Page 4 of Niko's Printsessa

There are times his dark eyes melt me with the heat of a lover, but then others when he freezes me out and treats me like a naïve little girl. And my least favorite, when he stares me down with that glare of annoyance, like I just got caught coming in after curfew.

He’s infuriating.

But I still want him.

I wish I could forget that night, all those years ago. My family threw me a birthday party when I turned twenty-one and after six-too-many drinks, I stalked him out of the ballroom and onto the balcony. I thought I was so sexy, how I strode up to him, wobbling on my designer heels. I pursed my lip-stick smeared lips and ran my fingers down his chest. His hooded eyes bore into me and his large hands landed on my waist tugging me towards him. I thought he wanted me as much as I wanted him, but when I leaned in for a kiss, he abruptly pushed me away. I barely stayed upright as he roughly brushed his sleeves like he was trying to rid himself of my stench.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, he crushed my already broken heart into shattered pieces of agony, when he said,This will never happen, Printsessa. I can never be your prince. We don’t live in some fucking fairytale you read to yourself every night.

That night, as I sobbed into my pillow, I promised myself Niko Petrova would never hurt me again. So, every day, I wear my entitled rich bitch armor and act like he doesn’t exist. The problem is, I can’t hate him no matter how hard I’ve tried.

I want to shake him and scream how wrong he is. Yes, I want a fairytale, but I’m not looking for the kind he insinuated. I’ve never wanted a prince or knight in shining armor. I want a strong, powerful warrior. A tatted Russian killer who will slice my enemies’ throat without a second thought. I want a man who will strip me of this exhausting role I’m forced to play. I want to lay bare before him and be seen for the first time in my life. I dream of him welcoming my jagged pieces, accepting my dark corners, and nurturing my insatiable hunger.

And then I want him to take me as his. I want him to love and cherish me, but Ineedhim to own and possess me.

I’m not naïve, and I understand the world I live in. I’m a Sokolov, which makes me untouchable, and if I say the word my cousins will destroy my enemies. Whether they tried to murder me or merely cut me off in traffic, that’s the kind of power I hold.

But, my body is also untouchable. I can’t find a brave enough man who will have dinner with me, let alone give me what I so desperately desire. If only Niko knew the truth of the fairytales I dream at night. I dream of him biting my skin, sucking my tits, and slamming his dick into my pussy so hard and fast, over and over, until I scream his name. It feels so real that some mornings I wake up wrapped in soaked sheets.

Yes, I have sex, but it’s always drunken one-night-stands. I may act like a bitch, but I would never put some unknowing bastard in the crosshairs of the Bratva. I might as well sign their death warrant.

So, unsatisfying one-night-stands it is. One-and-done is safer for everyone. I tried serious once, and it was a disaster, and that’s putting it lightly. The one saving grace was my crazy family having no idea. And hopefully, they never will.

Since then, I’ve stayed clear of anyone even remotely interesting.

Sergei’s suggested I date one of their men, one he approves of, but there is only one, and every time my cousin brings it up in front of Niko, he looks like he rather jump into oncoming traffic. I’ve seen his reaction enough now to expect it, but it doesn’t hurt any less.

Summer waddles into the kitchen, wearing maternity yoga pants and her tank top stretches across her belly bump as her blonde hair flows over her shoulders. She’s glowing.

“I’m a house.”

“The most stunning house. How are you feeling?”

“Better now that the baby’s room is ready. I really appreciate you painting the mural. It’s so beautiful.”

My father swears my love of everything art comes from my mother. She was an up-and-coming sculptor in Russia, but she died when I was two. It was just me and my father for the next six years, until we moved to Las Vegas. I missed having a mother but my father showered me with all the love I could ever need or want, and my favorite memories are of our weekend visits to museums and galleries. Even after we moved to the States we had a standing weekend date. The older I got, the longer I would spend in front of pieces, studying and immersing myself in them, trying to connect with the artist.

I put on a façade that I’m entitled with little substance, only concerned with drinking, dancing, and fucking random guys, but there’s more to me than shopping and clubbing. If anyone cared to get to know me, really get to know and see me, they’d see a woman who’s passionate about so much more.

Honestly, other than the distillery, I’d rather spend my time at The Bellagio Gallery of Fine Art, admiring Picassos and Andy Warhol’s or at The Centaur Gallery studying pieces from Renoir and Dali. Art probably isn’t the first thing one imagines whenthey think of Las Vegas, but beyond the casinos and live shows is a robust art scene.

My idea of a perfect night isn’t dining at the trendiest restaurant or drinking at theitclub of the week. I’d rather walk the downtown streets, eat from food carts, and marvel at the beautiful murals our talented locals have created.

I dream of selling my work in one of the twenty galleries at The Arts Factory, but the Sokolov name strikes again. Sure, I could easily use it to sell my paintings, but I don’t want success based solely on my name. I want my pieces recognized because of my talent.IfI even have talent.

Just recently and at the urging of my best friend, Anya, I’ve reached out to a couple out-of-state galleries, under the name Laney Levowski. One gallery in Sedona requested a meeting and even selected a couple pieces to display, but I haven’t shared the news with anyone other than Anya.

She’s the only true friend I have, even more like a sister. Her mother, Maura, and my Aunt Zoya were best friends, so we grew up together.

I do have other friends, Trish and Mira, who I met in college, but we don’t discuss anything remotely serious. Our topics of conversation are clothes, makeup, and men. And I’m totally okay with that.

I’m grateful my cousins fell in love and I now have Summer and Tali in my life, but Anya is the only one who knows about the gallery in Sedona and my fears of my art collecting dust, until one day the owner puts me out of my misery and replaces it with a piece actually worthy of the space.

I could tell my family and I know they would say they’re happy for me, but they have their own lives to worry about. Summer and Andrei are about to become new parents, Natalia is workingon her first book, and Andrei and Sergei are busy ruling their empire. My life feels so trivial compared to theirs.’

It’s hard to be a Sokolov, and I know my cousins endure the brunt of it. I thought Andrei was crazy, stalking Summer and setting up her abusive, gambling boyfriend in order to trick her into being his. It’s unorthodox, but thankfully it worked out. She’s just as crazy as him and they’ve been crazy together since the day he brought her home.

When Sergei fell in love we were all stunned, especially him. Natalia’s father had sold her virginity to Rocco Netti, the mobster, but Sergei rescued her. And then he hunted down the monsters who tormented her. I never thought Sergei, theZmei, would fall in love, but when the serpent did, he fell hard.