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Crossing my arms over my chest, I order, “Put on the shirt. Your clothes are revealing and distracting as fuck.”
She darts to the bed, and trembling like a leaf caught in a hurricane, she pulls the shirt over her head, capturing her hair beneath the fabric. Thankfully, the shirt falls to the middle of her thighs.
I step forward, and it makes her freeze like a hunted deer, her breaths quickly turning shallow until she’s practically gasping.
When I take another step, she stumbles backward, her fear-filled eyes never leaving me. With every step I take, she matches mine until she’s backed up against the wall. Her gaze darts wildly around the room, and when I lift my arms, she recoils, tucking her chin low and pinching her eyes shut.
I slip my hands beneath the silky strands of her hair and gently pull her hair from the fabric so it will fall freely down her back. Her eyes flick up to mine, only to quickly dart back down to the floor.
She smells soft and sweet and looks so fucking vulnerable it has my heart squeezing.
When she peeks up at me again, I ask, “Do you know who I am?”
She shakes her head, the single word quivering over her lips filled with a world of vulnerability. “N-no.”
“Viktor Vetrov.”
My name registers with shock and terror, draining the color from her face.
She’s definitely heard of me.
Chapter 3
Rosalie
After I woke up and realized he didn’t kill me, I had a surge of hope that I might survive this. It’s snuffed out the instant I hear his name.
Oh. My. God.
Viktor Vetrov is the head of the bratva. He made a name for himself two years ago when he took over control of the bratva and eradicated part of the Chechen mafia for setting foot in America. My grandfather was highly impressed and spoke about it for days.
The only reason the Cosa Nostra continues to rule New York is because the Priesthood respects old blood. The five ruling families of the Cosa Nostra have always held power over New York, and as long as they don’t deal in the Priesthood’s territories, an unspoken treaty is maintained.
Jesus, he’s part of the Priesthood.
I’ve overheard my grandfather and Uncle Ricco talking about the five men who make up the most feared criminal group in the world and the problems they presented for the family business in Chicago and Canada.
Their biggest worry was Viktor Vetrov and Luca Cotroni, the head of the Italian mafia. I’ve heard the two men are best friends and unbeatable.
Viktor is also known as the Hellhound. It’s said there’s nowhere you can hide because he’s the best tracker. He’s highly intelligent, ruthless, and kills without hesitation.
Shit. It’s a miracle I’m still alive.
My throat tightens from all the terror as I stare at the man whose second nature is to torture and kill.
He tilts his head slightly, making him look even more predatory as his eyes sharpen on my face, then he murmurs, “You’ve heard of me.”
Shaking uncontrollably, I nod.
The corner of his mouth lifts in a satisfied smirk. “Good. Then you know how stupid it would be to run.”
God. I don’t stand a chance against him.
A million questions bombard me, and I glance around the room to get a much-needed break from the brutal intensity shining from his eyes.
The embroidered white bed covers and pillows look as plush as they felt. Everything in the room is made of dark wood – the doorframes, the windowpanes, the vanity and chair, the walk-in closet, and even the floor. There’s another doorway that I presume leads to a bathroom.
“Rosalie,” Viktor says, so I’ll focus my attention back on him. When our eyes lock, he continues, “You’ll be safe here until you turn eighteen.”
