𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬, a gentle charismatic 17-year-old somehow finds herself befriending the cold-hearted Viktor.
𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐭𝐬𝐤𝐲, the leader of the Russian mafia, falls perpetually in love with the beautiful Marlee Edwards.
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PLEASE READ I've been working on another story the last couple of months and I've finally finished it!
If you're interested please be sure to add it to your library!
I'd greatly appreciate if you gave the story a chance! 🤞🙈
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Description In a snowbound Brooklyn, amidst the isolation of the holidays, two souls find solace in unexpected companionship. Nora and William, both burdened by their own struggles and estrangements, stumble into each other's lives through late-night encounters and shared moments of solitude.
As the festive season underscores their loneliness, they discover the warmth of shared vulnerability, navigating their emotional landscapes together and finding a glimmer of hope in their mutual support. Amid the festive decorations and silent nights, their shared vulnerability blossoms into a tender romance.
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Soren swore under his breath, the gravel crunching beneath his boots as he staggered to his feet. The hold around his neck was supposed to be a mere ruse—a bruise, maybe a scrape, but nothing this severe. His vision swam as he fought to regain his balance, the dizzying haze of the knockout still clinging to him. The pain in his head throbbed like a relentless drum, and he winced as he touched his throat, feeling the bruise that had formed.
He looked around the desolate gravel road, the sunlight casting long shadows over the dust and stones. The once tranquil setting was now marred by the chaos that had erupted—an assault that had left him disoriented and vulnerable. The far-off horizon seemed to waver, as if mocking his sense of defeat.
The memory of the previous events crashed back in waves: the screech of tires, the sudden jolt of the car, and Marlee's horrified scream as the mechanic—Soren's accomplice—had gone against the plan in a mere attempt to be an ass.
Soren's heart pounded with anger and frustration. How had he underestimated the situation so gravely? His thoughts raced as he stumbled back toward the car, trying to piece together what had gone wrong in the other man's idiotic brain. He'd be killed for what he did.
The old farm house loomed ahead as he pulled into the driveway, its weathered walls and sagging porch giving off an air of neglect and decay. He wiped the sweat from his brow, his nerves frayed and his anger palpable. He knew what he had to do, and the thought made his stomach churn with a bitter mix of regret and resolve.
Soren retrieved the small pouch from the glove compartment, the syringe within it a grim reminder of the day's necessities. The drug inside was meant to incapacitate, a tool in a plan that had been years in the making. As he approached the house, he could hear the muted sounds of conversation inside—the elderly Mrs. Russo, ever the caretaker, was likely still seated in her usual spot.
The door creaked open, and Soren's footsteps echoed in the dimly lit hallway. He found Mrs. Russo exactly where he expected, her frail frame draped in the comfort of a well-worn armchair. The kind smile she offered him was a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within him.
"Hello, Soren, where's Marlee?" she greeted warmly, her eyes crinkling with age and kindness. The sight of her made his guilt more pronounced, but he pushed it aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. He pulled the syringe from his pocket, the thin metal glinting ominously in the faint light.
Mrs. Russo's eyes widened in confusion and alarm as she saw the syringe. Soren's face hardened as he stepped closer, his movements deliberate and cold. The annoyance with the menial task he was assigned was mirrored in his actions, his hand steady as he brought the needle to her neck.
"Sorry, Nonna," he said with mockery, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. The needle slipped into her flesh with a muted hiss, and within moments, the drug took effect. Her eyes fluttered, then closed, her body slumping into the chair.
Soren lifted her with surprising gentleness, his rage momentarily subdued by the weight of what he was doing. He carried her to the trunk of the car, placing her inside with the utmost care. The trunk shut with a resounding thud, and he took off down the road, the tires crunching over gravel as he sped away from the house, leaving behind the echoes of his guilt.
The journey was long and arduous, each mile a stark reminder of the cold reality he was entrenched in. The road stretched out ahead, an unending ribbon of asphalt that seemed to stretch into the very heart of darkness. His mind replayed the events, each moment a stark reminder of the peril he had brought upon them all.
As he drove, he thought of Marlee and the chaos that had unfolded. The Russian mafia's plans were set into motion, and the echoes of their sinister intentions seemed to whisper through the air, carried by the wind that rustled through the trees. His anger simmered, fueled by the knowledge that he was just a pawn in a larger, more dangerous game.
Back in Russia, the plans continued to unfold. Conversations were dark and tense as the higher-ups discussed the implications of having the two Russo women in their grasp. Their discussions were punctuated by the harsh realities of their world—betrayals, threats, and the constant threat of violence. A war would soon begin and it's was exactly what they wanted.
