#ilya livetsky

[thewaymoonloves]

Goddess Of Vengeance.

Chapter - 6.

| Nikolai's POV |

It doesn't matter.

That was the exact moment the final thread of my restraint snapped.

The heat flared behind my eyes, a blinding, white-hot rush of adrenaline and pure fury that had been building for the last seventy-two hours.

My eyes were seeing nothing but red.

I yanked her forward with enough force to nearly rip her off her feet, dragging her stumbling body until she was pinned flat against the cold living room wall.

The back of her head hit the wall with a dull thud, and she let out a sharp, breathless gasp.

"Everything you fucking do matters, Maya!" I roared, the volume of my voice rattling the windowpanes of the apartment.

She flinched violently, her eyes widening due to pure terror.

But I didn't care.

"You think you get to hide out in this apartment and pretend the world isn't burning down because of your goddamn stupidity?" I hissed, "You think you get to play the victim? Look at me!"

She wouldn't. She kept her chin tucked down, tears instantly welling up in her eyes and spilling over her pale cheeks.

"I said look at me, Maya!" I snarled, my left hand flying out to grip her jaw, my fingers digging into her skin to force her face upward.

"Niko," Jeremy’s voice cut in from behind me, sharp and warning. "Easy. We don't have the time."

"Stay away from this, Jeremy," I spat over my shoulder, not loosening my grip on her jaw by a fraction.

I wanted her to see the hatred in my eyes. I wanted her to understand exactly what she had done. I had spent the last year carrying the weight of this family, dealing with the truth of Mia’s kidnapping—a trauma that had nearly broken my sister completely—and the entire time, the root of the rot was sitting right in front of me.

"You set up your own sister," I whispered, my voice dropping to a lethal. "But I thought... I actually thought you were just a weak, easily manipulated coward. I didn't think you were a fucking traitor."

Maya’s lips parted, a choked sob escaping her throat. "Nikolai, please—I didn't—I don't know what you're—"

"Don't lie to me!" I roared, slamming my open palm against the wall right next to her ear. The sound was like a gunshot in the small room.

She shrieked, curling inward, but I grabbed her shoulder and forced her flat again.

"Do you have any idea what happened twelve hours ago in New York? Do you have any goddamn clue?"

She just wept, shaking her head back and forth against the wall, her hands clawing weakly at my wrists.

"The Irish hit our main harbor facility," I told her, each word dripping with cold rage.

"They knew the exact schedule of our shipments. They knew the blind spots in our security. They knew the rotation of our guards. They slaughtered twenty of our men in cold blood, Maya. Twenty men who had families, who served the Sokolov name faithfully. And then they went for the estate."

Her breath hitched, her eyes locking onto mine for the first time, filled with a sudden, dawning horror.

"Yes," I sneered. "They breached the perimeter. And Dad took a bullet to the chest trying to hold the line. Our father is lying in a private medical bay right now, surrounded by machines, fighting for hi# life because of you."

"No..." she whimpered, the sound barely human. "No, no, Dad... oh god, no..."

"Don't you dare pretend to care about him now," I snapped, my fingers tightening on her jaw. "And you know who's the traitor who provided information to them? Its you."

"I didn't! I swear to you, Nikolai, I never spoke to any Irishmen! I didn't know anything about the harbor schedules!"

She was hyperventilating now, her chest heaving against mine, her voice cracking into a frantic, desperate shriek.

"Please, you have to believe me, I would never betray bratva. I would never help them!"

"Oh, really?" I let out a dark, humorless laugh that sounded more like a growl. "Then let's talk about Ilya."

The moment the name left my mouth, Maya froze entirely. The frantic writhing stopped. The sobbing cut off into an abrupt, dead silence.

The absolute guilt that flashed across her face was so vivid, so immediate, that it felt like a physical slap.

"Yeah," I whispered, my eyes narrowing as I watched the blood drain completely from her face until she looked translucent.

