Synopsis
I wanted to be a painter. But that’s just a dream because a mafia princess doesn’t get to choose her future.
Still, I never let it get me down. I always try to make the best of everything.
Until I’m forced to go for brutal training, and I meet Nikolai Vetrov. Forbidden and way too attractive, the man turns out to be my worst nightmare incarnated.
He’s cold and ruthless, and I’m pretty sure there’s no heart to be found in his chest, unlike mine that won’t stop beating overtime at the mere sight of him.
Just because I flirted with him, he’s dead set on making my life as miserable as possible.
And as if the hell I’ve been thrown into isn’t enough, the worst thing possible happens to me. It strips me of my light and drops me into a darkness so suffocating there’s no way for me to escape
There’s a lot I can endure and overcome, but the trauma and Nikolai Vetrov are two things I can’t handle. One of them is bound to be the end of me.
Unless a miracle happens, and let’s face it, I’m well past the point of believing in miracles.
Chapter 1
Nikolai
Nikolai Vetrov; 39. Abigail Sartori; 21.
My eyes land on two women coming out of a suite, and knowing who every single person at St. Monarch’s is, I immediately recognize them.
Abigail Sartori and Aurora D’Angelo. The two socialites who are starting their training tomorrow.
Unlike most of the attendees, the two women’s smiles are carefree, as if they’re just here to enjoy the resort and not to attend grueling training sessions.
From tomorrow I have to train the two in combat, and I get a feeling they’ve never thrown a punch in their lives.
I let out a sigh because the last thing I have time for are two spoiled mafia princesses who think the world revolves around them, which is the vibe I’m getting.
When I pass them in the hallway, Abigail chuckles seductively, “If all the guards look like that, my ovaries are going to explode.”
She thinks I’m a guard because I’m dressed in the same combat uniform as St. Monarch’s guards instead of my usual tailored suit.
Little does she know I control the blood diamond market, and I’m the firstborn of the best fighter St. Monarch’s has ever seen. And to make matters worse for the little mafia princess, my cousin is the head of the bratva and her family’s enemy.
Suppressing a chuckle, I shake my head.
Wait until you find out who I am, little girl.
Just then, I hear Abigail playfully call out her suite number, “Room one O’ three.”
I don’t have the patience for this shit.
I’m only helping with the training until my godfather, Uncle Carson, can find a suitable replacement for the combat instructor position, seeing as the previous one died of a heart attack.
I now understand why Mr. Yeoh died. Training people who can’t fight to save their lives call for a fuck-ton of patience which is the last thing I have.
With me, you either sink or swim. I don’t have time to coddle the spoiled royals of our world.
Stepping into my suite, I grab my phone and check the missed calls and messages as I leave the room again. There are a couple of work-related messages and emails, but I skip them and open a text from my brother-in- law and best friend, Maxim.
Maxim: What the fuck? I don’t babysit pampered brats. Get someone else for the job.
Heading back toward the studio where I give combat lessons, I chuckle as I type out my reply.
Nikolai: Just this once. You’re the only one who can keep her alive.
Call it a favor. It will open a door for me to get into France.
Tucking the device into the pocket of my black cargo pants, I head down the staircase while I think about the protection detail Camille DuBois’ father requested.
Maurice DuBois is straddling a thin line between the criminal underworld and running for Prime Minister. It’s essential to keep his daughter alive because with him in my pocket France will be mine.
Maxim is the only person I trust to keep Camille alive. He’s the best hitman, and he’ll be able to protect her from anyone who might come after her.
He’s also my oldest friend, who became my brother-in-law when I did him a favor by marrying his terminally ill sister. I might not have loved Anja, but I cared for her as a friend. She loved me, though, and it was the only wish she had – to become my wife.
It was no sacrifice on my part to make her dream come true during her last weeks. I did everything in my power to make her believe I loved her. I treated her like a queen, but Anja deserved so much more than her short life gave her.
Only Maxim and I know the truth, though. The rest of the world believes she was the love of my life.
Making Anja happy was one of the few good things I’ve done in my life, and it solidified an unbreakable bond between Maxim and me.
Christ, has it already been fifteen years since she passed away? Time flies.
If it weren’t for Anja, I never would’ve been married. I’m too fucking busy taking over the family business from my parents. My sister, Inna, married young and has two children who can carry on our family’s legacy, so it’s not something I’m worried about.
Honestly, I’ve never met a woman who piqued my interest enough to give up my bachelor’s status. I enjoy being a lone wolf and don’t want to change a single thing in my life.
Turning into a hallway, I notice Abigail and Aurora walking ahead of me before I enter the studio where the training takes place.
Seconds later, I’m not surprised when I hear whispering outside the door and soft footsteps coming into the room.
Turning around, I watch the two women with annoyance building in my chest. Aurora keeps a safe distance, whereas Abigail comes closer with too much curiosity in her soft brown eyes.
