Chapter 1 #2
The response comes immediately.
Matvei
Got your head up your ass again? You that clueless what these romance girls are reading these days? Serial killers, masked men, stalkers… I got fucking tagged in a post. This is amazing
I snort and shake my head. I don’t know if I’d say it’s amazing, but it’s amusing, definitely.
I tap the screen as I sit back at the bar and drink. He sends a group text.
Jesus, Matvei. Leave Raf out of it. We leave him out of anything remotely fun.
Matvei
You guys see this shit online?
I roll my eyes and play dumb.
I’m swimming in shitbags in California. My brain is fried. Maybe I need to find one of those oxygen bars they have or something. The fuck are you talking about?
Matvei
All those girls online are drooling over mafia men.
Ice hits my teeth, and I shove the glass back on the bar while I glance at the girls who are whispering to each other and casting discreet glances my way.
Semyon
What the fuck are you going on about now?
Matvei
Social media, dumbass. Apparently they’re drooling over dangerous, tattooed men who do dirty things to them and wife them up.
I pop an ice cube in my mouth like I’m eating a bowl of popcorn. This is entertaining, but I need real food that’s not in the form of liquid and ninety proof. My gaze falls on the table of scantily clad, giggling women.
This time, I take a closer look.
It’s some video with a masked man holding an ax. He’s swinging it with force, cutting wood in the dead of winter. Bare-chested. Fuck. Who does that? Wear a coat, fuckwit. Even my nips ache just thinking about that frozen hellscape.
Americans romanticize the strangest shit.
My phone buzzes again, and I consider flushing it in the nearest bathroom when a video pops up from Matvei.
I click the triangle. I have to download a fucking app just to see the damn thing and immediately have to turn the volume down on my phone when some stupid dance music blares on the screen.
It’s a girl—no, a woman—talking about her fantasies of dark, possessive mafia men. It should be absurd, laughable. But there’s something about the way she says it, her tone laced with teasing vulnerability. Like she wants to be swept away but can’t trust anyone enough to let it happen.
And she’s… crying. I know it’s staged. I know it’s just for show, but something in me cracks at the sight of a woman in tears. My hands clench into fists.
Who do I need to punish?
Her caption reads: “Who else dreams of being kidnapped and ‘tortured’ by a hot, billionaire, masked mafia man? Asking for a friend.”
My lips curve into a smirk. No tall order, lady. Though… I mean… I tick off all those boxes.
I just need a mask. That’s easy enough.
Matvei sends another video.
Matvei
This shit’s gone viral
Semyon
Is this a bad joke?
Rafail
What the fuck is this?
Matvei:
You guys need to listen up. There are MAFIA THIRST TRAPS. They want us. Like, really want us.
Rafail, you’re not keeping him busy enough.
But just for the fuck of it, I click the link.
And I watch. A gorgeous blonde with wide blue eyes and thick lashes licks her lips while the right side of her screen shows a masked man with tats and muscles.
I roll my eyes. He’s fucking scrawny compared to my brothers, and did she really think those pecs were real? Nah. I can tell from here he used a filter like a goddamn fucking pussy.
I almost shut the thing and get another drink when she starts fanning herself with her phone—no, it wasn’t a phone, it’s much too big for a phone. I look closer. Is that an e-reader?
That’s when I notice the wall of books behind her, like some sort of fucking shrine to a bookstore, but it isn’t just any bookshelf. They’re color-coordinated in a rainbow, twinkling pink lights entangled with greenery, making it look festive.
“This is all I want, girls,” she says, wiping a fat tear from her cheek. “I work sixty-hour weeks at a thankless job, and when I come home? I want this guy waiting for me.” She lowers her voice. “Is that too much to ask?”
Huh.
I scroll.
And I scroll.
And I scroll.
I feel my lips curve into a smirk, the kind that typically makes my enemies rethink their decisions.
They want… us?
They don’t. No, they really, really don’t.
They think they want us—the barbed-wire promises, the wolves lurking just beyond the storybook light.
But what they want is the illusion of us, not the raw, vicious truth.
No woman wants my calloused, bloodstained hand in her hair—or, more accurately, wrapped around her throat, pinning her to my headboard, or—heh. Maybe that was a good drink.
I tap my finger against my jaw. I still have a job to do before I go back home, but January in Moscow is frigid as fuck, and if I’m honest, I might not want to move here, but this weather feels downright balmy.
And it’s nice not having to put up with the daily discerning eye and constant criticism of my eldest brother.
I look back over at the giggling party girls. They’re glued to their screens, their expressions dreamy as they giggle over obviously fake videos with posers— men wearing masks from a goddamn party store, their weapons a sham. It’s like some sort of cosplay gone bad.
I can’t help but snort when a few of the videos have three men, ropes in hand, masks hiding fuck knows what, with a low growl of a man’s voice. “We’re coming for you. And when we find you, beware…”
It's so damn fake.
Obviously, a real man didn’t fucking share. This is the stupidest shit I ever—
My hand hovers over the x at the top of the page, ready to shut it down, when I see… her.
Fiery red hair tied back in a thick ponytail, a mischievous spark in her jade-green eyes.
She’s so different from the other videos I’ve seen, so authentic. Unlike the fake thirst traps or heavily edited videos, she looks candid and excited, as if she can’t wait to talk about her latest book.
She looks… real. Strong. And even though she’s wearing a plain white top and a pair of jeans, the girl fills them out.
She has the body of a gymnast, tightly wound and powerful.
My breath slows as I take her in—sparkling green eyes, a strength in her every movement that makes my fingers itch to touch her, to feel if she’s as real as she looks.
“Girls,” she says, shaking her head.
Girls? Was she completely unaware of the absolute magnetic pull a woman like her had on a man like me?
I’m instantly, irrationally filled with rage toward any other man who sets eyes on her. She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever seen before.
“Stop what you’re doing right now and read this book.
” She holds up a black and gold book with raised lettering, the edges sprayed gold, as she flips through it.
“You’ve never heard of it before. No one has.
It’s unlike anything I’ve ever read before.
And this book.” She shakes her head and bites her lip.