Nikolas Bellucci Aleksandr Mikhailov is dangerous. I didn't just see it-I felt it. Every nerve in my body screamed to run the moment his sharp green eyes locked onto mine. His stare wasn't casual; it was predatory, deliberate. Like he wanted to consume every part of me and leave nothing behind. What had I done to deserve his attention? I'm a nobody. I prefer shadows over spotlights. I don't want to be anyone's Donna, their treasure, or their little prince or princess. But Aleksandr? He doesn't care what I want. Even when his hands skim over my skin, making it impossible to fight back, impossible to breathe. Even when my traitorous heart races whenever he calls me his printsessa. I'm a man. The last mafia prince of the Bellucci family. Arranged marriages, political games-it's all supposed to be beneath me. At least, that's what I keep telling myself. But Aleksandr Mikhailov doesn't ask. He takes. And some part of me, despite everything, might just want to be taken. Aleksandr Mikhailov Nikolas Bellucci is a work of art-beautiful, dangerous, and far too proud for his own good. I knew I wanted him the moment I saw him. My uncle Ivan always said, What a Mikhailov wants, he takes. Rules? Irrelevant. Boundaries? Meant to be shattered. Nikolas fights me, yes-but he'll break eventually. They always do. And when he does, I'll be there to catch him, to hold him, to ruin him until he's mine entirely. My printsessa.