God Of Crimson : A Mafia Deal Sealed in Sin

Destruction and Desire

Nikita Volkov
The morning light trickled through the cracks of the curtains, bathing the room in a soft, golden hue. Nikita's body ached in ways that weren't unfamiliar, but there was something else—an emptiness gnawing at her as she woke up, tangled in the sheets. She shifted, realizing Nikolai wasn't beside her.

Not that she expected him to be.

This was a man who thrived on distance, even when their bodies were intertwined with the deepest, rawest intimacy. Last night, though, something had shifted between them. The way he had looked at her, touched her, kissed her... it was different. More intense. More dangerous.

She pushed herself up on the bed, clutching the sheet to her chest as she glanced around the room, half expecting to see him lurking in the shadows, watching her with that predatory gaze of his. But the room was empty.

Nikita sighed and ran her fingers through her tousled hair. This was getting out of control. She was losing herself in him—this dangerous man who had more reasons to hate her than love her. They had started this marriage as enemies, and now... now she didn't know what they were anymore.

As she moved to get dressed, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She picked it up, her stomach flipping when she saw the name flashing on the screen.

Nikolai: Meet me downstairs in 10 minutes. We have business.

Business. Of course. Always business.

Nikita bit her lip as she quickly got dressed in a pair of tight black jeans and a simple white tank top. She wasn't sure if it was just her imagination, but everything felt sharper, more dangerous now. She had learned how to handle the fire between them, but it wasn't just fire anymore. It was something bigger, something consuming. And she wasn't sure if she could handle it.

Downstairs, Nikolai was leaning against the kitchen counter, his expression hard and unreadable. His tattoos peeked out from under his shirt, the inky lines tracing his arms, reminding her just how lethal he could be. Yet, there was something almost ethereal about him, like a fallen angel trapped in the skin of a devil.

"Morning," she muttered, keeping her voice casual. She didn't want him to see the way her pulse quickened when she was near him.

He didn't respond immediately, just stared at her with those dark, impenetrable eyes that made her want to scream and surrender all at once.

Finally, he spoke. "There's a meeting with the Italians tonight. You'll be coming with me."

Nikita raised an eyebrow. "And why exactly do you need me there?"

Nikolai's lips curled into a smirk. "Let's just say your presence will make things... easier."

Nikita crossed her arms, feeling her defiance bubble up. "I'm not some pawn in your games, Nikolai."

He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You're more than a pawn, Nikita. You're the queen."

For a moment, their gazes locked, the intensity between them growing. She hated how much control he seemed to have over her, how easily he could make her feel things she didn't want to feel.

But before she could respond, Nikolai's phone buzzed. He glanced at it briefly, then back at her. "Get ready. We leave in an hour."

Later That Night – The Meeting

Nikita wasn't sure what to expect from the Italians, but the moment they walked into the dimly lit underground bar, she could sense the tension in the air. Mafia deals were always dangerous, but this felt like walking into a lion's den.

Nikolai's hand rested possessively on the small of her back as they made their way toward the back room. The touch was subtle, but it sent a shiver down her spine. Even when he wasn't saying anything, Nikolai had a way of reminding her that he was always in control.

They entered the room where several men sat around a large table, cigars in hand, the smell of smoke and expensive whiskey hanging in the air. The man at the head of the table, Giovanni, stood up when he saw Nikolai and Nikita enter.

"Ah, Russo," Giovanni greeted, his eyes lingering on Nikita for a moment longer than she liked. "And who is this lovely lady?"

Nikolai's jaw tightened slightly. "My wife, Nikita."

The word wife sounded foreign coming from his lips, and yet it stirred something inside Nikita. She didn't miss the way Giovanni's gaze lingered on her, as if sizing her up.

"I see," Giovanni said, his voice dripping with interest. "A beautiful wife for a dangerous man. You've done well for yourself."

Nikolai's hand tightened on her back, just enough to let her know he didn't like where the conversation was going. "Let's get to business."

The meeting started off smoothly enough—talks of territory, alliances, power. But as the night wore on, Nikita noticed the subtle tension between Nikolai and Giovanni. The way Giovanni's men watched Nikolai with thinly veiled distrust. Something was off.

And then it happened.

One of Giovanni's men stood up, his hand slipping under his jacket as if reaching for a weapon. Nikolai reacted in an instant, pulling Nikita behind him as he drew his own gun, the barrel aimed directly at the man's chest.

The room erupted into chaos.

Nikita found herself pressed against Nikolai's back as he shouted commands, his voice deadly and authoritative. She wasn't afraid—she was angry. She was tired of being dragged into these dangerous situations, tired of the games. But more than that, she was tired of pretending she didn't care about this man who would burn the world down for power.

As the room descended into gunfire and violence, Nikita realized something that terrified her.

She wasn't just falling for Nikolai.

She was already his.

Nikolai Russo
The gunshots rang out like thunder, and Nikolai moved with the precision of a man who had seen death too many times to fear it. He took down two of Giovanni's men in quick succession, his movements fluid, lethal. But even as the fight raged on, his mind was on Nikita.

He could feel her presence behind him, could hear her breath hitch as the chaos unfolded. She wasn't just a pawn, wasn't just someone to use for power. She was becoming something more—something dangerous.

And that scared the hell out of him.

He wasn't supposed to care. He wasn't supposed to want her the way he did.

But as the dust settled and the last of Giovanni's men fell, Nikolai turned to Nikita, his heart pounding in his chest.

She looked at him with fire in her eyes, her lips parted, her breath heavy. "What the hell was that?"

Nikolai stepped closer, his voice low, dangerous. "That was a warning."

"For them?" she asked, her eyes searching his.

"For anyone who tries to take you from me," he growled, his hand reaching out to cup her face.

Nikita's breath hitched again, but this time it wasn't from fear. It was from something much more dangerous.

Because she knew, in that moment, that she was his.

And there was no turning back.