55

Chapter 6
Aurora
Holy. Shit.
Walking into Abbie’s suite, I’m struck speechless.
Presidential suites at the best hotels have nothing on this place.
“Yep,” Abbie says as she glances around the room, totally awestruck, “We’re in heaven.”
“Miss D’Angelo,” one of the guards says to get my attention. “You’re suite is next door.”
I look at Abbie. “I’ll be back.” “Hurry,” she squeals.
I follow the guard next door and smile brightly when I see my suite has a different color scheme from Abbie’s. Where hers is bathed in pale purple and gold furnishings, mine is royal blue and silver.
The colors instantly make me think of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome.
Both suites have a fireplace, sofas to lounge on, eighty-five-inch TVs, an exquisite coffee table, and marble statues that remind me of Rome.
“Your keycard, Miss D’Angelo,” the guard says. With a smile, I take it from him. “Thank you.”
As soon as I’m alone, I hurry to the bedroom and shriek when I see how gorgeous it is. A kingsized bed stands on a platform with three steps to the floor. The steps, the platform, and the moldings all have intricate classical patterns, lending an antique feel to all the luxury.
I love it.
God, do I love it.
The bedspread is to die for, the fabric softer than silk, and the pillows are plush. There’s a desk opposite the bed and expansive floor-to-ceiling windows.
Walking closer, my jaw practically drops to the floor as I stare at the gardens below. To the right of the grounds, I see a trail disappear beneath a canopy of trees, and to the left is a maze with tiny white flowers blossoming on the hedges.
There are pathways all over the grounds, each one separated by a beautiful bed of flowers. There are also patches of manicured grass, benches, and water fountains.
This place is colossal. I don’t think I’ll ever get bored here.
Abbie is going to die when she sees this. Abbie!
Darting out of my suite, I shove my keycard in my bra because my tight pants don’t have pockets. I quickly knock on her door, and when she opens, she grabs my hand and yanks me inside.
“Did you see the view?” she shrieks, dragging me over to the balcony. Excitedly she starts pointing at the gardens. “I’m painting that first.
Then that. And that. And oh my freaking God, can you imagine how beautiful it must be beneath that canopy of trees!”
Laughing, I hook my arm through hers and admire the view. “When I saw it, I just knew you were going to want to paint it.”
“This place is amazing,” she breathes, then she turns to look at me. “What does your suite look like?”
“The same layout but royal blue and silver décor. I wonder if my mother asked specifically for those colors?”
She tilts her head, an amused expression on her face. “Of course she did.” Winking at me, she adds, “Only the best for her little girl.”
I roll my eyes at her. “Hopefully, my parents will soon realize I’m not a little girl anymore.”
“I seriously doubt that.” Abbie gestures to the door. “Let’s explore!”
“Yes. I’m excited to see everything.” When we walk across the living room, I ask, “Do you have your keycard?”
“Shit.” Abbie darts toward the bedroom, and a minute later, comes back with the black and gold card. “Where did you put yours?”
“My bra,” I chuckle.
“Good idea.” Abbie shoves hers inside her formfitting top that shows more cleavage than I will ever have the guts to reveal.
We step out into the hallway, and I point at the moldings. “The detail is stunning.”
“I feel like royalty,” Abbie mentions.
A man comes walking toward us, dressed in the same black combat attire the guards wear.
Abbie’s one eyebrow darts up, and as we pass him, she mutters, “If all the guards look like that, my ovaries are going to explode.”
“Shhh…” Laughing, I grab her arm and force her to walk faster. When we’re out of earshot, I give her a wide-eyed look. “He heard you.”
“That was the idea,” she chuckles, then turning around, she shouts, “Room one o’ three!”
“Oh, my God, you’ll be the death of me.”
She nudges her shoulder against mine. “Just having some fun at your expense. Your facial expressions are priceless.”
“Booo.”
Happy that it will be Abbie and me for the next four years in this beautiful place, we take the stairs down and start to explore every hallway and room.
I check the time, and noting we still have four hours until we have to join Director Koslov and his wife for dinner, I relax.
“Hey, I think this is the training wing,” Abbie says. “Do you hear the gunshots?”
“Yeah, but seeing as we’ll be spending most of our days here, I’d rather avoid this wing. There’s still so much to see.”
Instead of listening, Abbie has other ideas as she grips my hand, and I’m tugged to the first door on our right. Without knocking, she opens it, and we peek inside.
“Just a gym,” she mutters. “No sweaty men fighting.”
I shake my head at my friend. “Do you ever not think of men?”
“Nope.” She lets the ‘P’ pop with a grin forming on her face. “You know this about me.”
“Yeah.” I give her a playful shove to walk to the next door.
I hear footsteps, and glancing over my shoulder, I see it’s the guard from earlier – the one Abbie flirted with.
“Shit. Hot guard alert. The one you were flirting with is right behind us,” I whisper.
Abbie’s head turns fast, and it’s in time to see the man walk into the gym.
Suddenly I’m yanked backward and find myself having to jog to keep up with Abbie as she hightails it toward the gym.
“I shouldn’t have told you,” I complain.
