Monstrous Urges: A Dark Mafia Enemies To Lovers Romance

My second day as Drazen’s prisoner, I wake up starving.

And naked.

The hunger is because I haven’t eaten anything since the tray of food Yaelle and Milos brought yesterday morning, before I tried to plot my escape.

An escape I now know won’t happen.

The nakedness, though…

My face burns as I feel my own nudity under the sheets of the sumptuous bed. That’s because of what happened last night.

When he chased me, caught me, threw me to the ground, and buried me in the most hardcore exploration of my darkest fantasy I could have ever imagined. Harder than anything I have imagined, actually.

The roughness. The viciousness of it. The raw lust and violence.

Say your fucking safe word. Scream it for me. I’m still going to ruin this slutty little fuck hole no matter how loud you do.

A jolt of something fucked up and needy spikes through my core.

I’ve never actually explored that dark side of me. I’ve never even admitted to it or come close to broaching the subject with any ex. But last night, with everything dialed up to eleven, I dove head-first into my first true experience of it.

Primal.

Consensual non-consent.

Rape kink.

My lip twists as it slips between my teeth. I bite down on it, feeling a weird mix of achy desire and poisonous shame flood my system.

I’m not supposed to enjoy that shit. No one is. But me, of all people?

No.

I’m Taylor, the good girl. The over-achiever. The top of her class literally always. I do soft candles and missionary position. I do dates where the door is held open for me.

I don’t do crazed, hyper-masculine psycho catching me in the woods, throwing me down, ripping my panties half off and just fucking me, heedless of permission or consent.

Though, obviously, he had it.

In fucking spades.

My thighs clench as I replay every filthy, gasped, whimpered moment. Every vicious, primal thrust. Every way his fucking huge cock rammed into me, stretching me to my limit in the most gloriously fucked-up, deliriously hot ways.

I’m sore.

I’m fucking sore. My pussy feels like I just rode a horse across the entire American southwest, sans saddle.

…or maybe more like I got ridden by the horse.

That’s the reason for the lack of clothes. I mean all I had anyway was the dress and underwear I was taken in. The dress is basically ruined, and the panties definitely are.

At the same time, it’s a delicious ache. An ache that makes me want…

More?

I shake my head, hugging my knees to my chest under the sheets like I did in the bath last night. The bath helped with the sore muscles and aching bruises on my thighs, neck, breasts. So did the little bottle of Epsom salts I found sitting on the edge of the tub that I’m not sure was there before. After that, I crawled into bed, nude, to collapse into sleep.

The psycho probably has cameras in here. But who cares.

Nothing he hasn’t seen already.

I rub my eyes, pushing my uncombed hair back from my face and trying to figure out how to solve the immediate problems of lack of food and lack of clothes. When I glance around the bedroom, though, my brow arches.

Across the room, sitting on the credenza by the door, is a tray of food, with a steaming pot of coffee. My gaze shifts, my brow furrowing as I glance through the arched doorway into the massive changing room.

…Which is now filled with clothes.

Wait, what?

I climb out of bed, once again shoving aside any thoughts of Drazen having cameras in here. After what happened last night, it really doesn’t matter.

I grab a piece of toast and pour a cup of coffee from the pot before heading into the changing room.

The clothes are stunning. Dresses and gowns for every occasion. Skirts, tops, pants, shorts, bathing suits, for fuck’s sake. I pull open a drawer set into the wall that glows with a soft warm light when it opens, revealing a collection of bras. The drawer beneath it has matching panties, thongs, and boy shorts, which are sort of low-key my comfy favorites.

One drawer lower has…damn.

“Lingerie” doesn’t quite do it justice. It’s like someone’s bought the entire Agent Provocateur line, or some other crazy high-end French brand.

For some reason, it doesn’t surprise me when I realize it’s all in my perfect sizes.

All. Of. It.

Across the room, there’s a door that slides open to reveal an entire wall of shelves with the most jaw-dropping shoes and heels imaginable. Also my size.

“I hope they fit.”

I whirl, gasping as my heart lurches into my throat and I lock eyes with Drazen.

Instantly, whatever devil-may-care attitude I had about him seeing me naked after last night goes out the window. With a small shriek, I spin back and grab the first thing I see—a light, gauzy, lacy robe. I turn my back to him, blushing furiously and feeling his eyes on me as I slip it on, tie it, and turn to glare at him.

“Oh, yes, much more modest.”

I glance down, and my face falls.

Goddammit.

The fucking thing is completely see-through, giving him an eyeful of, well, everything. Scowling, I grab the next thing I see—a random sundress—and wrap it around myself like a makeshift sarong.

