.The two days in solitary confinement have given me time to think. Time to plan. I will marry Mario and sleep with him on our wedding night. I have to in order to keep Delphina safe. When Mario is not around, I will access the email, information, new identities, a
AdalinaI awaken abruptly in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat. It was a nightmare, a terrifying vision of Maxim and the horrible things he had done to me. Then, in the twisted realm of my dream, Maxim transforms into Mario, intensifying my fear of what he could do to me. I get out of bed and splash cool water on my face, attempting to calm myself.Gazing into the mirror, I see how tired I look. My face is pale, and I have dark circles under my eyes. The urge to escape from this place, from Mario and everything he represents, overtakes me. Yet, the thought of Delphina taking my place stops me. After the wedding, I must find a way to flee from Mario’s clutches, taking Delphina with me. Despite Nikolai’s lack of love and the heartbreak he caused, he provided me with the means to escape Mario, my father, and the mafia. Nikolai shattered my heart, but I will forever be grateful to him. Even though I will never see him again.Returning to bed, I fall back asleep…I dream I am walk
NikolaiThe first thing I do when I get back to the compound is find Tatyana. I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I had waited to confront her until Adalina was gone.Tatyana is sitting in the kitchen at the island bar sipping a cup of coffee. She is dressed down today in jeans and a shirt. She looks disheveled like she hasn’t gotten any sleep. Now that Adalina is no longer here, I can let my dark side out. I grab Tatyana’s throat with one hand and apply pressure. She needs to know that I am no longer playing games with her.“I just have one fucking question.” I get right in her face as I squeeze her throat.“Nikolai, what are you doing? Let go of me!”“Have you been working with Maxim? Did you help him kidnap Tatyana?” I am furious.“No. Nikolai, of course not!”“I am going to torture Maxim for answers, if he so much as hints that you two are working together, you are fucking dead!”“Nikolai, I swear on my loyalty to you and the Bratva that I would never betray you.”
Adalina My heart is pounding in my chest as I hide underneath my covers. I can’t stop thinking about everything Nikolai said to me. I knew what was coming, but I didn’t want to hear it. I couldn’t bear to see the look of finality in his eyes.His voice echoes in my ears, repeating, “Adalina… We can no longer be together. I don’t have feelings for you. I have to let you go.”With those words, my heart shatters into a millionpieces.“Why?” I whisper to myself, seeking answers that maynever come.Tears stream down my cheeks as I plead, “Please, Nikolai, don’t do this. I can’t live without you.”I sob uncontrollably, overwhelmed by the realization that Nikolai is leaving my life forever.Nikolai Adalina spends the night and the following day in her room. She doesn’t speak to anyone. Osip brings her meals. But she barely eats anything. I leave her alone.
Adalina It’s almost 5:00 p.m. when I wake up in Nikolai’s arms. We made love three times, and he was surprisingly gentle and loving. As he continues to sleep, I quietly make my way into the bathroom for a quick shower. I borrow his bathrobe, which hangs loosely on me. I quickly comb my hair, though it’s still a bit messy and almost dry. My eyes are still red from crying, and I dread the nightmares that may haunt me about Maxim.Exiting the bathroom, I find Nikolai pulling on a pair of grey sweatpants. His body is flawless, with well-defined muscles and sexy tattoos. I love the trail of black hair that runs from his stomach to his groin. I take him all in as he pulls on his sweatpants.Nikolai notices my admiring gaze and smirks. I walk over to him, and he puts his arms around me.“Feeling better, Zayka,” he says, planting a tender kiss on the top of my head.“Yes, thanks for not putting that ankle brac
Adalina I watch in horror as bullets whiz past my head, instinctively covering my ears to shield myself from the deafening sound of gunfire.I watch in awe as Nikolai takes down each man with incredible precision, his movements fluid and graceful. Of course. He is an assassin. I don’t know how long the gunfight lasts, but it feels like hours. Eventually, the shooting stops, and I peek out from behind Nikolai to see what’s happened. Maxim is still lying on the ground, unconscious, and Nikolai’s men are all standing around, looking relieved.Nikolai The gunfire stops, and I turn to Adalina, she is shaking and crying, but she is unharmed. I feel a wave of relief wash over me. She is safe.“Is it over?” Adalina asks, her voice barely above a whisper.“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” I whisper as I stroke her hair. “You’re safe now.”Adalina clings to me, burying her face in my chest. “Thank you for saving me.
Adalina As I wake up, my head throbs, and my eyes feel heavy. I lie on a bed in a dingy motel room, and the air is thick with the smell of stale smoke and cheap cologne. Maxim sits next to me, his gaze fixated on my face with a sinister look in his eyes. I immediately shut my eyes, pretending to be unconscious, afraid of what he might do next.“I know you’re awake Adalina. Open those prettyeyes.”I open my eyes but don’t look at Maxim. The room isdimly lit by a single lamp, casting shadows on the walls and on the old and mismatched furniture. The lumpy bed I am laying on has faded floral sheets that have not been changed in a long time. The walls are yellowed and peeling, and the carpet is threadbare and stained.Maxim strokes my head with his hand. “Don’t touch me!” I exclaim as I pull away.“Now, now, Adalina. Don’t be like that. I know you’re no longer a virgin. I know you and Ni
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