Chapter 4 #2
And just like that, he turns and walks away, leaving me standing there, my heart pounding against my ribcage. I’m not sure if I want to roll my eyes or chase after him.
Something about him feels dangerous. Familiar, even…
Where the hell is my head at? It’s like I’ve met two men straight out of my books these days, and I need to focus back on reality.
My phone pings, vibrating on the floor next to my water bottle. I freeze mid-reach, unsure why the sudden sound sends a prickle of unease crawling up my spine. It’s just a notification, another dopamine hit waiting to be claimed. But something stops me, a stubborn refusal to let my curiosity win.
I count to ten before finally checking, keeping my breathing steady. It’s probably just another—
The sight of the name on the screen punches the air from my lungs. The phone slips from my hand, clattering to the ground, and I bite back a scream that threatens to claw its way out of my throat.
No. Not now. Not here.
Shawn
Hey, little sis. Back in town. Want to grab a drink?
Back in town.
Back in town.
The message is short. Innocent, even. But from him, it’s a bombshell, a ghost I’ve spent years running from finally catching up to me. The stepbrother who turned my childhood into a nightmare is back, and suddenly, I’m a trembling little girl again.
I wish I hadn’t read it. I don’t want to remember.
I force the phone into my pocket like that will bury the past along with it. My reflection in the mirror catches my eye—steady, fiery, and strong. I repeat the lie in my head like a mantra: You’re not her anymore. You’re not weak. You’re not helpless.
But the trembling in my hands says otherwise.
On autopilot, I head back to my apartment.
I have to get out of here. It’s hard leaving a place that’s familiar, that’s home, and venturing into the wide world of newness and unfamiliarity.
But my job can be anywhere now. Well, relatively speaking. And now that my influencer gig’s taking off…
I grab a book from my nightstand, clinging to its weight like a lifeline. Tonight, I’ll lose myself in a fantasy—because that’s all I can afford to trust. A world where women like me can find safety in surrender, even if it’s to someone dark, dangerous, and entirely unreal.
I can still see his predatory grin. I can still feel the way he held me in his clutches, terrified and cowering…
I whisper a quiet plea to the universe: Don’t let him drag me back there.
I can’t.
Before I can help myself, I check my messages. My heart thumps.
He tagged me in another video.
I scrutinize every detail. I can’t help it. I’m looking for a clue, something,…but there’s nothing.
Again, I don’t comment and hours later, my phone’s on silent.
I’m being good. Sensible. Diligent.
I’m tucked under a blanket, the heft of a new book in the palm of my hand. My huge mug of hot cocoa sits beside me, the fragrance lifting heavenward and warming the interior of my teeny, tiny, cramped apartment.
I left twinkling white fairy lights around the window after Christmas because I liked how they looked. I’ve spent every last penny building this book sanctuary in my shitty little apartment, and now it’s time to do what I love best—escape into my fantasy world.
Three chapters in, I’m drumming my fingers on the back of the book, waiting for things to pick up.
I’m an impatient reader. I don’t like slow-moving plots or info dumping.
I want action, and I want it now. Yes, I get that she’s a school teacher with dumb luck and a shitty past. Yes, I get that he’s a single dad in need of a nanny. They should be kissing by now.
Frowning, I put my book in my lap and wonder if there’s something wrong with me. I haven’t been able to get into a good book in weeks, and I need to. I have videos to post, goddammit.
I sip the tepid dregs of my cocoa and heave a sigh when I glance at my phone. My skin prickles the same way it did when Mr. Hottie ogled my ass at the gym.
I know what my real problem is though. I want another look at hot Mr. Fake Mafia, the one who’s been posting thirst traps and tagging me mercilessly. I have to stay focused though; I want to escape in my fantasy world—but wait.
Isn’t my online presence my fantasy world? There, where I have friends who share the same passion for romance and happily ever after, and where we can collectively drool over the mafia bad boys and tattooed heartthrobs, like modern-day heroines of Regency novels and their dashing scoundrels.
I’ll take one little break. Just a quickie.
I open the app on my phone and stare at the unending list of notifications. I’ve starred one, though, and his are at the top of the list. The little triangle on the top of the notifications that indicates my private messages.
I haven’t responded to his videos since yesterday.
Bratvabloodline
You ghosting me, kitten?
I roll my eyes even as heat rises in my chest I try to ignore.
I can’t help myself and post a comment.
Ghosting you? That would require a relationship, methinks.
Bratvabloodline
Touché. It’s been twenty-four hours since you responded to me and your last message said brB
I was unaware you were counting. I have a day job, you know. Sadly, as fun as reading romance books and posting videos is, it’s not the most reliable source of income.
