God Of Crimson : A Mafia Deal Sealed in Sin

The Game Begins

NIKOLAI RUSSO

Nikolai stood by the window, the city lights casting shadows across his face. He didn't even bother to turn around when she entered the room. He didn't have to. He could feel her presence—tense, vibrating with anger. Good. She needed to be angry, needed to hate him.

It would make this all the more satisfying.

"You're late," he said, his voice smooth, calm—dangerous. He finally turned, letting his eyes rake over her. Nikita Volkov, the mafia princess who had no idea what she was walking into. Her jaw was clenched, her shoulders squared, and despite her obvious frustration, she looked like a goddess in the simplest black dress. Pure, untouchable fire. He could feel it from across the room.

She scowled at him, those stormy eyes narrowing. "I wasn't aware I was on your schedule, Russo."

His lips twisted into a smirk, slow and deliberate. "Oh, you're on my schedule now, princess. Everything you do is on my time."

Her eyes flared with anger, and Nikolai fought the urge to laugh. She was too easy. Too predictable.

He pushed off the wall and took a slow, deliberate step toward her. She didn't move. Good. She was a fighter. He liked that.

"So, this is it?" she spat, her voice dripping with disdain. "This is the great Nikolai Russo. Mafia prince. King of arrogance."

He shrugged. "I've been called worse."

Her eyes darkened, and she took a step closer to him, her chest rising and falling with each sharp breath. "You're nothing more than a spoiled, egotistical brat who hides behind his family name. You think marrying me gives you power? You have no idea who you're dealing with."

Nikolai chuckled, low and dark. Oh, I know exactly who I'm dealing with. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She flinched, but didn't pull away. Her eyes burned into his, defiant, unyielding.

"You think this marriage will save your family, don't you?" His voice was a whisper now, a soft, mocking lilt that made her stiffen. "It won't. Because you're not in control here, Volkov. I am."

She slapped his hand away, her breath hitching as she glared at him. "Control? You think you can control me?"

Nikolai leaned in, his lips just inches from hers, his voice barely audible. "I don't think, sweetheart. I know."

**********************************

NIKITA VOLKOV
He was insufferable. Completely, utterly, infuriatingly insufferable.

Every fiber of her being screamed to punch him, to wipe that smug look off his too-perfect face. But that wouldn't help. It would give him what he wanted—a reaction. And she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction.

Nikita stepped back, needing space to breathe, needing to get away from his intoxicating presence. But he followed her. Of course, he did. He was like a predator, circling, waiting for the right moment to strike.

"What's the matter, Nikita?" His voice was velvet, dangerous, and she hated how her body responded to it. "I thought you were tougher than this."

She snapped her eyes up to meet his, her fists clenched at her sides. "You don't know anything about me."

Nikolai's smile was slow, deliberate, and infuriatingly confident. "I know enough. You hate this. You hate me. And you're too proud to admit that this—" He gestured between them. "—scares the hell out of you."

She laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. "You think I'm scared of you?"

He didn't answer, but the look in his eyes said enough. He was enjoying this, enjoying her anger, her frustration. He was playing a game, and she was the prize.

Nikita's chest tightened, fury mixing with something far more dangerous. She refused to let him win. "If you think you can intimidate me into submission, you're delusional."

Nikolai's gaze darkened, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Submission? No. But breaking you? That's inevitable."

Her breath hitched, heat crawling up her spine. There was something terrifyingly seductive about the way he said it, like a promise wrapped in threat. She hated that it made her heart race.

She hated that it excited her.

**********************************

NIKOLAI RUSSO
Nikolai watched her, watched the way her body tensed, the way her breathing quickened, and he knew. She was fighting it—fighting him. But there was something there. Something dark. Something she wouldn't admit. She wanted this. She wanted him.

And that was the game. To push her. To pull her in just enough to make her question herself, to make her doubt everything she thought she knew.

He stepped closer, closing the distance between them until he could feel her breath on his skin. "You're fighting it," he whispered, his lips hovering just above hers. "But I can feel it. You want this, Nikita. You want to hate me, but you can't."

Her eyes widened, and for a brief second, he saw it—vulnerability. She blinked, and it was gone, replaced by fury. She shoved him back, hard, her eyes blazing with a fire that only made him want her more.

"I hate you," she spat, her voice shaking with rage. "I hate everything about you."

Nikolai's smirk widened. "Liar."

He could see the way her chest rose and fell, the rapid pulse in her throat. She was lying—to him, to herself. And he loved it. He loved watching her unravel, watching her struggle to keep control.

"You can fight me all you want, princess," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "But eventually, you'll lose. And when you do, you'll come crawling to me."

Her slap came fast, sharp, and it stung more than he expected. His head snapped to the side, the sharp sting radiating across his cheek. But instead of anger, Nikolai felt something else.

Amusement.

Slowly, he turned back to face her, a slow, dangerous grin
spreading across his face. "That's the spirit."

**********************************

NIKITA VOLKOV
Her hand burned, the sting of the slap still reverberating through her body. She hadn't meant to do it. But he pushed her. He kept pushing her, and she snapped.

And now he was smiling.

That infuriating, smug smile.

"I'm not playing your games, Russo," she growled, taking a step back, needing distance, needing space to breathe. "I'm not one of your toys."

His eyes glinted with something dark, something wicked. "Oh, but you are."

Her stomach tightened, anger and something far more dangerous twisting together in a mess of emotions she didn't want to feel.

"I'm not yours," she hissed, her voice shaking.

Nikolai's grin widened, his gaze never leaving hers. "You will be."

**********************************

NIKOLAI RUSSO
He was enjoying this far too much. The way she trembled—not with fear, but with rage. The way her eyes flashed with a fire that made him want to push her further, to see how far she would go before she broke.

But there was something else too. Something dangerous. Something that whispered to him to cross that line, to take what he wanted.

He stepped forward, his hand reaching out to grab her wrist, pulling her close. She gasped, her body stiffening as he leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear. "I don't lose, Nikita."

Her breath hitched, her pulse quickening beneath his fingers. She was so close, so tense, and he could feel it—the shift. She was teetering on the edge, and he was going to push her over.

"You can fight me all you want," he whispered, his voice a dangerous growl. "But you're already mine."

She pulled back, her eyes wide, filled with rage and something else—something that made his blood hum with excitement.

"You'll never own me," she spat, her voice shaking with fury.

Nikolai smiled, dark and slow. "We'll see."