Between Power and Passion (MAKAROV BRATVA #1) by Nikki Blake EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Nikki Blake
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Valentina
“Happy birthday, my darling daughter.” Father’s deep voice rumbles
behind me.
I spin to face him, the layers of my crimson ballgown swirling around
my ankles.He looks every inch the powerful crime boss controlling the Moscow
underworld in his impeccably tailored tuxedo that hugs his broad shoulders.
His dark eyes glimmer with pride as he extends a calloused hand.
“May I have this dance?”
I place my palm in his, letting him whisk me onto the glistening
parquet dance floor. Chandeliers overhead cast a warm glow over other swaying
couples. The gilded ballroom, decked with garlands of my favorite deep red
roses, is filled with laughter and clinking champagne glasses. Papa really outdid
himself this year.
It almost feels like we haven’t been at each other’s throat for
the past month. Papa can be controlling, and if I want to break free from these
puppet strings, I must stop asking, “How high?” when he says I should fly.
Father pulls me close, and the familiar cedar and smoke scent of his
cologne assaults my senses. I scrunch my nose at the intensity.
Arrrgh, I hate this smell.
My chin barely reaches his shoulder despite my ridiculous five-inch
stilettos. We glide in rhythmic circles, and my body instinctively moves to the
waltz Mother taught me before…
I swallow hard, shoving thoughts of her away. Not tonight. Tonight is
for celebrating the life she gave me 25 years ago.
I lose myself in the swell of violins, letting the melancholy notes buoy
me across the shining floor. For a fleeting moment, everything feels right in
the world. Almost.
An unexpected chuckle rumbles through Father’s chest. “You’ve become
such a radiant young woman, Valentina.” He brushes a rogue curl from my face
with surprising tenderness. “Just like your mother.”
I blink. Papa doesn’t compliment a lot. Well, never. Papa has never
complimented me, ever. A lump rises in my throat as I study him, hunting for
any hint of deception. His warm mahogany eyes remain sincere, crinkling at
the corners.
Before I can answer, the music swells louder and then stops. Father dips
me low, holding me up with one strong hand.
“I have an announcement to make.” His eyes glint as his lips curve
upward.
Suddenly, tuxedoed servers line the edges of the ballroom floor,
proffering trays laden with fresh champagne flutes—as if on cue. Since it’s a ball
my father planned, I know it was deliberate. I shiver, a frisson of unease
trickling down my spine at the anticipation sharpening Father’s features.
What’s he up to? Please don’t ruin today for me.
My heart thrums with a sense of foreboding as he hauls me upright and
steers me toward the stage dominating the far end of the ballroom. Hundreds
of faces from Moscow’s criminal elite and power-hungry socialites gawk at our
procession across the gleaming parquet.
I can’t place most of them. They’re all
strangers wearing avarice and ambition like concealed weapons.
The conversations in the hall quiet as Father tightens his grip on my
elbow, propelling me up the carpeted steps and into the spotlight.
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