"That caught your attention, didn't it? Ilya. The sweet, charming boyfriendof yours? The man you let into your bed. The man you and we thought was just a harmless nobody."

"He... he was just..." she stammered, her eyes darting frantically around the room.

"He is an Irish prince, Maya," I spat, the reality of it still turning my stomach into a knot of pure fury. "He was a fucking spy between us. He was Jeremy's bodyguard, yes. But we never let him in our study or gave him clue of any secretive thing. But you know who gave it to him in silver platter? You. He’s part of the inner circle of the faction that is currently trying to exterminate our family. And do you want to know how I found out?"

I didn't wait for her answer. I didn't care about her answer.

"Because the bastard called my personal line three hours ago," I roared, the rage exploding out of me again.

I let go of her jaw. "He called me while I was standing in a puddle of our men's blood at the harbor! He called to mock me. He called to tell me exactly how easy it was to bleed the Sokolovs. And do you know what he said, Maya? Do you want to know what he credited his grand victory to?"

Maya was crying silently now, her entire body trembling so hard she couldn't even support her own weight.

"He told me that the diva sings beautifully behind closed doors," I hissed, the words burning my throat. "He laughed in my face, Maya. He told me that all it took was a few weeks of fucking you, a few compliments, a little bit of attention, and you spilled everything. He knew about our structural weaknesses because you told him. You prattled on about our family's business like a brainless, desperate girl just to keep a man interested!"

"I didn't know!" she screamed, the sound tearing from her lungs, raw and agonizing. "I didn't know who he was! I didn't tell him secrets, I just—we were just talking! I swear to God, Nikolai, I didn't know!"

"That makes it worse!" I lost control. The sheer, blinding fury over my father’s injury, over Mia’s broken state, over the twenty dead bodies currently sitting in a New York morgue—it all fused into a single, violent impulse.

I was about to do something i will probably regret later but Jeremy held me back.

"We need her conscious,Nikolai!" Jeremy yelled directly into my ear, his grip tightening until my ribs cracked. "Look at her! If you hit her now, she’s going to pass out, and we don't have time to carry eeight through an extraction! The Bratva is under total threat. The Pakhan gave a direct order—every single family member goes back to Russia immediately under maximum security. That includes her!"

"She doesn't deserve protection!" I spat, my chest heaving as I finally stopped fighting Jeremy's grip, though my glare remained locked onto the trembling girl collapsed on the floor.

The moment I had been torn away from her, Maya’s knees had completely given out. She had slid down the wall and was now curled into a tight ball on the hardwood floor, her arms wrapped around her head, weeping so violently her entire torso was shaking.

I stared down at her, the sheer, unadulterated disgust inside my chest bubbling up like acid.

Look at her. The great Maya Sokolov. The diva. Her hair was a tangled, bird-nest disaster, her face was completely devoid of color, and her lips were bitten raw, practically oozing fresh blood. She looked like a corpse that had crawled out of a shallow grave, and sometimes twisted violently inside my chest.

But i ignore it.

20 men were killed due to her carelessness.

"Get up," I growled, my voice cold as ice now.

Maya didn't move. She just kept rocking back and forth on the floor, her muffled sobs filling the silent apartment.

"I said get the fuck up, Maya," I repeated, stepping around Jeremy. I walked over to her, reached down, and grabbed her by her shoulders.

She let out a sharp, choked cry of pain, her hands flying up to grasp at my wrist.

"Listen to me very carefully," I whispered. "You are going to stand up. You are going to walk out of this door, and you are going to get into the car. If you make a single sound, if you shed one more fucking tear, or if you slow us down by even a second, I will forget that we share the same blood. Do you understand me?"

She couldn't speak. She just nodded frantically, her teeth chattering together so hard I could hear them clicking.

"Good." I released her.

Jeremy moved past me, his eyes scanning the hallway outside before turning back to us. "The perimeter is clear for now, but our spotters report a suspicious vehicle three blocks down. We need to move. Now."

"Get up," I ordered coldly, turning my back on my sister. "Otherwise i will carry you."

