Arranged With Mafia Lord

MishaI took my blue lenses off and, blinking to meet my clear brown gaze, undressed and cleared out my heavy make-up. The makeup always itches. I cleansed my smooth, olive-skinned face and took a shower. I slip on a bathrobe after drying myself and step out of the bathroom. They don't even have slippers under here; well, what can you expect for an average motel room? I dried my hair and put the towel on the chair. Putting my glasses back on, I opened my laptop and made myself comfortable on the bed. Brasove, the Russian mafira, damns them. I caught the last cyber signal from Jack here in Chicago, but now God knows where he is. While I put background software on to get any digital trace, my hands moved to the already made file and double-clicked on it. Last year, the Ritz Hotel was the most fascinating architectural structure in Chicago, from its owner to its staff to the guest list for today's event. I had eyes on everyone; I opened each and every file looking for a familiar pair of

Misha A bloody three-story Italian-style mansion with a large, grand exterior and a garden path leading to the main door and a fountain. I enter the code, and the iron gates swing open. Because there are no securities, it's either not his place of business or I'm walking into a trap, which would be the biggest mistake of my life. I wasn't expecting this; to put it mildly, it's too bright, too warm, and too open and free for me. As I climbed the steps to the porch and rang the bell, my senses were on high alert. A woman in a blue servant's uniform opens the large Mongolian wood door with a warm smile. Funny fancy italian folks. "I've come to... "Miss Morris, Mr. Alveraz is waiting for you." She paved the way for me. Now this is creepy. However, I hear voices, an laughing and a familiar voice. As I moved out of the marble entrance hall to the side where the voice was coming from, I narrowed my eyes, and there he was. In the living room, which was littered with boxes of pizza, Jack M

I bit my lower lip, his eyes burning into me, and I never thought I'd want the lips of the guy who had me pinned and at knife point so badly. I exhaled, and his breath mixed with mine. Killian drew the knife point down to my chest; heat rose beneath my clothes, burning me. As the knife approaches the ties of my vest, I look down."No!" His hand pressed against my neck, forcing me to look at him."Don't look away from me," he said as he cut the ties one by one. I reach out to touch him."Nah!" He snatched my hand and pinched it; I reached for his lips, and he smirked. Oh, this arrogant jerk! I grabbed the knife, and blood poured out of my hand as I twisted the knife from his grip. He grabs it with his other hand, digging it into his palm, and I sit up. We came to a halt for a moment as our blood mixed and dripped from the knife to the floor. When our gazes locked, we both let go of the knife, and his hand grabbed and ripped the collar of my t-shirt. I yanked him out of his shirt, leavi

Did you know what he is going to ask of me?" I asked as Jack sat in front of me; the main hall was now deserted. "I had some ideas," he grinned. This kid should be more careful. If he had not been Jack Morris, he would have died a long time ago. "Good, now do you know what that means?" "We can finally stop running," he said, looking so hopeful. This idiot! "No, it means we are stuck, running from one enemy landing on the lap of another," I said through my teeth, barely able to hold my fury. "They don't seem so bad." "Why? Because they fed you pizza and gave you toys?" "I am not stupid!" "The way you ended up here, tell me why I should think otherwise." "I ran away because…" He groaned, running his hand through his hair, rubbing his face, and hitting his forehead on his knees twice. He raised his head to look at me. "Are you seriously just going to leave them be?" He spread his hands, exasperated. "Who?" This is getting ridiculous. I sat on the table. "The Russian bastards!