Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 97634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
I braced, felt my body tense. I even flinched to prepare for it. And then I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the slap. But as the seconds ticked by, I opened my eyes to see Dmitry towering over my father. His tattooed hand curled around my father’s wrist, Marco’s palm still open in preparation to lay into me.
The two men glared at each other, and I was shocked that Dmitry, who didn’t even know me, who I knew was just as dangerous as my father, had stepped in to intervene.
To protect me.
“This is not what we’re going to do, Marco,” the Russian said in his thickly accented voice that wrapped around me like a cocoon. “We don’t go around hitting children.”
I didn’t like the way I felt when he called me that. A child. Although it was a foolish thing to pass through my mind. He was a grown man. I was barely a teenager. And as I stared up at him, I felt a strange sensation in my belly.
My father glared at the Russian for a long moment, his jaw clenched tight, his nostrils flaring.
Finally, he exhaled and jerked his hand out of Dmitry’s grasp. “Claudia. Leave. Go upstairs to bed.” Marco’s nostrils flared again. “Never eavesdrop again.”
I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to keep staring at Dmitry, yet my feet were moving on their own as I turned and left. But not without looking over my shoulder once more.
My heart gave this strange little flutter as I noticed he was looking right at me, this hard expression on his face.
That was the first time I saw Dmitry. And I hadn’t been able to get him out of my mind since.
Chapter 2
Claudia
The wedding ceremony was beautiful, the reception classy and packed with people I didn’t know.
But all I could think about was how terrified I was for my sister. Because when I’d first seen the beast of a man known as Nikolai Petrov, leader of the Bratva in Desolation, New York, all I’d pictured was another man like my father using Amara any way he saw fit.
I glanced at where Amara stood in the center of the dance floor as she swayed slowly with our father. I could see his pinched expression and her reserved one.
I wasn’t a religious person by any means, despite my family being devout Roman Catholics, but I’d prayed nightly that my sister would be okay, that her new husband would take care of her, and that she wouldn’t be hurt.
As if thinking about him caused all rational thought to leave me, I stared across the room at where Dmitry stood with his brother, Nikolai, and a few other Russian men.
I’d seen so much apprehension and uncertainty in Amara’s face as she’d said her vows standing at that altar. And the entire time, Nikolai watched her with a look that screamed possession and obsession.
And I didn't know why, but that terrified me.
My gaze stayed on Dmitry. I hadn’t seen him since he stopped my father from hitting me. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
The suit he wore was exquisitely tailored. But it didn’t hide the raw power that seemed to pour off him.
Tattoos peeked out from underneath the collar of his shirt and the cuffs on his wrists. I took a moment to cut a glance at my new brother-in-law. Nikolai was just as frightening as his older brother. At only a few inches shorter than Dmitry, and not as bulky, it still didn’t deter anyone and everyone from being terrified of him.
Nikolai was also covered in tattoos, ones I could see snaking out from underneath his tuxedo. What was with men in the mafia needing to showcase their masculinity, power, and affiliations by splashing them across their bodies?
I could see bulges under their jackets. I didn’t have to wonder if they had weapons hidden underneath that expensive material to know the truth. In fact, as I looked around the room, I knew every single man in here had a gun strapped to their side.
I kept to myself and stayed seated at the table, drinking Shirley Temple after Shirley Temple. I snuck a glass of champagne, but I was regretting it now as the bubbles went to my head and made me feel a little nauseous.
I made my way to the bathroom and splashed water on my face, and when I braced my hands on the sink and stared at myself in the mirror, I felt as if I were looking at a stranger.
Amara was going off, now a married woman. I didn’t know when I would ever see her again. Father certainly wouldn’t let me go visit. I could barely leave the house as it was, and when I did, he would assign me an armed chaperone.
I was a prisoner in my own life, and nothing would ever get better. Not unless I escaped, or if I was killed. And the latter wasn’t that farfetched, seeing as my father had plenty of enemies.