LOGINI met Oleg in junior school, and we clicked right away. Despite our fathers being rival mafia bosses, we never fell apart. But my feelings for Oleg changed with age. I felt frightened because I was torn between the comforts of friendship and the thrill of something more. My dad was very homophobic, so it was even more difficult to express how I felt. I was faced with wanting to be truthful but endangering our families’ fragile peace So, my feelings stayed hidden, and I was just happy to be with Oleg. Yet I couldn’t help but hope that Oleg would feel the same. Perhaps he was too scared to say anything. That hint of hope was what gave me the courage to take action. And I did but things went terribly wrong. our worlds collided and exploded. It left us with nothing but hatred and resentment between our families. If I could turn back time, I would be content with the friendship we once shared, not the hurt and anger which we now have. We parted ways with hatred in our hearts,a wound that never healed,years later,our path crossed again......
View MoreELVIS POV“What? Disappointed?” he gravelled.Oleg pivoted toward me, his expression lighting up with a terrifying, childlike glee, as if he were on the verge of unwrapping a Christmas gift.I couldn’t answer. I just stared.My lungs refused to fill properly, each breath scraping in shallow, fractured pulls, as though my bones might splinter beneath the pressure.When he’d said I had bills to pay, my mind had circled and stalled through every gruesome possibility, petrified of landing on what my brain kept insisting it was.I hadn’t wanted to believe it would come to this.And yet… Oleg was not a man who misspoke. He was the last man who would ever misunderstand his own words.I didn’t know how to process being taken by a man who loathed the very ground I walked on.Here, in this godforsaken place I didn’t recognize, a location I had never, even in my darkest dreams, imagined I’d end up — it wasn’t how I wanted him to have me, not after all the secret, foolish dreams of us I had held
LOSIF POVIt took hours of exhausting arguing before we finally agreed on my idea. At the same time, Pavel quietly mapped out the plan, orchestrating every detail like a strategist moving pieces across a board.We were now inside Oleg Petrov’s perimeter.One by one, we climbed out of the cars, hidden beneath our disguises. That alone should have shaken me to my core, given the expectation of being watched, but instead, there was barely any attention, apart from the usual deference owed to the wealthy. Beyond the first checkpoint, slipping inside had been almost laughably easy. I muttered curses under my breath at the blatant pointlessness of this plan I’d dreamed up, especially as I wrestled with the absurd, ankle-length grey bisht, which seemed determined to trip me at every step, as if deciding whether today would be the day I face-planted.Worst of all, my shoulder-length shemagh scarf swallowed half my face in the name of secrecy, trapping heat and turning every breath into a stru
LOSIF POVPavel remained stationed in front of me, the binoculars never leaving his face, his actions caught in a looping rhythm as he lifted, refocused, and sighed over and over, his knuckles paling with each adjustment as he scanned the private grounds from afar, as if sheer persistence could force Elvis to appear. I mirrored his movements every time he shifted, the sun scorching my skin.At last, his broad shoulders sagged in defeat. With a frustrated exhale, he lowered the binoculars and stalked toward the line of cars parked along the hill overlooking the Petrov estate.“What do you have?” he ordered at the guards hunched over the map spread across the car trunk.One of them shook his head. “Only the outer perimeter, sir. The maps are useless. They show just the outer walls and the surrounding paths are… complicated.”“We’re not getting anywhere if the plan is waiting for Elvis to stroll out and wave,” Anton snarled. He slid his phone aside, and I saw Luca’s name disappear from th
OLEG POVI slid into my usual place at the head of the table and watched Elvis stroll in with that sluggish, half-alive gait that grated on my tolerance even before we came into the dining room. He didn’t so much as glance at the seats near me, “not the second, not the third, not the fourth.”No, he crossed the entire length of the table and went straight for the chair at the far end, planting himself as far from me as he could get.My jaw ticked. I jabbed at the seat beside me. “Get over here.”He pivoted without protest and settled stiffly into the seat beside me, eyes glued on the plates before us, stubbornly refusing to meet mine as they normally did.I tipped my chin at one of my men.“Before or after we eat, we’ll be receiving a visitor. They’ll come in search of our alleged ‘guest’. I cut a glance at Elvis, still sitting exactly as before—"claiming to be detectives searching for what isn’t lost. If they show up with a warrant—which I’m sure they will—let them in. But you tell m












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