"I can walk," Maya whispered from the floor.

She pushed herself up, using the wall for support, her legs shaking so violently it looked like she was walking on ice.

She didn't look at me. She didn't look at Jeremy. She kept her eyes glued to the floor, her arms wrapped tightly around her own chest as if she were trying to hold her shattered soul together.

She took a step forward and almost stumbled. I knew she was in no position to walk. And we dont have enough time for this.

I stepped forward and took her in my arms. And i freeze.

Because she was as weightless as a leaf. I looked at her face for a second, the red haze siding for a second. Her eyes were closed, and her body stiff.

"Niko, move." Jeremy said, breaking my thoughts.

I nodded, moving forward.

We left the apartment behind, stepping out into the damp, grey morning air.

The armored SUV was idling at the curb, its tinted windows reflecting the bleak sky.

As I forced Maya into the back seat and slammed the heavy, reinforced door shut, I made myself a silent promise.

A/N : Next chapter after 10 comments and 20 likes.

Maya will stay the fuck away from everything and everyone. In that case, neither she will hurt anyone nor she will be able to do something more worse.

P. S. - Nikolai is going through his episodes.

[thewaymoonloves]

Goddess Of Vengeance.

Chapter - 7.

Two months.

Two months of waking up in the same high-ceilinged bedroom in the east wing of the Sokolov estate, and I still couldn’t tell if the air in Moscow was actually freezing, or if my soul was finally cold enough to make it numb.

The silence in this room didn't feel empty anymore.

It felt heavy.

Conscious.

Like a demon sitting in the corner, holding its breath, waiting for me to lower my guard.

I sat on the middle of the mattress leaning on the headboard, my knees pulled tightly against my ribs, my arms wrapped around my shins in a vice grip.

My uneven finger nails dug brutally into my skin, the nails biting deep, but I barely registered the dull ache.

I was staring at the floorboards near the bathroom door.

There were no ropes. No knife.

Nikolai had made sure of that. Every sharp object, every piece of cord, every hidden knife—gone.

That day, I thought he hasn't seen the condition of my bedroom. But apparently, nothing goes ignore from the eyes of an heir.

He had made sure to stripped my room bare, leaving me with nothing but plush furniture and velvet drapes.

He thought he was disarming me.

Thought he was keeping me safe from myself.

But he didn't understand.

The ropes hadn't been the danger. The ropes were the only things keeping my soul from slipping out into the dark while I slept.

Now, I was completely untethered.

Completely alone.

Alone.

You’re on your own on this fucking earth, Maya.

I flinched, my teeth clicking together as the whisper echoed directly behind my left ear.

I spun my head around so fast my neck popped, my eyes wide and frantic as I scanned the empty corner of the room.

Nothing.

Just the heavy shadow of the armoire.

But I could still smell it. The sudden, suffocating scent of damp dirt, wet leaves, and rain. The smell of the jungle.

Funny how everything happened in front of mother nature.

I pressed the palms of my hands against my ears, violently biting down on my lip until the copper taste of blood flooded my mouth.

It’s not real. It’s not real. You’re in Russia. You’re safe.

But nowhere felt safe.

Not anymore.

The war was still raging. Two months of endless, bloody conflict between the New York Bratva and the Irish.

Everyone was trapped here under maximum security, the entire family crammed into one mansion while the world outside fought.

And it was all because of me.

Every time I left this room, the weight of their silent condemnation nearly crushed the breath from my lungs.

My relationship with everyone had degraded into a nightmare of strained, icy politeness and hostility.

When I passed my parents in the long, marble hallways, it felt like walking through an active battlefield.

My father was up and walking now. The bullet to his chest hadn't killed him, but the way he looked at me did.

There was no warmth left in his eyes, no fierce protective streak. Just a cold, detached distance.

He spoke to me in short, formal sentences, treating me more like a problematic business associate than his daughter.

And my motherwas no better. She looked through me as if I were made of glass, her voice soft but entirely hollow whenever she asked if I had eaten.