Bratvabloodline
Of course. Understood. But the next time you say, ‘be right back,’ I expect you to be right back
Oh does he?
My pulse spikes. I can imagine those words in his dark voice, touched with that accent… masked up and tatted, those muscles flexing while he grabs my chin and makes me look him in the eyes.
My hands shake when I reply.
Meh
Bratvabloodline
Ah. The bratty type.
Listen, buddy. I know your type. Dark, broody anti-hero with a superiority complex posing with his arsenal of weapons about power.
I’ve read your whole vibe on every bookshelf in America.
And while that’s all fun and games for fantasy, this is the real world here, not one built on happily ever afters
Bratvabloodline
You have a lot of opinions about me for someone who doesn’t know me, little queen
Why do my cheeks heat at that? I swallow hard and roll my eyes again.
Aww. You’re like a mafia fangirl’s dream come to life. But real? Nah. You’re all smoke and mirrors
Bratvabloodline
And yet, you haven’t tested that theory, have you? You haven’t blocked me either
The breath catches in my throat.
I swallow.
You must be bored. You really have nothing better to do than try to get my attention?
Bratvabloodline
You have no idea the lengths I’d go for you
I swallow hard and bite my lip.
Maybe I think this whole shtick is kinda cute
I wait for his response. I wonder if I’ve gone too far. I wonder—
A quick notification pops up:
@bratvabloodline has posted a new video.
I click it like my next breath hinges on watching it. The clip is short but… intoxicating. He’s damn good at this.
Bathed in shadows, the gleam of steel catches the light as he assembles a weapon with precision. His movements are fluid and sure, every shift of muscle deliberate. I watch, mesmerized, as his large, powerful hands move with such brutal efficiency. It’s clear: he’s a master at this.
Uuugh. What else would he do with those hands?
The faint hum of Russian music fills the background, setting a mood that’s both primal and sophisticated. Though his face is masked, his eyes burn with an intensity I can’t help but be drawn to. He’s smirking. I know he is.
I watch, unable to look away, as the camera lingers on the veins running along his muscled, tattooed forearms, sleeves rolled up to show the curve of muscle. I imagine what it would be like being pinned beneath those arms, helpless to move his weight off of me…
His movements are deliberate, sensual, as he snaps pieces into place. I get it…this is anything but cute.
God, he’s playing with fire. He’ll get banned so damn fast for this.
A knife flashes next—a deadly contrast to the smooth lines of the gun—its edge catching the dim light.
He lazily twirls it between his fingers like a baton before he fists the handle and slams it, blade first, into the table.
The camera pans up slowly, where the mask has gone slightly askew—I catch a glimpse of a stubbled jaw, tilted just enough.
Finally, he leans into the light and strokes the stubble on his jaw.
The video ends with him running his thumb over the edge of the knife and glancing straight at the lens.
Intimate.
Predatory.
He’s looking at… me.
The screen fades to black, leaving only one caption.
Still think this is cute, @dreammafiaqueen?
Oh my god.
I stare. I gulp. Thank fuck he can’t see me right now because I’m incapable of rational thought or speaking intelligible English.
This is better than any book I’ve ever read, and I’m not the only one who notices. The post already has hundreds of likes and as many comments. I read them with interest.
Plot Shmot. Who needs plot when we have THIS?
Alexa, play ‘Toxic’ on repeat
He’s giving me morally gray vibes and I’m…morally compromised.
Happily ever afters are overrated, girls. I don’t need an HEA. I just need HIM. Preferably on top of me.
Roses are red, violets are blue, a five-finger necklace if the giver is you
Wait, WAIT. Do they know each other in real life?? @dreammafiaqueen hasn’t said anything. GIRL!?
Uh oh.
I click back to my messages, my heart hammering.
You, sir, are ridiculous.
Bratvabloodline
Sir. That’s a start. Good girl.
That shouldn’t make me all kinds of hot and bothered. It shouldn’t.
You’re making a mockery of me.
Bratvabloodline
I’m not.
Really? What’s next, a moody black-and-white photo of you in a trench coat in a dark alley? Puh-lease.
Bratvabloodline
I don’t need props to prove a point.
Yet you’re parading props all over social media as if begging to get banned
Bratvabloodline
Not props. Tools.
You think you’re scary?
Bratvabloodline
Little queen, you wouldn’t last five seconds if I really wanted to make you beg.
The room feels hotter suddenly, the air too thick. I should laugh this off, but… my thighs clench involuntarily.