Beauty and the Mob Boss

Chapter Two

It wasn’t uncommon for Bela to wake up in pain. Such has been the sad truth of her life, living with parents like hers.

But, it never mattered how badly she hurt these days, she still had to get up and go to work.

Bela grunted as she rolled over onto her back. She wouldn't be able to work a double shift today as she'd planned. Not when she felt like this, but she couldn't afford to miss a full day.

Especially now that she'd have to start all over again with her savings. She sighed in defeat as she remembered the confrontation with her father last night---

Last night…

Bella sat up in bed with a gasp, temporarily forgetting about her physical state as the events of the previous night played out in her mind.

She would have thought everything was a bizarre dream except…she glanced around the unfamiliar surroundings.. except this wasn't her room.

Her giant….

No! She interrupted her own musings.

He doesn't belong to you!

The giant hadn't just been a figment of her imagination. Nor had her kidnapping.

Beal's pulse was racing a mile a minute as she began to slowly slide from the bed.

She paused with her feet dangling over the side of the bed when she heard a key turning in the lock on the door.

Out of habit, a spike of fear lanced through her, but she didn’t have time to react, because the door was opened and unexpectedly, a young woman walked in holding a bundle of fabric pressed between her palms.

She seemed rather young —around the same age as her— and she was dressed in what seemed to be a uniform, simple black slacks and a pristine white shirt tucked into the tiny belted waist. Her deep red hair was braided to one side of her shoulder.

She paused when her sharp, green gaze met Bela’s brown one.

“You’re awake,” she announced, her eyes widening considerably as she took in Bela’s appearance.

Bela knew what she must look like, pale and bedraggled and going on little to no sleep after another “encounter” with her parents, and though she’d long thought she’d gotten over feeling self-conscious about her appearance, being gaped at by an exceptionally pretty girl made her realize that clearly wasn’t so.

She still didn’t move from her frozen position, however, nor did she respond to the girl. Bela wasn’t sure why she had appeared, but it couldn’t be for anything good right? She had been kidnapped, after all, so she should be wary of anyone she came across, right?

Except him.

Oh Shut up!

The girl’s face reddened when she realized she’d been standing there gawking.

She cleared her throat and hurried over to Bela, stopping a few feet away as if she had caught herself and stretching her arms out in offering.

“Here,” she announced, “these a clean. You need to shower and change into these and someone is going to come and get you in twenty minutes.”

She sounded as if she reading something she’d memorized.

“Where am I?” Bela asked instead, not immediately acknowledging the contents of the girl’s arms.

She needed to start acting like the captive she was dammit!

The flush in the other girl’s face deepened considerably at Bela’s question and incredibly, something akin to fear entered her eyes.

Before Bela could say anything else, the girl practically threw the bundle at her and dashed back towards the door.

“Wai—!”

“Please hurry!” the girl squeaked without looking back, she knocked briskly on the door that had closed behind her and it was opened promptly, allowing her to slip through before closing once more.

Bela stared in stunned confusion at the closed door.

Just what the hell was that?

Shouldn’t she be the terrified one here?

She stared down at the bundle in her arms, which she could see now, was a dress, underwear, and other toiletries in a travel-size bag.

Shower and change?

Was she supposed to accommodate her captors?

She was scared to find out why they wanted her clean and presentable.

But—she thought as she completed her descent from the bed with a pained groan before dragging herself towards the bathroom— I’m more scared of what will happen if I make them angry.

Bela slammed the door on the voice in her head which insisted her giant would never hurt her.

It was becoming more and more obvious to her that she had no sense of self-preservation whatsoever.

Mikhail was staring at the door which led to the dining room so hard, that he was getting a headache.

If one were to look at him sitting so casually at the table, they would never be able to tell that less than 24 hours ago, he'd been shot. Twice.

If they were used to the natural golden hue of his skin, they could probably say he was a bit paler than usual.

And of course, he was still f*****g tired, but that wasn't surprising, given how much blood he'd lost.

But despite all that, he couldn't ignore the electricity flowing in his veins as he lifted a decanter of brandy to his lips. He wasn't going to lie to himself about why he was excited either.

It was her.

Bela Kavek.

He was more interested in solving the pale, frail-looking blonde puzzle than he was in who'd attacked him last night.

