LOGINLUNA He came for my sister. The scarred, brutal Bratva king from Russia, the one whispered about in mafia circles like a ghost story, traveled halfway across the world to claim her. But my sister was too fragile for a man like him. I tried to protect her. I didn’t know I was the one he truly wanted. From the moment Misha Petrov saw me, I became his obsession. He struck a deal with my father and took me instead. Forced me into a sham marriage, dragged me into his icy empire, and made me pretend in public that I belonged to him. But behind closed doors, the lines began to blur. I hated him. I needed him. And then, I ran. MISHA She thinks she escaped. She thinks I’ll let her go. But Luna Rojas was never going to leave me, not truly. I burned everything that stood between us, including the man she thought she loved. The one I had to kill. And when she fled to attend his funeral, I followed with five hundred men and a vow carved in blood. I cleared the graveyard. Claimed her—body, soul, and screams, right there, over his bones. Because if I can’t have her love… I’ll take her fear. And I haven’t even started yet.
View MoreLUNAA soft knock pulled me from half-sleep hours later.I didn’t answer. But the door clicked open anyway.Misha stepped in with quiet precision, the weight of his presence filling the room like an unspoken command. He wasn’t in his usual suit now. Just black slacks and a white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, as if the power he carried didn’t need tailoring to fit. His hair was damp from a shower, a faint hint of smoke and pine lingering around him like a shadow.In his hands: tea.I sat up slowly, a wave of cold dread and something more stirring in my chest. “What are you doing here?”His eyes didn’t meet mine right away. Instead, they swept over me, lingering a moment too long, before he said, “You haven’t eaten. Or drunk anything. It’s been hours.”“I wasn’t thirsty,” I muttered, not trusting my voice.He didn’t seem convinced, his gaze sharp, yet tired, like he hadn’t slept either.“Luna,” he whispered my name, and for a moment, there was no ice in it. Just something darker,
Luna's POV Chernov writhed, cursing through clenched teeth as two guards rushed forward to help him. He shoved them off, refusing the weakness, but his blood was already staining the hem of his custom Odessa-tailored suit.I felt every eye on me.Whispers curled like smoke through the air.“He stabbed him—”“He would never become Packhan this way—”“The Odessa will wage endless war for this humiliation.”“Just because he touched his wife’s hair?”But I didn’t step back.I stepped forward.And when Misha turned to look at me, I met his gaze without blinking.A hush fell heavier. His actions had weight.Not just among us. But among the Bratva heads. Their wives. Their sons.And yet I didn’t lower my gaze.I walked toward him, heels clicking against the marble like a challenge, and reached for the hand still holding the blade.I pressed my fingers over his knuckles, careful of the blood. Of what he’d done.Of what it meant.“Misha,” I said quietly, for him alone. “If you keep bleeding t
Luna's POVThe next elder stood. Khabarovsk.Everyone leaned forward.And just before he spoke, the host raised a hand. “We will now break for ten minutes before the final votes are cast.”The room sighed, tension scattering like ash.Misha stood slowly, pulling me with him by the hand. “Don’t speak to anyone,” he said. “Especially not Chernov. You’ve already bled enough for one night.”“Where are you going?”“To make sure the right palms are greased.”As he turned, I grabbed his arm. “What if they can’t be bought?”He looked back, eyes burning. “Then I’ll take the position by fire. And if that doesn’t work… I’ll bury Chernov under it.***We sat together in the aftermath like nothing had happened.The shadows clung to the edges of the ballroom, music low and ambient, but the air was tight with tension—like everyone was waiting for a match to drop. Misha poured the drinks himself, the amber liquid catching the dim chandelier light as he handed me a glass. His touch lingered. Possessiv
Luna's POV The red silk was gone. Torn from my shoulders by Misha’s knife, it now hung awkwardly around my waist, clumsily gathered beneath his jacket. He’d wrapped it around me after, muttering something possessive, almost gentle, but his eyes were still wild—dark with the kind of madness that promised ruin if anyone touched me again.My heels clicked on the marble as we walked back into the ballroom. My legs were unsteady, and the burn of his grip still lingered on my hips. I’d tried to clean myself up in the shadows of the hallway mirror, smoothed my hair, fixed my lipstick with trembling fingers, but nothing could hide the mess we’d made of each other.Eyes turned. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. I felt every stare like heat on my skin.Misha didn’t care.He moved with calm dominance, his expression unreadable, one hand possessively resting on my lower back as if daring anyone to speak. If they noticed my ruined dress, the faint red line the knife had left across my collarbon
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