When I turn back to him, Drazen has a smug look on his face.

“Do you need a minute?”

“A few hundred of them would be peachy, thanks,” I mutter through clenched teeth.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He’s dressed in very Mediterranean-style cream linen dress pants and a white shirt with a few buttons open and the sleeves rolled up.

I mean, holy casual formal-wear porn, Batman.

He eyes me cooly but intensely, like he’s peering into my very thoughts. It’s extremely unnerving.

“Yes?” I mumble.

“Do they meet your standards?”

I gesture at the closet. “What, all this?”

He says nothing.

“I mean, it’s only the top designers in the world. Whose standards wouldn’t they meet?” My mouth purses. “And I think we both know that it will all fit just fine.”

“You’re welcome.”

My lips thin. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“You’re going to need it, though.”

I eye him. “Why?”

“I won’t have my wife walking around naked.”

The room goes quiet.

“I’m not your wife,” I say quietly.

Drazen’s jaw sets a little. “We’ve covered that. At length.”

“I don’t remember my life before⁠—”

“Still not really my concern⁠—”

“But I’d remember,” I snap coldly, “being married to you.”

“Oh, I’m sure you would,” he says dryly, his lips curling a little. “Now—we have business to discuss. You can do it wrapped in various bits of clothing like a crazy person or dressed like a normal human being. Your choice.”

I seethe. “Dressed.”

Drazen gestures broadly at the plethora of clothes.

“Could I get some privacy?”

“No.”

I shoot him a hard look. Drazen’s face remains immobile.

Nothing he hasn’t seen before, I remind myself yet again. Just the same, my face burns as I march over to the drawers. I pull out the least sexy pair of boy shorts and matching bra I can find.

“Not those.”

I turn to shoot him a look. “Excuse me?”

“Pick something else.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m telling you too.”

My eyes roll. “But why⁠—”

I gasp as he surges into me. My back hits the wall of pull-out drawers behind me as he cages me in, hands slamming to the wall on either side of me, looming over me.

“You have issues being told what to do, don’t you.”

“It appears so,” I hiss back.

Drazen’s cold blue eyes narrow. “You’ll need to change that. When I tell you to do something⁠—”

“I’m not one of your men, or your employee.”

“Correct, Annika,” he snaps. “You’re my fucking wife.”

Something electric sizzles through my core when he growls it.

“Oh, and do all wives have to do everything their husbands say?” I mouth back.

“Not at all.” He leans down close, letting his mouth brush my ear. “But mine does.”

He pulls back. My skin is flushed and my nipples are tightening to points as he casually reaches down and plucks the boy shorts and matching bra from my hands, tossing them aside.

“Why are they even here, if I can’t wear them,” I mumble.

“Perhaps later you may,” he murmurs back, pawing through my drawer of thongs. His eyes swivel to mine. “If you’re a good girl who does as she’s told.”

Why is that so hot?

“In the meantime”…he pulls out a ridiculously sexy, skimpy little teal colored, see-through lace thong and dangles it in front of me…“you’ll wear this.”

I huff as I pluck it from his fingers.

“Fine.”

Drazen’s brow arches. “I’m waiting.”

“What, now?”

“Now.”

My face burns as I turn away from him, facing the wall. Except he’s only three inches from me, so when I drop the random sundress and the see-through robe I’ve got wrapped around me, and bend to slip on the thong, I shiver, my breath catching as my butt pushes against his thigh.

Instantly, my eyes go wide when his thigh twitches.

Not his thigh…

Holy shit.

I straighten, pulling the panties up, crossing my arms over my chest, and turning back to him. I’m blown away again at just how freaking tall Drazen is. I mean, I’m five-ten. It’s happened in the past that I’ve shown up to a first date and been taller than the guy, especially if I’ve worn heels.

Drazen, meanwhile, towers over me by what feels like a foot, with shoulders almost twice the width of mine.

“Do I get to wear anything else,” I snap testily.

“Keep using that tone and you’ll wear only what you have on now, but stuffed into your mouth while I pump your ass full of my cum.”

My face turns crimson, my mouth falling open as I just stare at him in shock. Calmly, Drazen turns and scans the hangers full of dresses before he plucks one down—a gorgeously simple peach-colored sleeveless sundress with an asymmetrical hem and a sweetheart neckline.

Dior, of course.

“Bra?”

He shakes his head.

Okaaay. I mean, I’m a small B on a good day. I rarely wear a bra when I’m at home alone. But the sundress is thin and silky…

“I thought you didn’t want your wife walking around naked?”

“A dress costing several thousand dollars is hardly naked.”

“So you don’t mind if your men see my nipples?” I say smugly, seeing if I can push this possessive part of him.

