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Greta on the other hand, didn’t seem so keen on the idea.
Her first impression of me made her let out a whimper and her hand trembled when I took it in mine. She’s never seen someone like me either. We’re from two different worlds. One is night and one is day. One is innocent and one is full of depravity.
Mixing us two together would lead to an explosive cocktail.
One that Greta seems intent on not to shake or stir.
She doesn’t want to drink me the way I want to drink her. Always watching me with hesitant, wide eyes like she has a million questions in her head and is too distraught to even ask one. Am I really that intimidating?
Fuck...probably.
The streets clear when I come walking. People whisper behind my back. Their instinct warns them to stay away even though they don’t know who I am.
A made man, that’s who I am. In one of the most powerful shadow organizations in this country, The Nordic Mafia. Our symbol’s carved all over town but very few know its meaning. Greta has no idea what it is that I do but she has an instinct.
And it tells her to stay away from me.
Clenching my fists, I let out a curse and step inside. I can still sense Greta’s presence and I’m relieved she hasn’t gone out. Not that Greta would be in any trouble going anywhere on her own. I have a man follow her, keep an eye on her to make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble.
A stepbrother can’t be too careful with a stepsister like Greta.
Everyone wants her. They all want a little piece of her but they’re all too fucking scared to do anything about it.
That’s the only thing Greta and I have in common. People are intimidated by her too but in a different way. When she comes walking, people act as if they’re witnessing an apparition. There’s something celestial about Greta. Otherworldly.
She’s not meant for mere mortals. She’s meant for me.
She belongs to me. I’m the only one who’ll be able to handle her and she’s the only one who’ll be able to handle me.
And at the slightest hint of a threat or challenge from another male, I’ll do murder.
Nobody takes her from me. And the best part is that nobody can.
When a mobster sets his eye on a target that target is his. Only a miracle can help whoever comes in between.
I stop in my tracks when I find Greta sitting on the living room couch with a bowl of noodles in her lap. She turns her head when she hears me coming and makes a movement as if she’s about to run again but then she leans back against the pillows.
Raising my brows, I murmur, “I could tell the chef to come over and make you something.”
Greta shakes her head. “It’s late.”
“He’s on call,” I grit and she murmurs,
“And I’m on a diet.”
Annoyance flares in me. “I want you nourished, not starved,” I snap and she twitches, gazing up at me with wonder in her eyes.
“Why?” she whispers.
Because I care about her. Because I want her fertile and I want her satisfied.
“Don’t want your mother to think I’m not looking after you,” I reply and hesitate for a moment before sitting next to her and Greta freezes as if someone just poured a bucket of ice water over her head.
“What are you doing?” she whispers. “You never sit with me like this.”
A muscle ticks in my jaw. “You want me to leave?”
“No!” she blurts. “I didn’t mean to sound r...rude.”
