Novels by Ihuu

Adrian Pov The city is a blur of light and color as I drive, the Moscow traffic a slow, grinding beast. My phone buzzes with a new message, and I know without looking that it’s Leo. He’s been my rock, my confessor, the only one who knows the truth of my secret life. I pull over to a secluded park, the cold, winter air a sharp contrast to the fire raging inside me. I’m a man on the edge, a man who has made a deal with the devil. A deal I have no intention of honoring.I step out of the car, the cold air raising goosebumps on my skin. I see him, Leo, sitting on a bench, a thermos of tea in his hands. He looks up as I approach, his face a mix of concern and exasperation. He knows me too well. He knows the look on my face, the raw, desperate hunger in my eyes."You look like you've seen a ghost," he says, his voice a low, soothing sound."Worse," I say, my voice a hollow, broken sound. "I've seen the devil. And I've made a deal with him."He raises an eyebrow, his gaze assessing me with

Adrian PovHe came. The words are a mantra in my mind, a furious, triumphant whisper. I had expected him to ignore my call, to bury himself in his fortress of stone and silence. I had expected him to choose duty over desire, as he always does. But he came. And now he stands before me, a statue of rage and denial, his eyes burning with a silent, consuming fire.He didn't take the glass of whiskey I offered. He just stared at me, his gaze as hard and cold as the concrete walls around us. I see the monster he is trying to hide, the man who murdered five people for a single mistake. The man who is so lost in the world of duty that he has no place to express his deepest desires. He is a predator, and I am his prey. But for the first time, I am a willing prey, a participant in the hunt."What do you want, Adrian?" he asked, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.I wanted to laugh. I wanted to tell him that I wanted everything, that I wanted to tear down his carefully constructed world and wat

VasilyThe Volkov penthouse is a monument to modern opulence, a difference to the old-world grandeur of the Petrov estate. Polished concrete and floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of Moscow's sprawling, chaotic energy. I am a stranger in this world, a man of cold stone and tradition walking into a house of glass and secrets.The elevator ride up is a slow, agonizing ascent. I check my phone one last time. My men are in position, a silent, unseen network of steel and muscle surrounding the entire building. They'll be watching, waiting for my signal. I've sent a text to Nikolai, a simple coded message: The chess board is set. I'm not a fool. The Kozlovs are a danger, but the true threat is standing at the heart of all these. This meeting, this place, Adrian's mocking call, it’s all part of a larger game. A game I have no intention of losing.The doors slide open, and I step into the penthouse. The air is thick with the scent of expensive cigars and aged whiskey. Adrian is

The shame is a physical weight, a cold, suffocating blanket I can’t shake off. I stand in the shower, the hot water beating down on me, but I can’t scrub away the disgust. The image of myself, a Don of a family, a man who commands respect and instills fear, a man consumed by a need so vile it feels like a sicknessIt is an image that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I am a monster, a man ruled by a weakness I can’t control.The phone vibrates, a low, insistent hum on the marble counter. It’s Dmitri. I ignore it, but the buzzing persists, a constant, irritating reminder of the world outside, a world I am no longer fit to inhabit. My duty, my legacy, my carefully constructed life, it’s all a lie. A beautiful, meticulously crafted lie that Adrian Volkov has shattered with a single, devastating kiss.I get out of the shower, the cold air raising goosebumps on my skin. I am a stranger in my own skin, a cold, hollow shell of a man. I dress in a clean suit, a fresh facade for the da

Adrian PovThe world was a blur of faces. My days had become a relentless performance, a desperate need to outrun a ghost with dark eyes and a punishing kiss. I wore my playboy persona like a second skin. Every smile was a lie, every witty remark a well-rehearsed line in a play I wanted no part of. I buried myself in the public-facing side of our family's mafia, signing contracts and sweet talking with clients, the familiar rhythm of business a forgotten comfort. It was the one place where Adrian Volkov, the charming socialite, could still exist.But the real Adrian was a disgrace to his family. My mind, once of logic and calculation, was now a battlefield of conflicting emotions. One minute I was seething with rage at Vasily’s cold dismissal, the way he acted from our shared moment in that bathroom as if it meant nothing. The next, I was a prisoner to the memory of his hands in my hair, his lips on mine, a raw, undeniable hunger that had shaken me to my core.I was at the head of a l

Vasily PovThe world froze.Isabella’s voice, so sweet and pure, cut through the haze of lust and desperation. My mind, a maelstrom of conflicting desires, reeled back. I broke away from Adrian, my chest heaving, my eyes wide with a terror I hadn’t felt since I first took control of the Mafia. Adrian was a storm, but Isabella was a reality I had a duty to uphold.Adrian took a step back, his face a fake practiced indifference. The wildness that had been in his eyes was gone, replaced by a cool, almost mocking, calm. He ran a hand over his hair, smoothing it back into place, and I felt a fresh wave of fury. He had no right to be so composed, so unaffected. My entire world was shattering, and he looked like he was just finishing a pleasant conversation."Vasily?" she called again, her voice closer now.I took a deep breath, forcing my heart to slow its frantic rhythm. I schooled my features into the cold, impenetrable mask I wore every day. The Don, a man of granite and ice, did no