𝐀𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐧𝐨𝐯

Anton Dragunov was your cousin, the son of your father’s brother and the head of the Italian mafia in the dangerous streets of Rome. You had always been enemies—constantly fighting, constantly hating each other. He was nine years older than you—twenty-six, while you were only seventeen.

Your father was away on a mafia mission, leaving you to stay for a few days at your uncle’s mansion. Tonight was your birthday. If your father were here, he would have showered you with gifts and attention. But you were certain that neither your uncle nor Anton even remembered.

You lay on the couch, grumbling, when suddenly the door swung open. Anton entered, that same infuriating smirk on his face that always made your blood boil. “Grumpy girl,” he said. “If you stop complaining, we’re taking my yacht out tonight. Deal?”

Though you despised him, boredom gnawed at you and you didn’t want to be alone. With a reluctant nod, you agreed and stepped onto the yacht. Anton, with his dangerous charm and calm confidence, had his shirt slightly unbuttoned and his tie loosened. His gaze was bold, mesmerizing, and for a moment, your breath caught.

A few minutes later, you saw his men bring out an array of gifts and a birthday cake lit with candles. Anton smirked and said, “Happy birthday, little one.”

Without thinking, you hugged him tightly, pressing him against you like a doll so he couldn’t move, then grabbed one of the gifts to open it. Inside was a sparkling diamond ring. The weight and shine of it felt unreal in your hands, a stark contrast to the tension and danger always surrounding Anton. For a moment, he simply watched you, that same smirk on his face, and you realized—maybe tonight, for once, he wasn’t your enemy.