Drazen just smiles back.

“They wouldn’t be my men if they didn’t understand where to and where not to look. Put on the dress.”

I go to turn away again. He stops me with another shake of his head and a cool, stern look. I lower my arms, flushing when he casually drops his gaze to my bare breasts.

I slip the sundress on. “All good?”

Drazen nods. “Beautiful.”

Goddammit.

My cheeks tingle with heat, and it takes real effort to bite back the grin on my face. The compliment is in such stark contrast to the filthy things he said last night, and the raw, brutal things he did to me.

“Come.”

Drazen turns, leaving me alone in the dressing room before I hurry after him. I follow as he walks out of my room, down the hall, and then out onto another gorgeous, shaded patio overlooking the ocean.

Just like the one he held me over the edge of yesterday, with a hand around my throat.

He gestures for me to take one of the chairs around a low table, with him sitting across from me.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“My home.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, but where is that.”

Drazen smirks and points to the side, toward the mainland. “That’s the island of Elba.”

Yeah, there go my escape plans entirely, if there was even a sliver left. The “mainland” is itself an island.

And…hang on⁠—

“Did you say Elba?”

He nods.

“As in Italy?”

“Yes. Elba is where Nap⁠—”

“Yes, where Napoleon was exiled,” I sigh heavily. “I know.”

NapoleonInExile.

Of course.

“Where do my friends think I am?”

“Italy,” he says, matter-of-factly. “Tuscany, actually. Gabriel was quite insistent that you visit a certain vineyard he raved about. And your friend Fumi texted you hoping that you’d—and I quote—’get some good Italian stallion dick’,” he says dryly.

I cringe a little.

“Needless to say,” Drazen growls coldly, “that will not be happening.”

No, just some fucking FANTASTIC Serbian dick…

…You are insane.

“Now, shall we talk business?”

“Why not,” I drawl.

Drazen arches a brow. “I’ve decided I might believe you.”

I frown. “About?”

“About your amnesia. Your story checks out.”

“Oh, goodie,” I say sarcastically.

“Don’t get cute. Being dressed at the moment doesn’t preclude you from getting your mouth stuffed with panties and your ass with my dick.”

I shiver.

“However, that’s irrelevant. Just as it would be if you weren’t Annika. Because fortunately for me…although perhaps unfortunately for you…you look just like her. And if I of all people think that, others who matter will as well.”

I roll my eyes. “You’ve got me. I have an evil twin,” I mutter sarcastically.

“If only you did,” he growls. “You’re an only child.”

“You sure about that?” I toss back. “It would explain a lot of⁠—”

“My father would have never okayed the marriage if you had a sibling.”

“Why, exactly?”

His mouth thins. “It would have cheapened our union.”

My brows fly up. “Wow, I’m so glad feminism is alive and well in Serbian Mafia politics,” I mutter dryly. “A sibling would have cheapened our marriage?”

“We didn’t marry for love,” he grunts.

I bark a laugh. Drazen glares at me.

“We were betrothed as children to cement a peace between our families. The union was essentially a treaty. But that treaty would have been worth far less if you had a sister that could be married off to another family, thus forging other alliances.”

Well, there goes that theory.

“Who did you mean when you said ‘others who matter’ would believe I was this Annika person even if I wasn’t?”

His smile hardens. “The Iron Table.”

My brow furrows. “The what?”

“Iron Table,” he mutters again. “A governing leadership council in the Bratva world, based out of Russia. There are…” He clears his throat. “I have business with them. Business that will go much more smoothly with you at my side.”

Motherfucker. He’s trying to play coy. But I’ve seen and outmaneuvered every trick in the book in court.

“You need me, is what you’re saying.”

Drazen eyes me. “Perhaps.”

The wheels in my head quickly whirl to life, and the pieces fall into place.

“Aaah,” I murmur. “I see.” I smile broadly. “They think this Annika girl has been missing for fifteen years. Or that she’s dead. And whatever business you have with them can’t happen unless she’s not.”

Drazen raises an eyebrow, his tattooed fingers drumming on the armrest of his chair.

“Yeah… Maybe next time you kidnap someone and want to keep them in the dark, don’t pick the woman that The Legal Journal just slapped on their cover and called ‘the brightest young new mind in law’.”

“I’ll try and remember that,” he says dryly. “But to summarize, essentially, yes. I need you to play the role of my wife. Which you are.”

“Highly debatable.”

He shoots me a look. I sigh heavily.

“Do I have a choice in this?”

“Of course,” he says, far too easily.

“What’s the catch?”

Drazen’s mouth pulls into a lethal smile. “I’ve heard Crown and Black have recently purchased Poulter and Lenz. Congratulations.”

