Venomous Mistake

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I watched her disappear, taking her sunlight away from my darkness and leaving me with tangled thoughts and a shadow looming over my head for months. I still remember her beautiful smile when she promised to make it home to me.

I have fallen, and there's no way of returning from love so strong. I've loved my lioness since she held that gun to me with fierce determination in her brown eyes. I'd have gone for Clara if she hadn't returned to Russia. It was selfish of me to warn her never to return when deep in my thick, sinful blood, I'd have gone to taint her.

But Clara didn't need any more tainting. My lioness had fought, lived and learned. She fed my darkness and still was the light in my lonely life. I'd burn the world if this woman got harmed in this raging war in Mexico.

And she's making it a challenge. Yes, she does feed my darkness because why the fuck is Clara Martinez in prison, locked behind bars, breathing putrid fumes of piss and sweat. This woman drove me fucking crazy. I turned my eyes to bratva business for one minute, and she'd grasp that opportunity and get herself in the eye of the storm.

I want to fuck her into submission and teach her a dirty lesson for fucking with me, but she'll beg for it like it was anything but. Fuck, my cock throbs as I stride to the visiting room to see my lioness.

The security avoids my eyes and the man standing next to me as he enters the key into the rusty slot and turns it. The door grated open, and my eyes fell on the woman who loves testing my violence. Her thirsty eyes glide down my body like sin. My cock twitches when her eyes catch the bulge in my pants, and her teeth nip her bottom lip.

She wants me just as much as I crave her, but I won't forget how angry I am. "You two can stop eye-fucking each other like teenagers. Don't display such vulnerability in my presence. It's vile."

I grit my teeth at the Italian bastard. "You wait for yours, Greco."

"I'll fucking bomb this room and feed your remains to my dogs, Bortsov-if there's any left. We both know there won't be a fucking thing left when I unleash my beast."

"Good to see you're playing a nice cop." I grit my teeth.

Gaetano was nothing pleasant. The Beast of New York has a crisp suit, slicked-back hair, and Italian leather loafers. He'd kill men and come out of the bloody mess without a speck of blood on his body or hands. His fingernails remained clean, and that's because the fucker loved hiding his hands behind leather gloves. He's the danger no one dares to mess with a name so powerful, yet no one can put a face to that scary man who loves the scent of gasoline, the flip of a zippo and the angry flames of a deadly fire, the heat licking at his skin.

Greco loves the scent of a crisp body, burned and ready for his fucking canines to feast on. "Tell your specie that her angry stare doesn't faze me. She's wasting a chance of having smooth skin as her years go by-if she lives to see next week."