webnovel
#R18
#DARK
#POSSESSIVE
#SMUT
#MAFIA
#PREGNANCY
#KIDNAP

Scars He Gave Me

"You know what a good girl would have done? A good girl would have stayed home instead of sneaking out of her father's compound just to get a man to fuck her. A good girl wouldn't have stabbed a man like me with a pen. And most of all, a good girl wouldn't be turned on by holding a gun to a man's chest." I lean closer to her. "You're no good girl, Ivanna." "You… you're wrong." "Go on then. Come on. Pull the trigger." *** My name is Ivanna. I am the daughter of Misha Sidorov, the head of the Krasnoyarsk Bratva. I have just graduated and I’m about to go to college. My life is perfect until Sergio Sakharov comes into the picture. He is the darkness itself. He reigns over the entire Sakharov family and by extension, the Dvina River Vory Bratva. His word is law, and his desire is absolute. Everything changes in a split second when he steals me away and holds prisoner in Tyva, a bride for his only heir. But Sergio doesn’t take no for an answer. He always gets whatever he wants and against all reason, he claims me for himself instead. He thinks I’m the perfect match for his desires and he is determined to keep me close, even if I fight him at every turn. Except, I’m no helpless pawn. I’m not innocent. I have tasted his dark side, and I want more. The don himself, the man they call the Volkov of Dvina River appeals to me in the most sinful of ways. His wickedness draws me in, and when he decides that he wants me, I’m helpless. I can’t resist him, even if it means giving myself to him. He may think he has power over me and can control me every step of the way, but I’m about to show him who the real boss is.

Bistas_She · Urbano
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85 Chs
#R18
#DARK
#POSSESSIVE
#SMUT
#MAFIA
#PREGNANCY
#KIDNAP

Well, That Didn't Work

(IVANNA)

No one is around when we finally enter his side of the castle. I haven't been here before, and the bare walls catch me by surprise. No drawings that Karlen might have done in school, no famous paintings or posters. It is just a blank surface, like a new house that somebody has just moved into. Hadn't the Sakharov family lived here for a decade?

The stone floor is covered with worn eastern carpets and overhead are the same elegant lights, just like our side. He strides to the end of the hall and throws a door open, not letting go of my hand as we head inside. The door closes and he lifts me up. My legs dangle as he carries me through the sitting room and into the bedroom.