Story cover for Theirs by xmilleex
Theirs
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  • WpHistory
    Time 19h 28m
  • WpView
    Reads 72,647
  • WpVote
    Votes 2,424
  • WpPart
    Parts 62
  • WpHistory
    Time 19h 28m
Ongoing, First published Apr 15, 2025
Mature
Anya Morelli doesn't just walk into a room-she unravels it.

A prodigy with a paintbrush. A daughter forged in blood. An heir to the Russian mafia by birth and the Italian syndicate by bloodline, Anya was never supposed to be soft. But she doesn't kill like her family. She captures. With art that stops hearts and eyes that never flinch.

No one gets close. Not anymore.

Not since them.

Santiago and Matias-best friends, lovers, and heirs to the Spanish throne of crime. Together, they gave Anya a taste of forever. Then they shattered it. What's left of her still bleeds into every canvas she paints, strokes of beauty born from ruin.

But destruction has a scent. And it's returning.

Vincent Delacour-the newly crowned French mafia king-rules with silence and steel. Beside him, Jules: sharp-tongued, smooth-smiled, and deadly in ways that don't leave marks. They see what others don't. They want what others wouldn't dare.

Anya.

Not her family name. Not her legacy. Her.

And in the dangerous quiet between memory and temptation, something begins to smolder. Something volatile. Something inevitable.
-
"You think you've hidden the worst parts of yourself," Vincent said, voice like ice sliding over flame. "But we see you, Anya."

My laugh was soft, almost cruel. "No. You see what you want to break."

Jules leaned against the studio doorframe, eyes dark. "Wrong. We see what we want to keep. And we don't share."
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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.