The Russian Mobster: Russian Mafia Romance novel Chapter 23

come on grey, get your shit together, he literally just told you that he doesn't care about you!

I was curled up in the bed, my door locked.

I was just another stupid girl, was I actually serious? Did I even think about liking him?!

He was in the Mafia.

Grey face it, he is the Mafia.

I have trained half my life learning how to kill people like him, and how to mentally degrade people like him.

I'm his fucking prisoner!

I'm thinking about actually liking my captor? I'm so fucking dumb.

I usually didn't even think about liking guys.

Sure there were boys at the academy that liked me and maybe I could have liked them too, but it was strictly against code to be 'with' anyone.

I had kissed boys too, it wasn't like I was all 'too innocent' I mean I was a Virgin? So I suppose I'm kinda innocent, but I was saving myself for someone special.

I flipped onto my stomach and screamed into my pillow, I refused to cry, but screaming was okay.

I think the last time I cried was last year when my brothers died, but going a year without crying? That's kinda big.

Also I didn't cry a single time in the academy, considering it was forbidden, but six years without crying? That's even bigger.

"Fuck!" I screamed into my pillow.

This was bad.

My life was fucked over, and pointless.

I have no family, no friends.

And a bunch of big ass Italians want to kidnap me. Just great.

A tear threatened to form in my eye, but I forced it down. I haven't cried

In more than a year, I'm not going to start now.

Especially over someone like Sinister mother fucking Solvact.

I bit the inside of my cheek in thought.

I slammed my face back into the pillow when there was a knock at the door.

"Grey?" It was Xavier.

"I'm dying, come back later." I muttered through the pillow.

"You'd better come up with a better one."

"I'm naked." I groaned.

The door flew open- not to my surprise.

"Darn." He muttered.

"Your such a creep." I muttered as I took my face from the depths of the comforting pillow.

"Guilty. But as I am a creep, I'm not so much an idiot. What's wrong?" He asked, in his low-almost whisper, his

Russian accent was almost cloaking his English tongue.

I pursed my lips, "what? Nothing's the matter."

His hazel eyes bore into mine, "lzhets."

(Liar)