My aunt Reina and uncle Asher were the same. The carsons didn't yell. They just used a quiet, razor-sharp politeness that made me feel like an infectious disease they were forced to tolerate.

Even my cousins, Killian and Gareth, who used to joke and tease, now looked at me with varying degrees of dark suspicion and cold disgust.

To them, I was the leak.

The traitor who had prattled on to an Irish prince.

But it was Nikolai and Mia that broke me completely.

Nikolai didn't look at me with suspicion; he looked at me with an absolute, unwavering hatred.

Every interaction with him was a lesson in terror. My hands shakes uncontrollably in his presence. My mind goes frantic when he looks at me.

He didn't raise his hand to me again, but his voice had hardened into a lethal, venomous whisper that made my knees instinctively want to hit the floor.

He controlled everything.

My food, my movements, my breath.

And Mia... my sister. She was always flanked by Landon, her fiancé, whose glare alone felt like a physical threat.

Mia wouldn't even step into the same room as me.

If our eyes met across the courtyard, she would turn on her heel and walk away, her back rigid with an unforgiving rage.

They all thought I was a monster.

They thought I had knowingly handover the information to Ilya.

Ilya.

Just thinking his name made my stomach give a violent, sickening lurch, followed by a deep ache in my heart.

Just how?

How can he do this to me?

Was he just there to use me? Just to take out the information he needed out of me? Just to make me look like a fool?

If yes, than why did he give me hope? Why did all those... things that made my heart skip a beat? That made my soul find him safe? That made my mind at ease from the demons whenever he was near me?

Was it all a game for him?

I dragged myself off the bed, my legs shaking so violently I had to throw my hand out against the wall to support myself.

I shuffled toward the large, arched window, squinting through the glass at the grey, bleak Moscow sky.

The snow was falling in heavy, aggressive drifts, burying the courtyard below.

Suddenly, the glass in front of me rippled.

I froze, the air freezing in my throat.

The reflection in the window wasn't mine.

The face staring back at me through the frost had dark, mocking eyes and a cruel, familiar smirk.

It was them.

Those men... Mrs. Pratt... Her husband.

They were standing on the other side of the glass, his hands coming up to press against the pane.

"We told you, didn't we?" Their voice hissed, not from the room, but from inside my own skull. "They will hate you if they find out the truth. They will cast you aside like a fly from milk. They will look at you not as their daghter or sister but a liar, a whore, a traitor. "

"No," I choked out, a raw, agonizing sob ripping from my throat. I stumbled backward, my bare feet sliding against the polished floorboards. "No, please... you're not here. You're not here."

I scrambled away until my spine hit the heavy wood of the armoire, pulling my knees tight against my chest again.

"You were always unwanted and unloved, Maya. You will always remain like this. Broken. Dirty. A slut. Our slut." The voices laughed around me.

"No, no, no," I chanted in my mind. "It isn't truth. They are not here... not here."

I rocked myself back and forth, wrapping my arms around my head in a hard grip, trying to drown out the laughter echoing through the silent room.

The hallucinations were getting worse.

The paranoia was eating away at the fragile remains of my sanity until I couldn't even trust my own eyes.

Every shadow was a man tearing my clothes. Every creak of the floorboards was Mrs. Pratt's husband coming back to finish what he started. Every ring of a phone in the distance made me want to tear my own skin off.

I was suffocating. I was drowning in my own breath, while my own mind tortured me with the ghosts of the men who had broken me.

Frantic knocks on my door startled me. I got up quickly, knowing if I opened the door even few seconds late, I'll be bombarded with the questions.

I opened the gate and on the other side was a bodyguard.

"Miss Sokolov, hurry up. We are under attack."

And here we go again.

Next chapter after 20 likes and 10 comments.

[thewaymoonloves]

Goddess Of Vengeance.

Chapter - 9.

People think being born into an ultra-wealthy, powerful mafia family is a blessing.

