Heart of Stone - Stone and Fire #1 [17+] (REWRITING)

Chapter 2

hey yall

Nikolas's POV

Tempered with caution, ten of my men rounded the room, surrounding it with a thick layer of harsh protection. Foreign, probably, to this Italian household brimming with weakness.

André Mancini stood in front of me, his eldest son slitting my neck with beady, unforgiving eyes from three feet away a polished, gold furniture-cladded living room. 

Pretty ironic, considering they're the ones who fucked up.

The clock's ticks and tocks fill the tense space, hands near the grip of their guns because- who knows? The Italian Cosa Nostra must have quite a lot of surprises in store for us after what they did.

"You either find me a compensation, or the Pakhan walks in here and blows your fucking brains out."

The Pakhan, our leader and head of the Bratva clan, was no friendlier than I was. He, at least, had senses when it came to resorting to revenge. Fuck, how good it would feel to just lodge my gun into this bastard's head and blow it to pieces. At the end of the day, the Russians might win, but we would have all these Italians pinning for us. And even I knew their thirst for blood took no much of a rest than ours did.

Here they were, mouths zipped as if one of their capos didn't just take out one of our brigades hosted by the most powerful, blood-driven warriors in our clan. 

Over what, you ask? A fucking boxing match.

I was aware some of these men had screws loose, but enough to take down the enemy's grounds? How fucking deranged do you have to be?

If it were up to me, all I would need were this group of guards and one of my brother's weapon cartridges; this house along with all the others on this street would be filled with nothing but torn bodies and puddles of blood created by our loyal, evident thirst for recrimination.

"Don't forget that it was one of your men who decided to fight against our capo. You're not the only ones who want compensation here."

Loyalty was bred through our men, a mindset every single of us used when it came to fighting against the enemy. Knowing that, I had no choice but to kill the man who fought the capo. Hard as it was, he broke the rules. And the cost, we were all aware of. Your life.

"That's been taken care of."

André's eyes ring with understanding. "Your proof?"

What an amateur.

I lay out my hand, waiting for Vik to hand me the phone. On it, is a picture of a decapitated body. Specifically, our man who fought the capo. I hand the phone to André. He squints at the picture, then grimaces within the span of realizing what it is.

The phone gets drawn back, and I look at him flat-faced. He brings a thumb to his chin, narrowing his eyes as if he's the one who had to sacrifice a soldier in order to fulfill this pathetic solatium.

"And at what cost shall we fulfill your payment?"

I take a deep breath, as if deep in thought when really, the Pakhan had sent me here to fulfill only one order in particular, no matter the cost, whether that be one of our men or not. My reputation had it's advances, and that's why I'd been chosen for the task. No matter how powerful the denial was in my throat, I had two options. Fulfill the Pakhan's wishes, no matter how detrimental they may be, or die. Like any man, I chose the former. 

Just then, a woman walks in. 

She has a smile on her face, as if she's just won a miles-worth of armory from a showcase, and she's had to test it out somewhere.

She looks up, and freezes.

Awareness settles across my face, curiosity getting the best of me. She's wearing clothes small enough to catch the attention of every man in the room, a silky night-suit of shorts and a tank top. She scans the room, and upon meeting my eyes, hers widen, ever-so-slightly. She slowly backs up, and the movement causes her shorts to rise, making my gaze latch onto her thighs. The skin is smoother than butter under the white-lighting, golden and slaved over with care. Long, black hair drapes across her neck and ends just at her waist, wavy in the slightest and so, so silky.

I dragged my curious survey all the way back up, to her face. Her eyes. They burn a hole into mine, dark and nightmarish like the rest of her. The longer I look, the faster a weird cognizance crawls up my spine, makes me wanna itch it away. It's as if she can.. see behind them, draw a path into my head and see all the fucking sins I've committed.

I look at André before she draws me in any further. "Francesco never told me his underboss had a daughter." He stiffens almost immediately. I say it matter-of-factly, even when I know of the frenetic thoughts running through his mind. Leaning against the wall, I look back at her as she backs away.

"Your name?"

Her lips part, and I take a moment to appreciate them- their pink color, how fucking soft they look. 

She swallows and looks at her father, anticipation, fear, and regret all at once swarming a stormy path across her frantic expression. 

She falters and looks back at me. "Adriana." Something dark settles into my ears at the sound of her voice. It's smooth, the slightest bit raspy- and firm. Like she's not afraid to settle her thoughts into place.

"Adriana." I repeat it, humming in approval at the way it rolls of my tongue. I also don't miss how her eyes widen the slightest- breasts pushing against the silk as her breaths fasten their pace.

I stay still a few moments, edging every single detail into place, and almost grin as the picture-perfect solution sets into place.

"You may leave." She turns, hair whipping in the process, and leaves the room, footsteps pattering against the marble and fading into unspoken words that settle into the panicked silence.

With an ever-so-slight smirk lifting up my lips, I turn to the stiff figure in the middle of the room and rub a hand across my jaw.  How should I do this? 

Anonymity works best.

"A wife, André." I answer his question from earlier.

"You're gonna find me a wife."

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oooooh... 😱😱🫠🤭🤭

CYAAA