Alya and Rossi Pt 1
The cold night air clawed at my bare skin, but the heat of his body pressed against mine was far more suffocating and the cold knife at my throat even more so.
“I’ll give you one last chance, Alya…” Rossi’s words slid low and smooth against my neck, every syllable deliberate. “Where is he?”
Of course, I wouldn’t betray my own flesh and blood. But this bastard had already stolen my heart. What was I supposed to do? My clothes were probably scattered across the room, shredded beyond repair by this arrogant Russian son of a—
“Why?” I asked softly, though my tone was sharp. “Why should I tell you when and where my idiot brother does his shameless gallivanting?”
Rossi growled low, a sound that sent heat crawling over my skin. His lips brushed the shell of my ear, intimate yet lethal.
“Careful, moya milaya. Don’t mistake my patience for mercy.”
My darling. Was this man insane? He stabbed me in the back and now calls me his darling? But then again… I put myself here. Desperate to impress Father, I signed a marriage contract with the most feared Don in all of Moscow and San Luca, Italy. Alya, have you lost your mind?!!
“Cat got your tongue, princess?” His voice was soft, almost teasing, but laced with steel. His teeth grazed my ear, a warning disguised as play. His cold hands roamed my skin, shamelessly deliberate.
“If you want information on Damian, you’re wasting your time,” I said, though my voice faltered as his hands cupped my chest.
Rossi chuckled, low and dark; not mocking, not amused, but promising.
“Oh, moya milaya…” His tone dripped with desire and danger. “You think silence will save you?” He pressed his lips to my neck, every word a threat. “I will make you speak.” He adds making shivers run through my spine to my brain.