It was probably best if Vlad wasn't aware of just how preoccupied he was with the girl.

He was convinced that, in his weakened state, he had built her up in his mind to be more than she was. Exaggerated the smooth paleness of her skin, and the delicate fae-like quality of her features.

He shifted in his seat to alleviate the uncomfortable tightness in his slacks.

It was downright appalling how little control he had over his body’s reaction to this girl.

He should get rid of her for that reason alone.

His mind vehemently rejected the thought as soon as it occurred to him.

It was a dangerous thing. These feelings that a stranger had inspired in him.

He wanted to wrap her in the warmest blanket and tuck her away so nothing bad could ever touch her, and at the same time…he wanted to f*****g devour her.

She was such a tiny thing too. He could finish her in one bite.

FOCUS!

There was a light tap on the door before the lock turned to admit the people on the other side.

Vladimir appeared first, standing stoically as he waited for the girl to precede him into the room.

Mikhail hadn’t been aware of holding his breath until he released it slowly at the sight of her.

So his mind hadn’t exaggerated a thing. If anything, she was even more breathtaking in the clear light of day.

Her hair was the most fascinating shade of white-blond, the fine curls escaping her braid and playing with the sun streaming in through the window.

The combination— Mikhail thought fancifully— made it seem as if there was a halo sitting just atop her head.

Her dark brown eyes widened in something akin to fascination as she took in the sight of him but the moment his grey eyes connected with her own, Bela’s gaze lowered to the floor.

Mikhail’s c**k tightened.

She’d changed into a dress, a bit too large for her delicate frame, and one of the tiny straps caught his eye as it slipped provocatively down a bare shoulder.

His gaze followed the movement of that tiny strip of flower-patterned fabric, lingering on it as his fingers tightened around his glass, and trailing the movement of her slim fingers as they replaced it on her shoulder.

A shift in movement directly behind Bela caught Mikhail’s attention, and his gaze turned to his cousin still standing at the door.

His Sovietnik’s countenance hadn’t changed, but he was staring at Mikhail tellingly.

Mikhail was suddenly very annoyed at the younger man’s presence. He didn’t like that he was standing so close to his—to Bela, either.

He nodded to the open door, and muttered in Russian, “leave us.”

He didn’t pay the other man any more attention but heard when the door closed with a click.

His attention returned to Bela—his outlier— cataloging the details of her appearance.

Mikhail’s eyes narrowed on the dark bruise that marred the left side of her temple, partially hidden by the loose hair that escaped her braid.

It did nothing to detract from her beauty, but everything to piss him the f**k off.

Somehow, without evidence, he knew exactly how she’d acquired that bruise.

The anger that returned to him in an almost violent swiftness made for a dangerous combination with the lust that just wouldn’t seem to dissipate no matter how annoyed he was.

“Sit,” he ordered around the sudden lump in his throat, leaning back in his chair, to facilitate the picture of f*****g calm he wished to project.

They were located in a breakfast room on the first floor of the house. He’d never once sat at this table because he didn’t eat breakfast, but with the oval-shaped, glass table which seated six, it was smaller and more intimate than the official dining room.

Mikhail was seated at one end of the table facing the door, and Bela instinctively made a beeline for the seat at the other end, opposite him.

“Not there.”

Bela froze, almost comically, lifting her gaze from the ground to look up at the giant man, casually swirling the glass in his hand, oozing power and intimidation from his seat.

She had wanted to put some distance between them in the hopes that she’d be able to form a coherent thought, but when he nodded to the seat to his right closest to him, she realized she s**t out of luck.

She hesitated only briefly, not wanting to drag this out for much longer, but still nervous as she approached him. She lowered herself slowly in her seat, not able to contain the wince at the discomfort in her belly, the action caused.

Mikhail noticed, but refrained from addressing it immediately.

He watched her in silence for another minute, the throbbing in his groin becoming more insistent the longer he sat this close to her.

Should he just f**k her out of his system?

Would that alleviate this painful fascination he seemed to have developed?

She was avoiding his gaze, and he liked that he made her nervous, but he also wanted her attention focused on him at the same time.

“So then, Princess,” he began, almost smiling when the moniker caused her gaze to jerk up to his in surprise. She was in for a lot more of a surprise when he added, “should we discuss how long you’ll be staying?”