All Chapters of Married To The Russian Mafia Boss : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

AVA After over ten hours of being trapped in a plane, I can't help but breathe a sigh of relief when the plane finally touches down. The pilot's voice comes through, informing us that we've landed, and the moment the wheels of the plane hit the tarmac, I feel the heavy anxiety that had wrapped my mind during the flight slowly begin to unravel. I’d barely gotten any sleep throughout the flight and since Nikolai was my only source of distraction whenever the plane would stutter or shake, neither had he. “Let’s go” Nikolai whispers gently, taking my hand in his. I nod, following his lead and allow myself to relish the feeling of his callous fingertips against my palm as he leads us out of the plane. The moment my feet touch solid ground again, I'm immediately consumed with a sense of relief and gratitude. I turn to Nikolai, offering him a small smile, which he returns with a gentle squeeze of my hand. Never have I ever been as grateful for the feeling of the earth beneath my fee

Ava Fuck I hurl my clothes onto the bed, one piece after another, yanking them out from the bag Kat had packed for me. They were dresses, skirts, blouses, pants, and even tank tops, but none of them was what I was searching for. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She didn’t pack me a nightgown. Not even a t-shirt or anything remotely comfortable to sleep in. Of all the things to forget, how in the world could she forget that? Water drips down my body from my still-wet hair, pooling on the hardwood floor at my feet in tiny puddles as frustration burns my chest. I’d made a beeline for the bedroom the moment I stepped into the guest house desperate for a hot shower to wash off the stress of the day. Now here I am, freshly showered with a towel clinging to my damp body as I glare down at the mess of impractical clothing scattered across the bed. I let out a harsh breath and tug at the knot of my towel, its damp edges clinging uncomfortably to my skin. What the hell was I going to do

Ava I'm used to the quiet that proceeds in the dark. There's something comforting about hearing the sound of my own heartbeat thumb steadily beneath my chest as I stare up at the ceiling. Okay, so that's a lie, and I'm sleep-deprived. The sheets rustle as I turn in bed accompanied by the soft creek of the bed frame beneath me. Moonlight streams through my partially drawn curtains, casting silvery patterns on the wall and half my bed. The smell of spice and leather invades my lungs, distracting me as it has during the last hour. I push down Nikolai's shirt from where it's ridden up on my thigh and let out a loud huff. I close my eyes, willing the stillness and the scent of my husband to lull me off to sleep. Nothing. I peel my eyes open and toss back on the bed. This isn't working. Swinging my legs off the bed, I get into a sitting position and grab my phone from the nightstand. Pushing the power button, I watch the screen come to life in my hands and nearly bite ba

NikolaiMy heart is pounding as I storm into the guest house, having cancelled my meeting with Dmitri only to find my wife curled up on the couch wearing the black shirt I gave her to sleep in last night, a tub of ice cream in her lap. She looks up at me, the rims of her eyes swollen and puffy as she scoops another spoonful of ice cream from the tub In Front of her into her mouth.I set the bottle of Advil down on the coffee table and crouch down In front of her, cradling her face in my hands.“You're back,” she says, sniffling as She leans towards my touch, her eyes closing briefly at the contact.When I got her text earlier, asking me if I could get her a bottle of Advil from the pharmacy, I expected to find her curled up in bed when I got back and not In front of the television surrounded by snacks and pillows with a red nose and puffy face.“What’s wrong Solnyshko?” I ask softly, my heart clenching. I brush a teardrop from the corner of her eye and tilt her chin so that she's look

Ava “What's your favourite Colour?” I blurt out. Nikolai raises a brow at me, the corner of his mouth twitches as though he's holding back a grin. We are currently facing each other on the couch and my legs are curled under my butt. Our sushi order is spread out on the coffee table in an uneven arrangement, the boxes of rolls slightly askew, and a pair of chopsticks precariously resting on the edge of the table. The tub of ice cream and the rest of the snacks I’d devoured during my Emilia in America marathon now sat discarded in the trash along with my hopes and dreams of James being revived for a season four. So far, Nikolai and I have both had a turn and while I've been faithful to the rules and answered his question about my favourite colour without a moment of hesitation- it was pink, by the way - his lips had remained shut when I questioned him about his most embarrassing moment. But then again, I suppose a man of his calibre doesn't just hand out such information eas