Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
I shake my head, hating that she managed to fool me.
Is it possible she didn’t know who I am?
No, she saw the stars on my arms and must’ve seen the tattoos on the back of my hands as well. She has to know what they stand for.
Even if she didn’t know, it doesn’t change anything. She’s a D’Angelo, and therefore, my enemy.
There’s a bitter taste on the back of my tongue, and for a moment, I’m torn between loyalty and the attraction I felt for her.
But it’s only for a moment, then I shut my emotions down and turn my head to look at my brothers.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Broken fucking arm,” Armani growls.
“Just banged up,” Alek answers. “You?”
“Couple of broken ribs. Nothing serious.” I turn my attention to Director Koslov. “Thank you for coming to get us.”
He just nods.
“Do you know who attacked the club?” I ask.
“D’Angelo,” Director Koslov answers. “He didn’t know his daughter and her friend were there.”
I shake my head as a bitter chuckle escapes my lips. “So we were the targets?”
“Yes. Viktor will take care of it. He wants you to focus on your training.”
I’m not surprised to hear we were the intended targets of the bombing, but had I known that, I would’ve handed D’Angelo the lifeless body of his daughter.
Green, wide eyes intrude on my vengeful thoughts, but with a merciless swipe, I erase her from my memories, and every flicker of emotion she made me feel is buried among the screams of the souls I’ve killed, never to see the light of day again.
She’s nothing but a mistake. One I’ll never make again.
Chapter 5
Aurora
Two years later…
Misha Petrov; 24. Aurora D’Angelo; 21.
Sitting in the private jet with Abbie, I stare out of the tiny window. Whenever I have time, my thoughts return to the night of the explosion and my prince.
To this day, I still don’t know who he is.
I’m not going to lie. I was crushed when he didn’t come to visit me in the hospital and disappointed when it was clear he wasn’t going to make contact.
But with time, the disappointment faded until I was left with a beautiful memory.
My tall, dark, and handsome mystery man will forever be my prince and the first man I kissed. My stomach is always filled with butterflies when I think of him, and I hope it never stops.
Yes, I almost died, but the fantasy I’ve built around that night far outweighs the trauma. In a way, it helped me deal with it all.
My parents were so upset that I snuck out with Abbie, I never dared to ask my father to find the man. Secretly, I held onto the hope that I’d run into him somewhere.
Abbie was also injured during the blast. She had a broken leg, but luckily one of my prince’s friends made sure she got out alive.
I now regret not asking my prince what his name was.
And honestly, I feel silly for referring to him as my prince.
Does he think of me?
Does he even remember me?
“What are you thinking about?” Abbie asks to draw me out of my thoughts.
I never told her he kissed me. I couldn’t bring myself to share it with her. The romantic moment is buried deep in my heart where no one can taint it.
“About St. Monarch’s,” I lie.
“It’s going to be an amazing four years.” Abbie’s excitement is always infectious, and it makes my heart lighten. “Living in a five-star castle,” she sighs dreamily, “and getting pampered whenever we’re not training is going to be amazing.”
“I’m just glad to be out of the house,” I mutter.
Yes, my parents practically locked me up as punishment for going to the nightclub, then finally, my father announced that I’d be attending St. Monarch’s for four years.
St. Monarch’s is a castle that was converted into an exclusive and elite resort and training center for anyone in the criminal world with enough money. It’s also the only neutral ground in the world where no killing is tolerated.
I’m fully aware that St. Monarch’s is run by my father’s enemies, but because the establishment adheres to strict rules, I’ll be safe. St. Monarch’s is open to anyone, whether you’re friend or foe.
Since the previous head of the bratva, Alexei Koslov, took over St. Monarch’s, there have been no known incidents of anyone being killed on the premises.
Believe it or not, there’s a code of honor among criminals, and once you walk through the doors of St. Monarch’s, you’re seen as a paying customer and not an enemy.
“Do you think the training will be hard?” Abbie asks.
“I have no idea.” I lock eyes with my friend. “The best have been trained at St. Monarch’s, so it will probably be brutal.”
It’s not a lie. The best assassins, custodians (protectors and bodyguards), smugglers…God, anything crime-related you can think of has been trained at the establishment.