“Just ten minutes.” She clasps her hands together, giving me a pleading look. “For the sake of my starved vagina.”
“Jesus,” I laugh, shaking my head. I gesture to the doorway. “Let’s do this.”
I’m dragged inside, and typical Abbie-style, she gives the man a bright smile.
Now that we’re closer, I can see the gray hairs at his temples. Honestly, he’s attractive, but I like my men younger and closer to my own age.
The fact that the man is clearly in his late thirties, or even forties, doesn’t deter Abbie but instead has her letting go of my arm.
She walks closer, a curious look in her usually mischievous eyes. “Are you a guard?” Before the man can answer, she waves a hand over herself while her teeth seductively tug at her bottom lip. “Because this body needs some guarding.”
“Seriously?” the word bursts from me as my jaw drops. I can’t believe she just said that.
The second-hand embarrassment is strong, my face going up in flames on behalf of my friend who knows no shame.
The man’s eyes narrow on her, then he moves to stand in front of her, his arms crossed over his chest.
He does not look impressed, and I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t instantly taken with Abbie. She’s gorgeous and fun. People always love her. “Miss Sartori,” he murmurs, his voice tight as if he’s angry, or worse,
annoyed with her, “I hope you’ll show the same enthusiasm in my class.”
Ooooh crap.
“What class?” she asks, momentarily thrown off her game by his standoffish demeanor.
The corner of his mouth lifts in an arrogant smirk. “I’m Nikolai Vetrov, your combat instructor for the next four years.” He takes a step closer and even leans down a bit. “I’m going to make you sweat, and trust me when I say you’ll hate every second of it.”
Oh. My. God.
Nikolai Vetrov is freaking Viktor Vetrov’s cousin and Director Koslov’s godson. I knew he was here, but… Shit!
Just all the damn shits.
Abbie just had to go and hit on the enemy.
“We apologize for the intrusion,” the words rush from me. I grab Abbie’s hand and drag her out of the gym.
I should know my friend better because instead of wallowing in the rejection from hell she just received, she grins at me. “I’m in love.”
“No, you’re not.” I frown at her like she’s lost her mind and drag her out of an open side door. “You’re freaking insane.”
I pull her to a bench then turn to face her. “Nikolai Vetrov has ties with the bratva. HE’S OUR ENEMY.” I shake my head at her. “Never mind ties, his family is the bratva. Plus, he’s easily twenty years older than you.”
Abbie shakes her head, the mischievous grin back on her face. “Age is just–”
“A number,” I finish her sentence. “Fine, I can look past the age thing, but come on, your dad will shit himself. Nikolai Vetrov is off limits.”
She just stares at me, and I can already see she’s not listening. Her lips part to argue her point, but a grunt has both our heads snapping to the left.
There’s an open patch of grass where five men are training…or fighting. I can’t be sure right now. Fists are flying, and there’s blood, so my money’s on a full-blown fight.
“Baby Jesus, bless me,” Abbie murmurs. “Yep, this is heaven.”
This time I can’t argue. We’re watching five sweaty, muscled men fighting. The scent of testosterone fills the air, and I know that shit’s like a drug to Abbie.
With Nikolai forgotten, we stand and drool, and when one of the men glances our way, he freezes. Slowly I watch as his features turn to stone.
“Where have we seen him before?” Abbie asks.
“Huh?” I glance from my friend to the guy, then back to her. “I don’t recognize him.”
“Oh, I remember!” she gasps, then she’s walking toward the group of men with all the confidence in the world.
“Jesus, I can’t win with you,” I whisper as I set after her.
Another man takes up position beside the one already staring at us, then snaps. “Sartori and D’Angelo, just what this fucking place needed. Whores.”
Abbie stops in her tracks. “What the hell?”
One of the men holds the back of his left hand up, showing us tattooed sentences. “Fuck off, bitch.”
I read the Italian words. Loyalty makes you family. Oh shit!
They’re not just with the Italian mafia, but the bratva as well.
I dart forward, and as I grab hold of Abbie’s hand to pull her away from our enemy, my eyes land on another man that’s walking toward us from the direction of the castle.
Instantly my legs go numb with shock, and my mouth drops open.
My prince.
The sight of him has my heartbeat shooting into a crazy-fast thump, and my mouth grows dry. A kaleidoscope of butterflies erupts in my stomach, and I even feel a little dizzy.
I never thought I’d see him again. Yet, there he is. Walking toward us.
He glances in our direction, and when his eyes land on me, I feel the same punch from the intensity and beauty of his light blue eyes.
Sweet, sweet Jesus. Thank you.
My mouth curves up in a happy smile, and I swear my heart is hammering against my ribs.
Flashes of the night the club was bombed rush through me.
I remember how he did his best to protect me. How he calmed me down. The secrets we shared. The kiss he gave me.
“Mio principe,” I whisper in total awe of finally finding him.
His features turn to stone, and there’s no happy surprise on his face at the sight of me.
Doesn’t he remember me?
I watch as his eyes fill with hatred, and slowly my smile fades.
