Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Do you come with an instruction manual, or do we just wing it? Asking for a friend.
Sir, respectfully, HOW DARE YOU?
Who gave you permission to ruin my entire day with this?
Jeans low, jaw high, confidence THROUGH THE ROOF. If he puts on a pair of gray sweats, I’m going to spontaneously combust. I’m not okay.
I don’t care if this is staged, I am HERE FOR IT and so are my ovarieeesss!!!
I roll my eyes and barely refrain from gently reminding some of these girls that he tagged me and me alone, and they can keep their thirsty little mitts off him, but that feels so grade school.
Oh.
Oh, wait. Mine is the only comment he replied to. Holding my breath, I scroll down.
Not staged.
Oh sure, he’s a hot made man looking for some attention. And I’ve got a bridge to sell you, ironically not far from here… I roll my eyes when my phone dings with a notification.
It’s a… message?
Bratvabloodline
What makes you think this is staged?
God, his username is Bratvabloodline.
My pulse racing, I tap out a quick message.
Because I would imagine men like… supposedly you… have better things to do than post thirst traps?
Bratvabloodline
Better things to do than get your attention?
I roll my eyes. My skin feels strangely hot and prickly. We can’t get off the subject.
But this whole staged mafia thing…
Bratvabloodline
Like I said, not staged. Obviously, I can’t talk.
Ooh. Well played.
I can’t not ask questions. If you’re REALLY mafia (LOL) which kind are you?
I’m disappointed when he doesn’t respond right away. Maybe he is chatting with other women, and why does that make me feel jealous? Maybe he’s—
My cheeks color as I go back to his screen, only to realize he’s posted another video.
He stands in what looks like… a penthouse? He’s wearing jeans hung low on his waist, his eyes riveted on the screen.
You’ve been a naughty girl, @dreammafiaqueen. You should know by now what happens to bad girls.
Wait. He said I’ve… been a bad girl? My breathing hitches.
Slowly, his eyes staring straight at me through the screen, he begins to unfasten his belt. I’m absolutely fucking mesmerized; my mouth is dry as he pulls the leather through the loops with an audible snap.
Ahhhhhhh!
Walking over to a gorgeous couch, he arranges pillows in the shape of… oh god. No. Is he really?
With practiced ease, he doubles the belt over in his large, very manly hand, and snaps it across the fullest part of the pillow.
I let out a little squeak.
I plan a quick internet search of the tats he has, only to be drawn deep into the meanings behind his tattoos. A crowned skull, inked on his forearm, signifies authority earned through ruthless power. Stars etched on his collarbones—prison tattoos—mark him as someone who bows to no one. The spiderweb ink over his elbow, a symbol of time served. And the one that has me most intrigued— intricate script on his knuckles spells out a phrase in Russian that translates to “Loyalty Until Death.”
If he’s faking, he’s gone to astonishing lengths to make it real.
Okay, let’s be rational here.
Either those are fake tattoos, or…
I go back to his screen and stare. I click the little triangle when I realize he’s talking.
“Come a little closer,” he whispers, gesturing to the camera and, oh my god, his voice. Rough and raspy, low and manly, and tinged with a Russian accent.
That’s it. Tomorrow, I’m quitting my day job and going full-time influencer.
So what, you’re a Bratva boss now? Should I start practicing my Russian?
Bratvabloodline
You tell me, kitten.
Ugh, why do I looooove thaaat?
I call bullshit.
Bratvabloodline
Careful.
My skin prickles. The word lands like a spark on dry kindling. There’s a warning in his tone I feel in my spine.
Why are you harassing me?
Bratvabloodline
You said you liked made men, kitten.
Kitten again. My fingers hover over the screen, poised to type an appropriately scathing reply, but nothing feels sharp enough.
You make it sound like I swiped you on a dating app. I was only…intrigued. Curious.
Bratvabloodline
Curiosity doesn’t have to be fatal. Not if you’re careful.
The audacity. My heart’s racing, but I’m not about to let him know that.
Oh, please. Are you trying to be mysterious, or is it just a side effect of all the brooding in your pics?
Bratvabloodline
Brooding? You wound me.
You’ll survive.
Bratvabloodline
You sound confident about that. Makes me wonder what else you think you know about me.
I can practically hear his voice in my head—low, teasing, infuriatingly smooth. This is just banter. Nothing more. Right?
I know you’re probably not as intimidating as you want everyone to believe.
Bratvabloodline
Bold assumption. Ready to test it?
Test it? What does that even mean? My pulse stumbles, and for a moment, I just stare at the words.
Hard pass. I don’t do alpha male posturing.
Bratvabloodline
Is that what you think this is? Cute.
Cute. Like I’m some naïve little thing he can toy with. My cheeks flame, and I’m about to type something sharp when another message pops up.