Through the Storm

By Senna Winters

"You don't have to drink it if you don't want to, Kotik."

Those were the first words he'd ever said to me.
I'd known that he was a threat. I could feel it in the way that power and control rolled off of him. But you know what? I'd taken that damned drink anyway.
And that was how I was dragged back into the dark world of the mafia. One that I had fought tooth and nail to claw my way out of and put behind me.
Now I was the hostage of the great Nikolai Demidov. A pawn in the war between the Bratva and the Cosa Nostra.
I should have been terrified. But it wasn't the hostage situation that scared me, it was my reaction to my captor. The man was arguably the most dangerous man in the city, my enemy...but that didn't matter to me when his stormy grey eyes were undoing me, mind, body, and soul.
There was no way in hell that I was going to be able to survive him.

"Aren't you supposed to ask first?"

Those were the first words that she'd ever said to me.
I hadn't wanted the babysitting job. Taking care of Lucian Montalvo's daughter while he decided if he wanted to give our leader back what he stole was going to be a pain in the ass. I just didn't realize how big of one until I met Marcella Montalvo.
She wasn't what I expected. She was much, much worse.
She distracted me. She elicited feelings in me that thought I'd buried long ago. It only took one look from her honey, bedroom eyes and I lost my ability to have a rational thought. Oh, and she wouldn't stop trying to stab me.
I faced hardened criminals with less fear than I faced that woman.
I had no idea how in the hell I was going to be able to survive her.

Through the Storm is a standalone, forbidden enemies to lovers romance with a very happily ever after!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Senna Winters
• Release date: May 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201770341

Book preview

Nikolai

She was staring at a tree. She had been sitting cross-legged in the grass for at least forty minutes, surveying a tree with so much concentration that I actually questioned if there was some sort of hidden code in the bark. She had a sketch pad sitting in her lap and a pencil in between her teeth, but the two objects hadn’t connected since she whipped them out of her backpack when she first arrived.

What the fuck was wrong with this girl? I’d been following her for days, and she was pulling this shit all of the time. I’d witnessed her stop in the middle of a crosswalk to feed a pigeon until the walking light flashed red and cars honked at her to move. She’d climbed up a fire escape and just sat on the edge of the highest tier with her legs dangling down and her sketch pad in her lap again, but she didn’t draw anything. She hadn’t even taken a pencil out, that time. She’d just stared down for hours into the empty alleyway. At what? I didn’t fucking know.

She would have been a hilariously easy target if this were my usual sort of job. But, unfortunately, it was the exact opposite of my usual sort of job. I was stuck babysitting this girl.

I’ve spent four days being dragged around her college campus, sitting outside of her tiny apartment that I could have broken into with a paperclip, and being subjected to obnoxious drunk college kids in overpriced bars at night. Killing men surrounded by thousands of dollars of security was easier than this. And this was only the beginning. It was about to get much, much worse.

I watched as she scrunched her nose down at her paper, like she thought her disgust would affect it in any way, and sighed.

When I was told about my assignment involving Luciano Montalvo’s daughter, I was not expecting her. She was obviously an art student; you could tell, even if she wasn’t constantly carrying around that sketchpad that may or may not have ever actually been used. Her thick mane of dark hair was dyed platinum at the tips and her make-up was dark, from her eyeshadow to her lipstick. Her entire body was covered in metal, from the dozens of piercings that were in her ears to the stud in her nose, to the abundance of rings and necklaces that she wore. She wore tight ripped up jeans and a giant white sweater that fell off of her slender shoulder whenever she moved. It was difficult not to stare whenever it did.

As much as I loathed myself for it, the girl was...pretty. And, by pretty, I mean I grew painfully hard at the sight of her biting a pencil between her pouty lips or when her honey-colored, bedroom eyes were directed even remotely in my direction. Her sweater showed off the tanned skin of her delicate shoulders and collarbone, but it covered up the curvy body that I knew was underneath.

I’d seen it while I was staking out her apartment; she either didn’t notice that she was changing in front of her window, or she didn’t care. I should have looked away, but I didn’t. How could I? She’d only stripped off her shirt, but it was enough for the image to be burned into my brain. Whenever I closed my eyes, I saw her flat stomach and smooth, curved waist and her perfect goddamn tits decorated in a lacy burgundy bra.

It was inconvenient. But I had an assignment, and her beautiful ass wasn’t enough to distract me from it. I would have to move on to the next part tonight. Everything was ready. Physically, anyway. I could have gone without having this pain in the ass put on me, but I didn’t have much of a choice.

In either case, it would probably be over within a week. And I was a little curious to see how this girl would react. Would she scream and cry? Would she beg for her life? Would she try and escape or listen to every word that I said in hopes that it might spare her?

