"The Caregiver and the Mob Boss" ❦ Avelina makes her money by taking care of those who can't take care of themselves. When she is handed a case about a man who had needed a personal caregiver, she accepts. One thing Avelina never anticipated was the dangerous lifestyle he lived. Not only that, but she didn't expect for him to be so incredibly good-looking. Adrik Zolotov, the Russian mobster that everyone called "Mad Hatter". His insanity and crave for blood left him the most feared man of all. All he wanted was power and those around him to fear him. For a man recently diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome, everyone believed him to be emotionally incapable of ever loving anyone. . . Imagine their surprise when he meets Avelina. ❦ "Mr. Zolotov, I have to make sure you bathe before I leave. It's apart of my jobs protocol," she said softly. The truth was that he made her feel nervous. There was so much coldness and evil in his eyes, it left a chill to run down her spine. "Fine," he stated before walking over to his bathtub. Her eyes followed his movements as he pulled off his shirt causing her to lick her lips and quickly look away. She could hear the sound of more clothes falling onto the ground until the sound of water running littered her eardrums. "You assist when asked, isn't that right?" He asked. Slowly, she opened her eyes to see that he had already gotten into the shower. "Yes," Avelina answered. "Bathe me." ❦ Dangerously far from cliché

"You're atheist," I remind him. "You don't believe in god." "I believe in you," He murmurs, letting the cigarette hang from his lips. "I believe in whatever you believe." He says, letting the confession roll off his tongue as if it were that simple. As if god, the devil, heaven, hell-as if none of it really had meaning to him. "That's not how it works," I mutter as we walk down a few more alleyways-the city of Manhattan coated in a light blanket of snow. Henry Vitiello had never had anything to pray for, that is, until he met me-the only thing that had ever opened his mind up to the possibility of religion "Isn't it?" He argues, taking the cigarette by his middle and pointer finger before blowing the smoke out. "I'II dip my hands in holy water if it means I could touch you." "You'd probably burn." 𓆩♡𓆪 𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐘 𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎, the reaper. He's a prick. An asshole. A pretentious son of a bitch. He's not perfect. He's not even decent. But he's hers. She could be a bottle labeled poison but he was an alcoholic, and he had drunk her empty. Now he was hungover. 𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒, the healer. She's known to be the perfect good girl, with perfect grades and a perfect life with a perfect family. They didn't know that behind the gated doors of their billion dollar estate, she was strapped down to a chair every night and picked apart just to be put back together in time for supper. 𓆩♡𓆪 star-crossed; adjective (of a person or a plan) thwarted by bad luck. 'star-crossed lovers' and that, they were. So they fucked under those very stars that tried so desperately to break them apart. 𓆩♡𓆪 ‼️DISCLAIMER ‼️ BOOK REFERENCES TO MARA DYER, SHATTER ME, MIND FUCK, ETC ARE ALL INTENTIONAL SO DONT BE RUDE. AS FOR TRIGGER WARN