Natalia Alianovna Romanova Novels & Stories

I asked with anger and he was looking shocked now. "Kaiser did, he said you were result of his one night stand." Romano said and I screamed in frustration. "FUCKING LIAR! I AM NOT A BASTARD. My mother was his official first wife. The official first queen of Russian Mafia..... Alina Greco Ivanov. I am the first and official heir of Russian Mafia" I said with rage and my full body was shaking in anger. Romano placed his hand on mine and tried to calm me down.

"You're making a mistake." "Who is this?" "It's someone who knows the truth about your aunt." "What truth?" He asked, interested. "She's not the Architect. She's just another puppet." The phone was on speaker so we could all hear. "Explain," he said. "Anastasia Volkova was born Anastasia Romanova. Her first family was the Romanov crime organization. Your grandfather destroyed them in 1987, killed her father and brothers, and forced her to marry into the Volkov family to avoid a war."

She groaned once she answered the call. “Davila? What?” I rolled my eyes. Probably her one-night stand. “Olivia, it’s me Camila” she paused for a moment. “oh hey Mila” she was still drunk. Only God knows how many glasses of alcohol she drank. “Roman is mad, like super mad” “oh” she replied. “I’m sorry Mila, I only wanted to have fun”

Before she could answer, a calm, mocking voice replaced her cries. “If you want this bitch unharmed, Nikolai,” Ivanov said smoothly, “you will do exactly as I say.” Rage filled me. All I saw was red. “Ivanov,” I snarled. “You have three seconds to explain why you have her.” He chuckled like we were talking about the weather. “Always so dramatic. Listen carefully. Your father Roman is with me now. He wants his throne back. I want control of this country. You’re the only one standing in our way.”

If there was anyone in the world who didn’t know who Roman Petrov was before, they do now. Every channel on every platform has hourly reports about Rome and his sordid past. The stories they are digging up are scaring even me. My eyes move to back to my phone in my hands, for what feels like the millionth time. Nikolai’s plane was delayed. For some reason the image of Rome and Ana dancing at that fancy dress ball we went to, keeps running through my mind. It has been for days. The way they looked at each other, the way he held her.

His height and build confirmed it was Grey. The sight of him made my heart race in apprehension. He briskly moved across the room. Upon reaching his office table, he picked up his briefcase. He was on his way to the door when the door opened, and a woman came inside. Instantly, I recognized Natalia Romani. “Grey,” Natalia whispered, coming to a stop in the doorway. She was wearing an off-shoulder silk dress with the hem barely reaching halfway up her thighs. With that dress on, if she bent down to pick something up from the floor, her underwear would be in clear view.

He held on to my right shoulder, so I turned to face him. "Will you take your hand off my shoulder or I'll turn you into a mouse?" I raised my left eyebrow, glaring at his cold yet undeniably handsome face. "Whoops!" He immediately took his hand off my shoulder. "You two! What are you waiting for?" The guard on the table called us. He's looking at me from head to toe right now. I quickly walk towards him and say, "My name is Alenna Delevigne from the city of Nalaknabak. I'm a..."

Alpha Nicholas The sight that I see as we head to my office causes a small amount of guilt to weigh fairly heavily on my heart. Tony is walking with Rosie right by his side as several guards surround them and, while it looks like they are protecting them, sadly, that's not the case. Sadly, they are guarding Rosie while protecting everyone else, because as much as Rosie is Tony's mate until we know everything and can be confident that she is no threat to us, then we have to be careful.

The look she gave was enough, disappointment, judgment, the kind of coldness only a woman trained to wield silence as a weapon could manage. And when I walked into the room, Natalia was standing by the window, her back to me. Her posture was stiff, hands gripping the edge of the desk so tightly her knuckles were white. “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked quietly. She didn’t answer right away. Just a shallow nod. “She came to remind me that I’m still their property. She wants me to allow my father to cross me, to go over everything that I know and just be that girl who they can push around because they want to. In their eyes, I am not your wife, I am not their daughter, I am simply here t

Bastian had said to keep him interested after all. Roman Zharnov. Just his name. An actual hurricane of interviews, articles, fan pages, tv specials and videos, hell he was on Wikipedia, flooded her screen. Deciding Wikipedia probably was a good place to start, she opened the page and skimmed over a dramatic introduction about the ballet world's 'once every hundred years talent' and 'this generation's Baryshnikov'. At a tender twenty-one, Roman Zharnov was Russian born and trained, something of a child prodigy who garnered himself one hell of a reputation even in school. His teachers had raved about his long limbs and purely balletic proportions.