≫ A Dark Mafia Romance ≪
Francesca "Frankie" is undeniably stunning, her ethereal beauty drawing all eyes towards her. A fusion of classic allure and edgy charm. Francesca is fiercely skilled as a criminal defense lawyer. However, there's a cruel ed...
"If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?"
- William Shakespeare
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
As Sawyer and I headed back home, I couldn't shake the feeling that we had someone tailing us. A sleek black Audi had been on our tail ever since we left Ronan's place. Its tinted windows shrouded the vehicle in a mysterious air, adding to my growing suspicion.
"For how long have we had the escort?" I asked, pivoting my gaze to meet Sawyer's in the rearview mirror. My concern seeping into the raw quiet.
"Not for long. Seems they just popped up. I'm gonna bring us to a halt and handle them, you stay put," Sawyer replied in his calm, deep voice.
"And miss all the fun? No way!" I said with a wicked grin, adrenaline gushing through my veins in anticipation.
We pulled over to the shoulder of the empty road, the mysterious Audi easing into place behind us. My fingers fished around in my satchel and promptly extracted my firearm, preparing myself. Sawyer followed closely behind me, his own weapon ready.
As we approached, the passenger door of the Audi swung open, revealing its occupant. It was a tall man with perfectly styled golden hair, dressed in a sharp black suit that screamed power. But it was the scar on the side of his face that caught my attention, a deliberate choice, no doubt, meant to make him look more intimidating. Yet his appearance was just the tip of the iceberg.
I recognized him immediately, even though I had never met him before.
Aleksander Ivanov. The fucking blond tower.
His height exceeded six feet, with an impressive frame under that exquisite suit, his piercing eyes scanning me from head to toe before acknowledging my presence. His voice, thickly laced with a deep russian accent, resounded through the silent air. "Frank Monroe, a pleasure to finally put a face to the whispers."
His knowledge of my identity unnerved me, but I quickly composed myself and shot back, "Aleksander Ivanov, why the hell are you following me?"
"I wanted to match a face with the name I've heard so much about from my uncle," he returned coolly, a spark of defiance in his gaze.
"And now you have," I said, my tone sharp and cutting.
Before the tension could escalate, Sawyer took a step forward, using his hulking frame to his advantage. His body language oozed silent threats, sending a clear message to Aleksander. "Go home Aleksander," he warned, his voice low and deadly.
Our Russian friend seemed momentarily threatened by Sawyer's audacity before smugly reverting his gaze to his car. "I'll be seeing you around, Frank," he said before getting back into the Audi and driving off into the night.
As we climbed back into the car, an inexplicable feeling of unease washed over me like an ice-cold wave. Aleksander Ivanov was trouble, and I knew I hadn't seen the last of him. There was something unsettling about him, like a dense cloud of menace swirling around him.