They think having money that you can spend like water and powerful connections that can buy even the president of the country is amazing.

Fabulous.

Mind blowing.

No kidding, because I have genuinely seen edits of being in the mafia or same kind of shit being romanticized on social media.

Saying I was flabbergasted to know that people romanticize this life would be an understatement.

Because why would you want a life where you can't even walk around freely?

Living your life freely, without a camera constantly watching you?

Completing your own dreams freely, without feeling any internal pressure from the people around you?

To love freely?

To be loved freely?

If I hate something more than myself, it is this mafia life.

Even "hate" is a small word for what I feel for this life. No word can describe the sheer loathing I feel for it.

What hasn't this fucking life snatched from me?

My childhood? Check.

My innocence? Check.

My self-love? Self-esteem? Self-respect? Check.

My parents’ love? Check.

My teen life? Check.

My adulthood? Check.

And now my fucking life was at stake again?

Again?

How many times do I have to prove my worth by dying, just to tell the universe that I want to live?

I want to have a normal life, too.

A normal family.

Was that too much to ask? Apparently, yes.

Because when you're Maya Sokolov, you do not have dreams like this.

You have dreams of what people consider big, powerful—something worthy of your last fucking name. Something that matches the reputation of your parents.

But I know I can never achieve it. I can never do anything as legendary as my parents.

Because even if I win the world, my parents have already won the universe in their prime.

So I do what I have always done best: survive.

Boris and Lev—whatever his name was—both thought I had lost consciousness.

I hadn't.

The bullet grazed the side of my stomach, and I was bleeding, but the wound was not so deep that I would lose consciousness entirely.

My eyes had simply rolled back due to sudden shock and blood loss.

I looked around with my half-lidded eyes, searching for a way to exit.

But it wasn't easy.

The staircase leading to the central line was blocked, as I had been informed by the guards.

And I was in the east wing, anyway—too far from the central line. So I couldn't, under any circumstances, reach the tunnel. That was for sure.

The grey smoke and dust were filling the air of the corridor, making it harder to see anything.

Bodies—dead or still half-alive—were scattered around me like leaves around a tree.

Boris and Levi were still fighting, their bodies trying and failing miserably to form a shield around me.

But they were at least trying.

Why does this happen?

Why does your own family sometimes make you feel like a stranger, while strangers make you feel like family?

I couldn't care less if they were doing it on Nikolai’s or Dad's—no, not my dad; Mia’s and Nikolai’s dad’s—orders.

But I know they can't handle it much longer. Their bullets were running out, and the Irish were greater in number than us.

A metallic gleam shined in my peripheral view. I looked there, and yes, there was a gun beside a dead body.

I tore my sweatshirt in half. Pure adrenaline can make you do things you don't even know you're capable of.

I tied the torn cloth around my waist securely before slowly crawling toward that gun.

A small sense of hope gleamed in my chest as I gripped the weapon and checked to see if it had bullets.

Yes, it had four bullets.

The self-defense classes I took were finally paying off. Unlike Mia, I didn't take training from our brothers or father. I was afraid around them. Afraid that maybe they would judge me? Make fun of me? What if I looked pathetic in front of them?

So, I learned it outside.

I quickly tucked the gun into the pocket of my jeans and unzipped the leather jacket from the body of that dead man.

He was a huge man, so it was a bit difficult to take the jacket off his frame. But remember what I said about adrenaline before? Yeah, that.

I quickly threw the jacket on top of my torn sweatshirt.

At least I was now safe from the gazes of men.

I looked around once again. Both Boris and Lev were now taking cover.

And I knew that no matter how hard they tried, they wouldn't be able to save me and themselves both.

I am becoming a burden on everyone. I can't become the reason for their deaths, too.

I have to save myself. By myself. For myself.

Their bullets were almost gone, and the Irish assassins were at the one and only exit of the east wing.

Thoughts started running through my mind—I am surprised that organ still works, though.

From the way they are attacking, it's quite clear they came prepared out of nowhere, with solid strategies.

