Page 46 of Claimed Bratva Virgin

Moving the car out of the parking space, I wiped my eyes and tried to fish out any light at the end of any helpful tunnel. There was none. The only option available was to keep my secret for as long as possible until I could flee the country.

Maybe under the guise of visiting Matteo in Europe.

Matteo wouldn’t spill a secret unless Papa threatened him himself.

I gripped the wheel until my knuckles turned white. My thoughts were a swirling mess, and a strange sense of foreboding worsened the anxiety that I wouldn’t make it to Europe before Papa found out.

I barely noticed the familiar streets blurring past me as I drove home.

Then, out of nowhere, a convoy of cars sped past me, cutting me off. Tires screeched, and my car came to an abrupt halt as they boxed me in. My heart dropped into my stomach, and sudden anger at everything quickened my pulse.

The last time an ambush like this happened, it was a frigging Yezhov who planned it. Ivan, to be precise.

As I kicked my legs out of the car, I swore under my breath. I was ready to beat the shit out of him this time if he thought this little game was going to scare me. There was already too much on my plate to deal with his shenanigans.

Some men clothed in coffee brown suits stepped out of the cars, one by one, each holding their guns close to their thighs. But I was still stomping the ground, too pissed to notice the familiarity of the air hanging over them, like freshly brewed espresso, the sweet tang of lemon trees, and the musky hint of aged stone, all blended together.

But my ignorance didn’t get far when I heard them shouting at one another as more men stepped out. Their voices were sharp and fast. Smoother, more…melodic.

I stopped, and my pulse quickened with more confusion than rage.

These men weren’t Russian.

“Eccola!”There she is.

One of the men stepped forward, and I had to take a step back to look at him twice.

His sharp facial features seemed to have been crafted by the gods themselves from the finest Tuscan marble. Green eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief and an unmistakable allure.

My gaze dropped to a striking tattoo of a serpent coiled around a dagger adorning his left forearm, and though it was unfamiliar, I thought it meant something.

He wore a crisp white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, the fabric seemingly glowing with inner light, complemented by a pair of rich brown pants that hugged his lean physique. His polished Italian shoes, certainly crafted from the finest leather, added a touch of sophistication to his overall demeanor.

An air of danger seemed to swirl around him like a mist, but somehow, while I was surrounded by the heat of this Italian hunk, a nagging voice in my head announced that Rafayel was still a thousand times hotter.

He extended a hand. The hand with a serpent. Apparently, the fine man was a southpaw.

“Name’s Luca. Luca Rossi. I’m sure you’ve heard about me because I sure as hell have heard marvelous things about you, Leo. Andsembri ancora più radiosa di persona.”

You’re more beautiful in person.

The Rossi clan. The same family trying to overthrow us—the same people who’d been tearing at the foundation of Papa’s empire.

When I didn’t shake his hand, his sharp, predatory smile only deepened.

“Ah, the rumors are true then. You’ve heard of me.”

Before I could step back, his hand shot out, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me closer. Close enough to feel his breath brush against my ear when he leaned in.

I stiffened when he kissed the spot beneath my earlobe.

“I’ve had a crush on you for the longest time now, Leo. You give me wet dreams. You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about what it’ll feel like to fuck you.”

Cringe.

He was certainly deranged if he thought he’d even make it to first base with me. And everything he said made my skin crawl with utter disgust.

Swallowing the urge to spit on his face, I offered a phony smile. “Is that so? Shame, thoughts about you make me want to put a fucking hole in your head. The only crush I have on you, Rossi, is the desire to crush you to dust.Stronzo.”

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