ADRIKO
THE PENTHOUSE
I needed a drink.
Something stiff to relieve the tension, frustration, and a little bit of bloodlust that plagued me. I was spiraling and I hated the feeling of not being in control.
Striding to the bar, I grabbed a bottle of whiskey and took a swig straight from the bottle. I knew leaving Russia and setting base in New York would raise eyebrows especially as I was straying away from the more traditional aspects of the Bratva but from today's attack, it seemed a particular syndicate had grudges against my operations.
I paused at Serafina’s doorway and looked in. She was asleep, curled up against the pillows, her hair a mess of fiery auburn spread across the pillow. Her lips were parted slightly, her breathing soft and even.
She looked like she didn’t belong
