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)
“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.