The back of my neck tingles.

“Thank you. We’re all very excited.”

He smiles predatorily. “Are you, now.”

Shit.

He’s not even trying to hide the fact that he knows what’s going on. It’s written all over his face.

“That’s confidential,” I say primly.

“Nothing is beyond my reach,” Drazen growls back. “The sooner you realize that, the easier this will be.” He sighs. “Which is how I know that Roger Fairchild has your balls…figuratively speaking, of course”—he fixes me with a hungry, dark look—“in a vice.”

I lick my lips nervously.

“And?”

“And it would seem that Crown and Black is thus in dire straits. Sure, you might put up a good fight for the next year or so. But in the end, surely you know there’s no scenario that doesn’t result in Roger Fairchild acquiring the firm you and your little friends built from the ground up.”

My temper flares and my pulse quickens as I glare at him.

“What’s your point.”

He smiles. “My point is that Crown and Black needs a lifeboat. And it just so happens, I own a marina full of them.”

I go still as what he’s saying truly hits me.

“So, yes,” he growls. “I do, in fact, need you to play my wife for the purposes of swaying business I have with the Iron Table.”

“What sort of⁠—”

“The kind in which the details or even broad strokes of aren’t your concern,” he says gruffly.

My brow arches.

“What I don’t need,” Drazen continues,  “is you playing a half-assed role or me having to wonder at which point you’ll purposefully sabotage things. So I’m going to propose a deal with you.”

I swallow. “I’m listening.”

“You’ll be my wife. You’ll play the role—and to be clear,” he growls with a dark grin, “I do mean every aspect of the role.”

Traitorous heat floods my core.

“When…” I swallow thickly. “When will you…you know…”

“Fuck you?”

I flush, my nipples tightening. “Yes,” I whisper.

“When you least expect it.”

Holy fuck.

Drazen shrugs, stroking a finger over his jawline.

“Your pussy just tastes so much sweeter when it’s flavored with fear.”

My heart does a backward somersault inside my chest. My face heats.

“So I’ll be your whore,” I mutter coldly, my voice shaking.

“If you want to call it that.”

“You know what I mean,” I hiss, pushing back against the throb of heat that tingles through me like venom. “I mean, do I get any say in the matter?”

He fixes me with a look. “I’m sure you remember the word.”

I go still.

The word.

The safe word.

Vault.

“You remember,” he murmurs quietly. “If you say it, this ends. But it goes without saying, so will my offer to bail out your firm.”

I wet my lips.

“So I don’t have a choice.”

“Of course you do. Sometimes our choices are difficult, aren’t they?”

I chew on the inside of my mouth as I look out over the water.

“I’m not going to be a sugar baby or anything like that.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, no…” I shrug. “No paying me off. Like no gaudy jewelry or money or whatever.” I turn to look at him, my pulse jangling and my hands shaking a little. “You’ll get me,” I croak. “But that’s all. I won’t be paid to do…that.”

He nods slowly. “Fine.”

I nod back and then turn to look out to the Tyrrhenian Sea.

“How long?”

“Three months,” Drazen replies promptly.

My breath sucks in sharply.

“You’ll stay here for three months as my wife. After that…” he shrugs. “Go where you want. Do what you wish. Our business will be concluded.”

“Really,” I say, suspicion lacing my tone.

“Really. In the meantime, I’ll float Crown and Black enough money to get Roger off your backs. Once our business is concluded, you’ll receive the balance of what you need to make the deal good with Poulter and Lenz.”

I nod my head slowly. This could work.

“And obviously, we’ll work out a repayment schedule for the other twenty-two million.”

My eyes snap to him. “Excuse me?”

Drazen smiles coldly at me. “I’m eager to hear where you thought the startup cash for Crown and Black came from.”

I glare at him. “From my trust fund.”

“Ahh yes, from the parents without social security numbers.”

I bristle, but this isn’t news to me.

“They were⁠—”

“What,” Drazen smiles lethally. “Day traders trying to avoid taxes?”

“They…worked for the government, okay?” I mutter.

That’s what my great-aunt Florence told me when I woke up.

Drazen actually laughs. “What, spies?”

I nod. When he snorts and rolls his eyes, I glare at him.

“That’s such a fantastically unrealistic career for an international crime lord to imagine?”

He arches a brow, saying nothing as he dips his chin.

“That’s honestly where it came from. They set it up for me before they died, and I didn’t touch it until I was ready to launch the firm.”

“Yes, well, unfortunately,” he mutters. “That isn’t true. The money is mine. And you seem to have stolen it the night you…” His brow furrows deeply. “The night you, shall we say, cheated death.”

