Running from hell isnʼt easy. Especially when someoneʼs dragging you back down into it.
Belligerent, brash and always in shades of black, Freya is hardly a lady. Hidden away by her father, sheʼs lived a normal life despite being born into the dark...
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WE CHOSE THE ROOFTOP of the Manhattan penthouse for the engagement. Really, Luca chose it when he kept hounding me about the venue and I told him to take a pick and piss off.
We’re on the thirty-seventh floor of Hampshire House, one of Central Park’s most exclusive white glove buildings. Walls of crystal glass, skylights, and large windows. It’s one of our most impressive properties, and the media will eat it up.
I hate dealing with PR, but they help us keep our image squeaky clean. So when they tell me to sit in on their Stock Exchange meetings, I do it. And when they tell me to sit for the cover of Forbes, I do that, too.
People will believe anything when you have the right face. One charming smile from me and they eat it up. It’s funny how few suspect that the Costa foundation’s generous donations to charity is from the mass distribution of illegal narcotics.
Glancing around, I can’t help but wonder how much Sof would’ve loved planning something like this, but the thought only turns my blood to fire. I waited five years for this. Five years to watch the desperation on Yuri’s face as I snatch his most prized possession from his clutches and keep it forever.
Or however long it lasts, at least.
The Morozovs are late. As always.
The little Morozov is a black hole personified. I can’t believe I let her get such a rise out of me two days ago at that lunch. I had control of the pressure of my fingers around her neck, but she only had to incite me a little more for me to lose it. I would’ve choked the life out of her right there and then if she hadn’t looked up at me with the slightest bit of confusion amidst the defiance in her hazel eyes.
Those kind of eyes don’t belong on such a heinous girl.
I offered her my gun to kill herself and she was about to take it. She would have chosen death over marrying me.
I’ve dealt with men far more insufferable than her without blinking twice, but for some reason, she grates on my fucking nerves. I’ve never wanted to hurt anyone as much as I want to hurt her. But I’ve never laid a hand on a woman, and I don’t plan to.
Evidence of her will to fight is etched in the scars on my right hand from when she dug her nails into my skin. And fuck, I can’t even decide if I hate the marks or not. Can’t stop looking at them, either.
I tuck my hands in my pockets and instead glance up to find Luca with a fucking escort clinging to his side. A platinum blonde Barbie, her fake tits bursting through the seams of her low-cut gold dress. It’s cheap and tasteless — right up my idiotic cousin’s alley.
They makes their way toward me, and just my luck, the girl reaches for me with her arms wide open.
“Oh hi,” Barbie purrs, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “Congratulations on your engagement. The place is amazing.”
