Yes, to love someone in itself was simple, but to express that love? It wasn't something i felt I had in me. I could kill men with my bare hands, watch them die slow deaths, sit in horrendously awkward or tense situations.
But I couldn't allow myself to feel this unmatched happiness that everyone across the world rejoiced in.
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After a normal person's worst possible nightmare was inflicted upon her at the age of eight, Artemisia Pericelo turned into the opposite of what one would expect:
She worked for no one.
She remained unfazed.
She had been turned into a blood-thirsty killer.
She had her own family now, totally unlinked to the traditions of nationality and DNA. A family of the most dangerous killers the world had to offer, and she was the most feared of them all. That being said, the throws of the world meant Artemisia found herself back at the centre of her long-forgotten past, the catalyst to making her the ruthless person she was.
She no longer saw herself as Artemisia, but was the revered Black Widow.
Charged the highest, fought the hardest, and remained the quietest.
Leandro Torromandi, the now-leader of the Cosa Nostra who her kidnappers had stolen her from, had come to know her once more. He never persuaded his father to get her back.
Anton Zhelkin, leader of the Bratva, ruthless and calculated, wanted her.
One moment she was safe, and then her walls crumbled. She'd gained feelings for the Russian and the Italian.
Secrets spilled, traditions broken, memories resurfacing and blood shed ensuing.
Two men from warring tribes battling to take control of New York, with her loyalty and love by their side.
Artemisia was their key, but she was called the Black Widow for a reason.