Christ, just what I need. Another socialite who thinks she’s the one who will be able to make me bend the knee to love and marriage.
Little do they know I have zero intention of giving up my freedom for a woman.
My gaze flicks over the length of her, taking in her youthful curves and beautiful features. I’m not going to pretend I don’t notice how stunning the woman is, but that’s where it ends.
“Are you a guard?” she asks while giving me a seductive look that would have most men falling at her feet. Then she waves a hand over her perfect frame. “Because this body needs some guarding.”
Jesus. Christ.
What the actual fuck?
Honestly, I’m partly caught off guard because she’s so direct and partly dying a little from how cringeworthy this is.
“Seriously?” Aurora hisses, clearly embarrassed by her friend.
My eyes narrow on Abigail as I take a step closer until there are only a couple of inches between us. Locking eyes with her, I see the infatuation dilating her pupils.
I’ve dealt with this many times in my life – women taking an interest in me, but nine out of ten times, I have zero interest in reciprocating. The few
who make it to my bed are only there for a couple of fucks. I’m always upfront about this.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I don’t even try to hide my irritation as I mutter, “Miss Sartori, I hope you’ll show the same enthusiasm in my class.”
I watch as shock flutters over her face. “What class?”
The corner of my mouth lifts in a smirk as I say, “I’m Nikolai Vetrov.” Her eyes widen at hearing my name. “Your combat instructor for the next four years.”
I’m exaggerating by saying four years, but she doesn’t need to know I’m only temporarily filling the position.
A variety of emotions flit over her gorgeous features, everything from uncertainty to fear.
I take another step closer to the little girl I’ve managed to stun speechless. “I’m going to make you sweat, and trust me when I say you’ll hate every second of it.”
Abigail is still shocked out of her mind, but Aurora recovers enough to stammer, “We apologize for the intrusion.”
Aurora grabs hold of a stunned Abigail’s hand and drags her out of the room.
I’m just about to savor the moment of victory when I hear Abigail sigh, “I’m in love.”
Shaking my head, I mutter, “God help me.”
Putting aside the fact that her father is enemies with both the bratva and Italian mafia, the girl is twenty-one and too young for my liking. An eighteen-year age gap is pushing the limits for me.
I head to the back of the room, where gym equipment is spread out, and start with my warm-ups. My next class is a group of fourth-year attendees who can actually fight, which is good because it’s fun sparring with them.
While I’m jogging on the treadmill, my thoughts turn to work. There’s a meeting with prospective diamond sellers in Congo I’m worried about. I hate meeting with new sellers. Most of the time, it doesn’t end well for one of the parties.
With Inna being a mother, I wish I could make her stay at home and let me handle the dangerous meetings, but I know that won’t easily happen. My sister is just as involved in the family business as I am. With her being
my second in charge, there’s no way I can keep her away from the dangers of our world.
It’s one of the reasons the mafia princesses and socialites get on my nerves. My sister is as badass as my mother, and it’s set the bar high for any romantic interests that might come into my life.
Yeah, I’ll never marry. My dream woman is just that – a dream.
Abigail Sartori’s face pops into my mind. The woman has the softest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. It’s as if every emotion she feels trembles in her irises.
And her body. Fuck, her body. She’s not skinny but has healthy curves that will make any man’s hands itch to touch.
Then there’s her straightforward bravado. I have to give her credit for that. She’s definitely not just sitting on the sidelines while waiting for whatever marriage her parents will arrange for her.
Slamming the stop button on the treadmill, I step off as I shake my head hard to get the unwelcome thoughts out of my mind.
Just then, the fourth-year attendees start to arrive, and I instantly notice the grim expressions on the three bratva trainees’ faces.
Misha looks like he could murder someone, and Alek gives me the impression he just killed some poor fucker. Armani, the level-headed one between the three, lets out a sigh, shaking his head at his friends.
The two yakuza men and the Albanian sex trafficker enter the room. Knowing how volatile the group is, I’m relieved to see Misha and his friends didn’t kill one of the yakuza soldiers.
They probably ran into the mafia princesses.
Locking eyes with the bratva enforcers, I say, “I take it you saw Sartori and D’Angelo?”
Misha nods, the expression on his face darkening.
Abigail and Aurora’s fathers were responsible for a bombing two years ago when they tried to kill Misha and his friends. Since then, things have been gravely strained between the bratva and the women’s fathers.
“Stay away from those women,” I warn them. My cousin will lose his shit if his three men try to take out the enemy’s daughters on St. Monarch’s grounds. “Focus on your training.”
“Yes, sir,” Armani answers.
Knowing Alek is the most unpredictable one, I say, “Alek, you’re with me.” I pair up the rest of the men, then order, “Fight until there’s a knock-
out.”