Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“In your dreams, my friend,” Armani says, his tone light with laughter. “When you strike out, I’ll swoop in for the kill.”
We don’t get to do this a lot.
Fuck, hardly ever.
Alek and I are enforcers for the bratva, whereas Armani is an enforcer for the Italian mafia. The bratva and mafia have been in an alliance for over fifty years, so we work together as brothers.
For the past five years, we’ve been thrown into the deep end of the criminal world, killing and beating up whoever we were sent after under the supervision of our bosses. Once they were satisfied with our show of loyalty, we were offered the chance to train with the best.
This is our last night before we start training at St. Monarch’s. Viktor Vetrov, the head of the bratva, issued an order for us to receive training, and knowing his uncle runs St. Monarch’s, I’m going to do my fucking best. The last thing I want is for my boss to hear I’m slacking. Shit like that doesn’t bode well for your future as an enforcer or your chances of staying alive.
After checking in at St. Monarch’s, where we’ll be staying for the next four years, we decided to visit the nearest nightclub.
My eyes are still locked on the black-haired beauty as the thoughts cross my mind.
But for tonight, I’m not Misha Petrov, hitman and enforcer in training. I’m just a man looking for a good time with a woman.
The moment I saw her, I knew she’d be the one.
Another tumbler of vodka is nudged toward me, then I hear Armani asking, “What did the two ladies order?”
“Cosmopolitans,” the bartender answers.
With the nightclub situated near St. Monarch’s, the bartender must be used to coming face-to-face with the likes of us.
The tattoos on the back of our hands are a dead giveaway as well. The right hand’s ink is three swords crossing and rosary beads down our middle finger with praying hands over the knuckle. The swords are for Alek, Armani, and myself, and the rosary beads are for our loved ones, praying they’ll remain safe.
The left hand has two sentences, one across and one from the wrist to our ring fingers. The words down are in Russian and across in Italian.
Russian: Vernost' delayet vas sem'yey.
Italian: La lealtà ti rende una famiglia.
Both mean loyalty makes you family.
The beauty steals another glance, and this time her plump lips curve into a breathtaking smile.
Christ. She’s exquisite.
I acknowledge her by tipping my head, and it makes her smile widen.
At twenty-one, I’ve seen the ugly and the beauty life has to offer, but this woman gives the word beautiful a whole new meaning.
She’s petite – feminine in a way that makes me want to protect her even though I know nothing about her. Her movements, the way her fingers wrap around the glass, the way her lips part as she takes a sip, it stirs something deep and primal in me. It wants to possess every inch of her.
Yeah, there’s no arguing, the attraction between us will ensure an explosive night between the sheets.
Knowing the club has a strict ID policy, and you have to be over eighteen to enter, I don’t have to worry about her being underage.
“Are you going to make your move?” Alek asks.
I shake my head, my eyes never leaving the woman. “Not yet. I’m letting things build between us and waiting for the right moment.”
“You let it build any longer, and the girl is going to spontaneously combust,” Alek chuckles.
“Wish me luck,” Armani says as he takes the two cosmopolitans he ordered for the women.
“Fuck that,” Alek jokes. “I need you to fail so I can swoop in.”
Armani gives us a confident smirk, then we watch him walk to where the women are seated. The flirty one lowers her lashes, giving him an inviting look that has Alek groaning.
My beauty’s features tighten with nerves, she grabs her bag, and darting to her feet, she leaves her friend to fend for herself as she hurries toward the hallway that leads to the restrooms.
Mmm… the little deer is skittish.
I tilt my head back, tossing the vodka down my throat and setting the tumbler down, I rise to my feet.
My eyes sweep over the VIP section, checking for any threats. It’s been ingrained into my bones to always be on guard.
“Happy hunting,” Alek chuckles, only sparing me a glance before he continues to watch Armani talk to the flirty one.
Walking down the empty hallway, I pass the door to the ladies' restroom then lean against the wall, waiting for the little deer to come out.
Minutes pass, and I’m tempted to go inside, but right before I give in to the temptation, the door finally opens.
The little deer doesn’t even glance my way as she comes out of her hiding place, and I grab hold of her wrist to get her attention. With a startled gasp, she swings around, and her bag slams into my shoulder.