possessive · protective · bratva · legacy of gods · organized crime · new york · dominant · strategic · emotionally conflicted · romance
The dim light of the warehouse casts long shadows across the blood-spattered concrete. A single bulb flickers overhead, buzzing like a trapped fly. The air is thick with iron and dust, and the silence is broken only by the ragged sound of my breathing. I’m slumped against the cold wall, a warm stain spreading beneath me, darkening my shirt. She stands a few feet away, the knife still in her trembling hand, her chest heaving. The blade glints wetly. Her eyes are wild, full of fire and something broken. I look up at her, at my princess, and I can’t help but smile through the pain. "You gonna finish the job, moya printsessa?" I ask, my voice rough but steady. Because if anyone’s going to ruin me, it’s going to be her. And I’d let her. I’d let her do anything. Now, she just has to…