I shake my head. “No. That money is mine. It was my parents’—”

“You know this how.”

I glare at him. “My great-aunt Florence told me!”

“Yes, a woman you knew for two months.”

“She was my great-aunt!” I spit.

Drazen shrugs and drums his fingers on the arm of his chair. “I won’t charge interest when we arrange the repayment plan.”

I look away. “You are such an asshole.”

“So I’ve been told.”

I take a slow breath, pushing my hair back as I gaze out over the water. “Do people really think I’m—I mean, Annika—is dead? Like, the people sitting at this Iron Table thing?”

“They do.” His brow furrows. “So did I, actually.”

“Until?” I frown. “I mean, when did you…how did you⁠—”

“Your tattoo,” he murmurs.

I stare at him, open-mouthed. “Do you know what it means?” I blurt.

He nods, and my pulse spikes.

“Tell me,” I whisper heatedly. “Please. I’ve wondered about it ever since I woke up.”

Drazen looks away.

“Please…”

“It’s your family crest.”

I blink. “My…what?”

“Your family. Brancovich. It’s…well, it was…their family crest. The hawk and arrow, in the circle of the sun.”

It’s like coming up for air after being underwater for a little too long. Oxygen floods into my lungs, into parts of my brain I still can’t access.

But at least now I can feel that they’re there.

Brancovich.

Is my name seriously Annika Brancovich?

But then, something else he says registers.

“You said it was my family crest.”

Drazen is silent.

“Are they…” I frown. “Do I have…”

“No,” he growls quietly. “They’re all dead.”

Even if I don’t know them, can’t remember them at all, aren’t even sure if this is real, a piece of me winces.

“Did you…” I hesitate, eyeing him.

“Some,” he mutters. “Not all.”

“My parents?” I whisper.

“Unfortunately, that wasn’t me.”

Unfortunately.

Jeez.

I take a deep breath, looking out over the azure Mediterranean.

“Okay,” I say quietly, nodding my head slowly.

“Is that your understated way of agreeing to our arrangement?” Drazen grunts.

“I have conditions⁠—”

“Think again.”

I turn to eye him. “May I finish?”

“It’s a waste of breath, but by all means,” he says dryly, absently waving a hand with a bored, amused look on his face.

“As I was saying,” I mutter. “I have conditions. For one, I’m not spending the next three months here.”

His lips curl. “As a matter of fact, you are.”

I shake my head. “How am I supposed to explain that to my colleagues? To the board?”

“That is, I believe, what is referred to as a ‘you’ problem,” Drazen says with a tight smile.

“I’m frankly amazed you’re still alive if you always exhibit this little foresight, given your choice of profession.”

The smirk drops from his face.

“Careful, counselor,” he growls quietly.

I bite back the shiver that chases up my spine.

“It’s not a ‘me’ problem if telling my partners that I’ve decided to take a three-freaking-month vacation from the firm sends up massive red flags and they start asking questions. That, I believe, is what is referred to as a ‘you’ problem.”

Drazen looks about as amused by me throwing his words back at him as he’d be by a root canal without local anesthesia.

“I have clients I can’t walk away from, Drazen. Responsibilities. I mean Gabriel is in the middle of transitioning out of the firm entirely, and we need to bring the new managing partner up to⁠—”

“You’ll work from here.”

I start to shake my head. “That’s impossible.”

“That’s my line, and I won’t be budging on it,” he growls. “Even for ‘the brightest young new mind in law’ as reported by The Legal Journal,” he says dryly, his tone laced with sarcasm.

“I can’t possibly⁠—”

“You’ll tell your colleagues that I’m hiring you as my legal consultant on a massive new business expansion I’m doing over the next three months. You’ll have space for an office here, and you’ll be free to work on whatever Crown and Black business you need to work on, from here. Other than that, you’ll be attending to the legal matters of my expansion, for which—I’m sure your partners will be happy to hear—I’ll be paying you handsomely.”

“No,” I hiss.

“This isn’t a negotiation.”

“Why the fuck would I possibly need to stay⁠—”

My words and breath choke off as Drazen surges into my personal space. My eyes flare as his hand slips into the back of my hair, grabbing it in a fist. I whimper as he yanks my head back, dropping his mouth so close and so quickly to mine that I think he’s going to kiss me.

Then his mouth slips past my cheek, his lips brushing my ear.

“Because I’m not flying to New York every time I feel like chasing you down and fucking my greedy little whore in the dark. That’s why.”

I’m still trembling, throbbing, and dizzy when he pulls back and abruptly turns to walk away.

“Call your partners and make the arrangements. Our deal begins immediately.”