Marcella

W hat’s the weather like outside? Blizzardy?

I sat cross-legged on top of our counter in just my underwear and a tank top. It felt like putting on clothes would be like admitting defeat and committing myself to actually going tonight.

It’s September, Olive replied with narrowed eyes.

She, on the other hand, was all dressed up and ready to go. Her blonde hair was piled on top of her head in an intricate knot and her face was covered in pastel pinks to match the color of her mini dress. She even bedazzled her thick, black glasses for the occasion. 

Dangerously leafy? I asked.

"You know what? I do think I remember the weatherman saying that it was very leafy outside, with a chance of get your ass dressed, Cella."

Olive strode across the cramped kitchen, her stiletto heels tapping against the tile dramatically, and snatched my hand. She yanked me down and I nearly tumbled on top of her. Luckily, I gracefully landed on my ass, instead.

I think I’m going to stay and keep guard of the apartment, actually.  I grumbled as I pulled myself back up.

I mentally went through the outfits I could throw on within the next ten minutes. I knew that this was a lost battle. Even if Olive didn’t forcibly drag me out of the house, I didn’t have much of a choice in going.

"It’s your party," she harshly reminded me, pushing me in the direction of my room.

I hadn’t asked for this. But all of the art majors tended to have class after class with one another, so it was a pretty tight-knit group. If I didn’t show up to the celebration they were throwing for me for winning one of the university’s awards, I wouldn’t hear the end of it until I graduated. I’d thought entering the stupid contest would be a nice thing to add to my resume, considering all it currently consisted of was student. And it would be. But at what cost?

You could have stopped this, I grumbled as I finally dragged myself into my messy room.

Outfits were flung onto every surface that wasn’t covered in art supplies. All of the walls were taken up by canvases, some of them completed, others currently being worked on. I was very aware that it looked like I lived in a trash heap. Fortunately, we didn’t have many visitors. If anyone wanted to come over, all we’d have to do is tell them what neighborhood we lived in. People didn’t venture over here of their own volition. Unless they needed drugs.

I could have. But where’s the fun in that?

She leaned against my door frame, probably watching me to make sure that I was actually getting dressed and not escaping out my window.

The television, I shot back.

I didn’t mind going out. With Olive. But beyond that, each added person was directly correlated with how much I dreaded going. I liked the energy in college bars and watching all of the interactions. Olive usually ran off with somebody shortly after arriving, so I was left in peace to just observe. There was not a chance in hell that was happening tonight.

God, go start your make-up. I’ll find you something to wear, she huffed.

She nudged me out of the way of my nearly empty dresser, due to most of my clothes being scattered across the floor. I was about to argue just on principle alone, but she was right. We were going to be late.

Our bathroom was just as much of a disaster as my room, so it was easy to simply snatch the make-up I needed off of the counter and throw it back when I was finished with it. I was already done by the time Olive reappeared with a ball of clothes under her arm.

I threw on the burgundy crop top, black high-waisted shorts, and sheer black tights in record time. After adding my leather jacket and black boots, I was ready to go. With about negative three minutes to spare.

It seemed she was determined to make up for that time, because she practically sprinted out the door and down the street, dragging me right along with her. The Metro was on our side and arrived just as we did, taking us in a speedy manner to our destination, which was thankfully just a short walk from the station.

It wasn’t difficult to spot our class in the crowded bar; you just had to look for a large grouping of colorful, rainbow hair. They were over by the counter and the sight of them made me wonder just how long I was going to have to stay there. I liked my classmates, I really did. Especially in class. At night, in a bar, though? The thought of it was a little exhausting.

Finally!

Iris, a nice purple-haired girl, spotted us as Olive led us over in their direction. There was no turning back now. There were outbursts of congratulations! and insistence of shots and a flurry of conversation that I couldn’t quite keep up with. I was grateful to Olive for taking on the brunt of most of it. All I had to do was take the free alcohol they were offering me and laugh along like a regular human being.

You know, I told them we should just send you a congratulatory pizza or something.

I’d slowly inched my way further and further away from the crowd, but it seemed that I had a follower. I glanced over from my spot on my stool and found the other notoriously quiet kid in the class smiling shyly at me.

Trevor was on the scrawnier side with shaggy blonde hair and a pair of glasses that he was perpetually having to push back in place.

It’s the thought that counts, I offered with a forced smile.

I’d always liked Trevor. A lot of the students in our class were vibrant and loud and people like him tended to disappear in the background. I was always in the light because Olive dragged me into it, but he had always been successful at remaining hidden. I envied him a little bit for that, I think.

So, how long before you disappear into the night? He asked sheepishly.

He didn’t sit down on the empty stool next to