Katerina Petrova Quotes Novels & Stories

She bites her lower lip— white teeth sinking into red flesh— then turns, smiling at the bartender. "Whisky please. Rocks." Her gaze returns to me, and she raises her eyebrows. "Make that two," I say, not leaving her gaze. A minute later he places the drinks in front of us, her hand immediately reaching out to bring it to her lips. "Katherine," she says after taking a slow sip, "but my friends call me Kat." "Adam, but everyone calls me Emilio." "I think I'll stick with Adam," she replies haughtily, daring me to tell her otherwise. I lean in closer to her, trailing her body with my eyes again. I can't stop looking at her legs. She notices, and again raises an eyebrow.

“Perfectly composed? Really? Because last week you screamed at a squirrel.” I snort, trying to keep a straight face. “You did what?” Katerina leans back, triumphant. “Exactly. Composed as a rock, my dear brother. A very noisy, squirrel-terrorized rock.” Kostas groans again, but I can see the corners of his mouth twitching. “You’re impossible.” “And you love it,” she shoots back.

"Lenochka, look at her. Look at my face. Look at Luna. This isn't just a coincidence. This isn't just Russian features. This is a carbon copy." Lenochka’s laughter was gone. She reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as she took the frame from my hands. She traced the cracked glass over the woman’s laughing mouth. "Her name was Katerina," Lenochka whispered. "She was the only light in a house built of ice and blood. Our father... he was a Vor. He ruled with a fist of iron, and he expected his children to be weapons. But Katerina? She was the daughter of a schoolteacher from Saint Petersburg. She brought books into a house that only knew ledgers of debt and death."

THE GOLDEN LEASH. ​"I am twenty-two years old, father, not a child”. Katerina Romano’s voice shook in anger . She stood in the middle of the room, her chest heaving underneath her silk blouse, her blue eyes blaring with a fire. ​Don Romano did not even spare her a glance, his eyes fixed on his ledger. He poured himself a glass of red wine with a steady hand—releaxed oblivious to Katerina fury.

said Yekaterina casually while stuffing her mouth with hot steamy chicken. “Yeka! Who told you that?” shouted Afanasiia. “Sorry, mama said that,” replied Yekaterina, innocently. “What do you call her?” asked Afanasiia while pointing at Aurora. “Mommy!” “Can mommy be a slave?” asked Afanasiia. “No!” “Next time anyone says that you know what to say, right?” “Yep! Mommy is no slave,” said Yekaterina, jumped from her chair and hugged Aurora.

“What the fuck do you mean by that?” The lights illuminated the stage, and Lazar climbed onto the podium. Calvin turned silent and shifted his attention to the head of the Fedorov family. Lazar welcomed all the guests gathered in the ballroom before straightening up and painting a proud smile on his face. “I would like to officially introduce Katerina Fedorova's recently found granddaughter,” he called out from the stage, quickly finding me in the crowd. “Catherine, come. Join me.”

"What you did must be very difficult and was incredibly brave." "Don't worry about it. You can't expect everyone to know everything." I smiled politely. "Right," Katerina said rudely with a smile. "It is best if you refrain from talking when you don't know what you're talking about." "Katerina!" Konstantin gritted. "That is enough."

There were only a few things that could leave me speechless, but Katya Petrov in a two piece red lace lingerie and black stilettos, was a stunner. She beguiled me. Effortlessly. Her fingers reached for the jacket and slipped it out of her shoulders, the shimmering black material pooling like liquid on the floors. My eyes fed. Devoured. My throat went dry. Katya Petrov was more beautiful than any Mona Lisa. A fucking masterpiece. And when she spoke, I understood the expression, 'take my breath away' because I forgot to do something as simple as breathe when she muttered, "Who says I'm teasing?"

I admit, the helplessness creeping back into my voice. Katya leans over the crib, her fingers brushing over Milanya’s forehead. “She’s so strong,” she whispers, more to herself than to me. “She gets that from you,” I say softly. Katya glances back at me with wide eyes. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. You’ve been through hell, and you’re still standing. You’re still fighting. She’s going to be just as strong as you.” Katya’s lips tremble, and she presses a hand to her mouth, shaking her head. “You make it sound like I’m... like I’m brave.”

(“I see you’ve found yourself a new tow, after discarding me.” Her Russian surprised me, sounding sultry and sweet at the same time. If she didn’t have this unsettling personality, I would’ve admitted liking her voice. Sasha stiffened beside me. “Ты никогда не была чем-то большим, Катя. Перестань выставлять себя жертвой.” (You were never anything more Katya. Stop playing the victim.”) his Russian coming out harsh and cold.