Alessia
The bruises between my thighs were a reminder.
Not of pain — but of possession.
Nikolai hadn't spoken since the study. After the way he took me, whispered threats and confessions between brutal thrusts, I expected distance. Cold detachment.
But instead, he became more attentive.
More dangerous.
I sat on the edge of the bed, his black silk shirt drowning my frame. The morning sun barely touched the curtains. Below, I could hear men moving — guards, soldiers, ghosts in boots.
He was preparing for war.
And I was the cause.
The door opened.
I looked up, heart kicking. Nikolai stood in the threshold, dressed in all black again. His jaw was sharper this morning, his eyes more shadowed.
"You're awake," he said, voice low.
I nodded.
"You didn't run," he added.
"I thought about it."
He walked in slowly, shutting the door behind him. "But you stayed."
"I didn't stay for you."
He tilted his head. "No?"
"I stayed because someone wants me dead. You're just… the lesser evil."
Nikolai smiled like I'd handed him a victory.
"I can live with that," he said. "As long as you remember who keeps you breathing."
He approached, kneeling before me. His hands slid up my bare legs. I stiffened, expecting lust, but his touch surprised me.
Gentle.
He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the inside of my thigh.
"You have bruises," he murmured.
"You gave them to me."
"I know. And I'll give you more."
My breath caught.
"But not until you ask."
He stood, towering over me, then handed me a folded piece of paper. I frowned, taking it slowly. The handwriting was unfamiliar — messy and masculine.
Rossi's little girl is alive after all. How tragic she ended up as Volkov's whore.
Bile rose in my throat.
I looked up sharply. "Salvatore?"
Nikolai nodded once. "His men are getting bolder. That letter was found in our mailbox this morning."
"What does he want?"
"You. Humiliated. Dead, eventually."
My skin prickled. I stood, anger outweighing fear. "Why would he send a warning?"
"Because he wants you scared," Nikolai said flatly. "He wants you rattled. Vulnerable. A little girl cowering behind her monster."
I clenched my fists. "I'm not a little girl."
"No," he said, stepping closer. "You're not. But you're still mine. And as long as you wear my mark, he'll think twice before touching you."
"Your mark?"
He gripped my jaw and kissed me — possessive, punishing, tongue pushing past my lips in a silent war. When he pulled away, I was breathless.
Then he whispered, "Get dressed. We're going for a ride."
Nikolai
The villa's perimeter was tighter than usual.
My men were on edge. Salvatore Mancini had moved faster than I expected. Two of his men were dead at the east cliff — bodies stripped of tattoos and dumped in the sea.
Alessia didn't know that part.
She didn't need to.
I watched her from the corner of my eye as we sped along the coastal road. She was quiet. Thinking. Always thinking.
She wore black — one of my shirts, tucked into tight jeans. No makeup. Just soft skin, wild hair, and those brown eyes that looked like molten fire when she was angry.
She caught me staring.
"What?"
"You're beautiful when you're scheming."
"I'm not scheming."
"You are. You always are. Every time you look at me like you want to stab me, I get hard."
She scoffed and turned away, cheeks flushed.
We drove through a checkpoint and up toward a private airstrip. She looked around, brows furrowing.
"Where are we going?"
"To see a friend," I said. "Someone who might know where Salvatore is hiding."
Alessia stiffened.
"Don't look so shocked. You wanted revenge, didn't you?"
Her voice wavered. "I wanted justice."
I gave a bitter laugh. "There's no justice in our world, kisa. Just blood and power."
We pulled into a hangar, empty except for an old man sitting near a table filled with maps and weapons.
Alessia froze when she saw him.
"Enzo," she breathed.
The old man looked up slowly. His eyes widened. "Alessia?"
"You know him?" I asked.
She nodded, eyes misting. "He was my father's most loyal soldier. He taught me to throw knives."
Enzo stood, shocked. "I thought you were dead."
"She's alive because of me," I said flatly.
The old man didn't respond. He looked at her like she was a ghost.
Then he whispered, "Salvatore thinks you are."
Alessia blinked. "What?"
"Word on the street is that you were buried two years ago in Venice. Fake name. Fake grave. He believes it."
My mind turned.
A weapon.
That's what she was now — a phantom Salvatore didn't expect.
Enzo stepped forward. "But if he finds out you're alive…"
"He won't," I said. "Because I'll kill anyone who breathes it."
Alessia was silent as we left the hangar. I could feel her thinking, her rage simmering beneath the surface.
She turned to me once we were alone.
"You lied to me."
I blinked. "About?"
"You knew who I was from the start. You used me to bait Salvatore."
I didn't deny it.
She shoved me. "You bastard!"
I caught her wrists, dragging her against me.
"You think I brought you here just for strategy?" I hissed. "I could've used anyone. I chose you. Because the moment I saw you, I knew I'd ruin you."
She struggled, but her body melted.
"You hate that you want me," I whispered against her throat.
"I do," she whispered back, trembling.
"Then let me be the sin you never recover from."
Back at the villa, the storm finally broke.
Rain slammed against the windows as Alessia stood at the balcony, arms wrapped around herself. I watched from the doorway, a glass of vodka in hand.
She was too still.
Too silent.
"You're thinking about your father," I said.
She turned slowly. "He died in front of me."
"I know."
"I still smell the smoke. Hear the gunshots."
I walked to her. "Tell me."
"I was hiding behind the curtain," she whispered. "I heard him plead. I heard Salvatore laugh. Then the shot."
Her voice broke.
"I didn't move until the fire reached the walls."
I put my drink down and pulled her to me. She didn't resist. Just buried her face into my chest like she needed to be held together.
"Then burn him for it," I said. "Don't cry. Make him bleed."
She looked up.
Her lips were trembling. "Will you help me?"
"No," I said.
She flinched.
"I'll do it for you."
And then I kissed her like I wanted to devour her fear.
She kissed me back like I was the only thing keeping her from breaking.
And maybe I was.