LOGIN"You have this face that drives men absolutely psycho, don't you? There were plenty of gorgeous girls at the altar, but the second you walked in wearing your sister's veil, my entire world stopped. Everyone wanted a piece of you. They wanted to rip that dress right off your body." His iron fingers trail down my jaw, pinching my chin hard. "Not knowing you already belong to me." I swallow hard, my breath completely caught in my throat. My stomach turns to actual ice. He steps back, settling onto the edge of his massive king-sized bed with ease. He lets his dark silk robe hang wide open, exposing his rock-hard chest, spreading his legs apart like a king, which I guess he is... And then, his voice turns completely lethal. "From now on, Elena Jones, you are mine to use. Mine to play with. Mine to do with as I please in this bedroom." The words hit me like a heart attack. "Your body belongs to me. Your mind belongs to me. Your soul belongs to me." He smirks, his dark eyes locking onto mine with pure fury and hunger. "I own you."
View MoreBro, if anyone ever tells you that sneaking into an enemy mob warehouse for a "quick data heist" is a good idea, please do me a favor and punch them right in the face. Because standing inside a glass-walled office suspended above a dark warehouse while heavily armed Italian mafia soldiers shouted death threats through megaphones? Not my vibe. Zero out of ten stars. Would not recommend. *"Come down with your hands on your head, or we burn this whole damn building to the ground!"* the megaphone voice echoed again, rattling the glass partitions right next to my head. The blinding white floodlights from below were cutting straight through the windows, making the tiny office feel like an interrogation room on death row. I looked at Viktor. Viktor looked at Davis. Davis looked like he was mentally drafting his last will and testament. "Alright, update," I whispered, my voice shaking so hard I could barely form the syllables. I was frantically mashing my hand against the USB port, yank
Let me tell you something about breaking into a high-security mob warehouse in Astoria.It's not like the movies. There's no cool theme music playing, nobody is doing backflips over laser grids, and you definitely don't look cute doing it.By the time Davis pulled the armored SUV into a pitch-black alley off 20th Avenue, I was sweating through my brand-new black tactical jacket, questioning every single life choice that brought me here."Alright, listen up," Viktor whispered from the front passenger seat, turning around to face me and Davis in the back. His voice was all business. "We are not here to start a war today. We are in, we download the shipping manifests from their local terminal, and we are out before Rossi’s guys finish playing with your stepmother across town.""Copy that," Davis muttered, checking the clip of his Glock with a sharp *click*.I crossed my arms over my chest, leaning back against the leather seat."And what if we run into a welcoming committee?"I raised a
You know what’s hilarious? In trashy romance books or movies, the second a girl saves the billionaire mob boss's life by getting all bloody in the backseat of a car, what happens? He wakes up, looks at her with these big, soulful eyes, and whispers some cheesy crap about how she changed his cold, dead heart. Yeah. Total fiction. Zero percent chance that was happening with Alexander Vance. Because the next morning, when I finally got word that he was awake—sedated out of his mind and looking like absolute death on a medical cot—did he send me a sweet little text? Did he say thank you for literally keeping his blood inside his body? Lol. Absolutely not. Instead, Viktor handed me a heavy, encrypted tablet with a list of rules and security protocols that looked like a federal indictment. "The boss is conscious, but he's resting," Viktor told me, standing by the kitchen island in my suite like an overprotective gargoyle. "He reviewed the morning security log. He specifically asked if
I don't think people talk enough about the smell of blood. Like, they show it in movies all the time. The dramatic red stains, the tragic music, the hero coughing dramatically. But nobody warns you about the smell. It’s this sharp, heavy, dirty penny scent that literally coats the inside of your nose and throat. Standing there in that freezing underground parking garage, shivering in just my thin white t-shirt, all I could smell was copper. Viktor was still looking at me. His massive frame was completely still, his dark eyes reading my face like I was a bomb about to go off. "I saved him," I whispered, my voice sounding super far away. "You did," Viktor rumbled, his tone softer than I had ever heard it. "You kept the pressure on the artery. Without you, he would have coded in the Midtown Tunnel." I looked down at my hands. They were completely coated in drying, sticky maroon flakes. It was under my fingernails. It was smeared up my forearms. My brain tried to process it, but th






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