Say My Name.

Say My Name.

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"You are mine! Mine to love!, Mine to break! Mine to treasure!, Mine to discipline! No one else has the right to even dare to look at WHAT'S MINE! I won't share you Rosa and I'll be damn if I let anything happen to you!" he whispered roughly as he bit down on my neck to keep me idle but I continued to struggle. "P-Please leave me Alexander.. I don't want to be here with you!" I cried as he continued his assaults and his grasp, on my hands on either side of my head stuck to the wall, constricted so hard that I feared they would break anytime soon. I felt him smirking against my skin before he removed his lips from my skin and stared into my eyes. I shivered at the look the h was giving me; an unspoken promise. "You never had a choice in the first place bambina. I never shared anything that was mine and you darling, you've entered my heart. What makes you think I would let you go..." he got his face nearer to mine, "I'm going to bury myself so deep inside of you it'll leave you feeling hollow when I'm not with you.."
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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.

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