He stops next to the other two men, and it’s only then I realize they’re his friends from the nightclub.
They all have similar expressions on their faces – as if they’re looking at the enemy and plan on killing us. Then I see the matching tattoos on the back of their hands, and now knowing it means they’re all bratva, my stomach sinks.
No. My prince belongs to the bratva?
My mind refuses to accept the reality bearing down on me like a ten-ton hammer.
Emotionless blue eyes sweep over my body, from head to toe, then disgust forms hard lines on his face.
“I see you survived. Such a fucking shame,” he says, his tone harsh, like jagged shards of glass cutting through my heart. “Here I was hoping you died.”
No.
My lips part, and in total shock, no words escape.
He crosses his arms over his chest. “Next time I get the chance, I won’t make the same mistake. I will kill you, D’Angelo.”
Abbie grabs my arm and forcefully pulls me away. My eyes stay glued to him as long as possible.
He’s bratva?
No, not my prince.
Abbie drags me back to the castle but stops in front of a guard standing by the entrance. “Who are those men out there? The three staring this way.” “They’re bratva and mafia enforcers, Miss Sartoni. From left to right,
it’s Misha Petrov, Armani De Santis, and Alek Aslanhov,” the guard answers in a professional tone.
Misha Petrov.
The day I finally learn his name, I also have to find out he’s bratva. And it’s clear he despises me.
The man who kissed me so tenderly hates me. The man who saved my life now wants me dead.
I’ve built every fantasy around him, dreaming of the day we’d meet again, and like a house of cards, it all comes crashing down around me.
The realization hits so hard I wrap an arm around my middle, and pulling my other hand free from Abbie’s hold, I rush into the castle.
“Aurora!”
With Abbie right behind me, I run down the hallway and up the stairs, then down another hallway until I reach my room. I dig the keycard out of my bra and have to swipe twice before I get the door to open.
Abbie follows me into my suite, and slamming the door shut, she rushes over to where I’m standing in front of the window.
Try as I might, I can’t stop my eyes from lowering to the patch of grass where Misha is standing with his friends. The other three men they were fighting are nowhere in sight, it’s just the three bratva and mafia enforcers.
Misha.
Even his name is gorgeous. It fits him.
Greedily, my eyes drink in the sight of him. The past two years have been kind to him. He’s taller and more muscled than I remember. Some of his boyish features have disappeared, and in their place is a hardened man.
In some ways, he doesn’t look familiar at all. “Don’t listen to them,” Abbie says.
She doesn’t know everything.
She doesn’t know about the dreams I weaved around him.
Fighting the urge to weep, I close my eyes and admit, “He was my first kiss.”
I hear her inhale sharply, then her arm wraps around my lower back. “I didn’t know.”
Slowly I shake my head as all the wonderful memories turn to ash. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. He just seemed so special I didn’t want to share him with anyone.”
My chin starts to quiver as the blow hits. For two years, I fantasized about Misha finding me and sweeping me off my feet. My dreams became a living force, brightening every day and carrying me off to sleep at night.
I dreamed about giving him my virginity. I would’ve given him everything I have. Now it’s all… gone.
Every dream is tainted.
Abbie stares at me, then compassion fills her face. “You fell for him?”
“So hard.” I whimper, and my tears threaten to fall. “He’s all I thought about since that night.”
My best friend pulls me into a tight hug and presses a kiss on my cheek. “I’m sorry, Ra-Ra.”
Hearing her call me by the nickname she gave me when we were kids has the tears spilling down my cheeks. I lose the fight and sob in her arms, an unbearable ache crushing my heart.
Abbie holds me tighter while brushing a hand over my hair. “I’m so sorry, Ra-Ra. Shhh. I love you.”
It takes minutes before I can regain control over my emotions and stop crying.
Abbie pulls back and locks eyes with me. “He’s an asshole.”
I shake my head. “He was perfect.” I close my eyes again. “I can’t believe he’s bratva.”
Abbie stares at me for a while, then her gaze narrows. “So what if he’s bratva?”
A frown forms on my forehead. “What do you mean?”
“Fuck this war and what people think.” She shrugs carelessly. “If you care about him, and he cares about you, then go for it.”
My shoulders slump, and I almost start sobbing again. “He doesn’t care about me.” I shove a hand at the windows, and we both look down to where the three friends are still talking. “He hates me. He said when he gets the chance, he’ll kill me.”
Suddenly Misha’s head snaps up, and he looks right at us. Our eyes lock, and like all the times before, I feel the intense attraction and my stomach flutters.
He stares for a moment longer, then he starts to walk away until he’s out of my line of sight.
“That was not a man who hates you,” Abbie says. “You both just stared at each other like you did that night at the club before all hell broke loose. The attraction is still there.”
I shake my head as my heart shrivels. “Not from his side. All I saw was hatred.”
Misha Petrov.
I can almost feel his arms around me.
Closing my eyes again, I try to fight the memory, but after years of dreaming, it pops into my mind without much effort.
The way his mouth felt on mine. How amazing he tasted. His palm against my cheek. His words of strength and comfort.
The attraction.
It was real. Wasn’t it?