So it's totally obvious they know the east wing has only one exit, and they are all there killing the guards assigned to the mansion, or the guards are killing them.

I had one option only.

I stood up, ignoring the way my stomach clenched, and ran upstairs—back toward where I had just come from.

I faintly heard Boris saying something to Lev in a frantic voice, but now wasn't the time to care.

And as I thought, the upper floor was ruined, yes, but it was silent as well.

I don't think there are any assassins here. Clutching my gun tightly in my shivering hands, I started walking slowly towards the end room.

I know a room.

Back then, when we came to Russia for our annual vacations, I came into the east wing out of curiosity.

The mansion was huge and beautiful, built in a Gothic style, so of course I wanted to have a look at every corner like the curious cat I have always been.

That room is a store room.

But that's not all.

The store room is connected directly to the basement. And the basement—though it can hold dangers—was the safest option to go from here.

I was taking a risk. But what else could I do? I have to die anyway, so why not die after making some effort.

The air in the upper hallway was freezing, thick with the scent of old dust.

My feet made no sound against the cold floorboards as I dragged myself closer to the heavy oak door at the very end of the corridor.

The store room.

I pushed the door open. It didn't creak, but the heavy silence inside the room rushed out to greet me.

It was dark.

The only illumination came from a high, narrow window covered in grime, casting a pale, sickly grey beam across stacks of covered furniture and dusty wooden crates.

I stepped inside, my eyes instantly scanning the floorboards for the iron ring of the trapdoor.

I knew it was here.

Near the back corner, hidden beneath an old wool rug.

I took two steps forward into the shadows.

Click.

The sound was tiny, but to my ears, it was as loud as a bomb. The unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.

My entire body went rigid. Before my brain could even process the movement, my instincts took over.

I spun around, raising the gun, my finger instantly tightening against the cold metal of the trigger.

The barrel of my gun settled directly between a pair of cold, dark eyes.

But I wasn't the only one with a weapon.

Another barrel, heavy and black, was pressed firmly against the center of my forehead.

The world stopped spinning. The gunfires outside became a distant hum.

Ilya.

Do you even realise how beautiful you're?

You don't know what effect you have on me, Miss Sokolov.

Shh. Calm down. I am here. You're safe, Maya.

Safe, huh? What a joke that was.

He stood there, framed by the dark doorway, looking entirely unchanged yet completely stranger.

He wore a dark tactical vest over a black shirt, his chest rising and falling in a slow, calm rhythm that infuriated me.

We were frozen. One pull of a trigger from ending each other.

"Move a single muscle, and I will paint this wall with your brains, Miss Sokolov," he whispered.

"Than pull the trigger," I whispered, my teeth chattering from a lethal mix of blood loss and absolute hatred. "Do it. Because if you don't, I will blow your fucking brains out right here."

A cruel, humorless smirk touched the corner of his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Still pathetic, aren't you? Disappointed to see that you're still that mean, jealous, overconfident girl who think she can kill me."

His voice dropped an octave. "Heard you even orchestrated the death of your own sister."

My heart stopped for a fraction of a second.

No. I did not orchestrated her death. I would never do that.

Never.

'Oh, stop fucking lying,' a voice sneered inside me death. 'See, he knows this and he is already disgusted. What will happen when he will got to know that he fucked a slut?' The voice laughed.

No, No, No. Come back Maya, Come back.

This bastard knows which buttons to push and he is doing exactly that. Don't give him the reaction he want.

"Shut the fuck up," I snapped, staring in the dark pits of his eyes.

The sheer betrayal—the memory of his hands on my skin, his voice telling me I was safe while he prepared to sell me—turned the blood in my veins to pure acid.

His eyes trailed over me. Making me consious about every goosebumps erupting on my skin.

"You look disgusting in that jacket," he muttered coldly, his eyes tracing the oversized leather jacket I had stolen from the dead assassin. "Whose is it?"

"A man's. Sorry you wouldn't know. Cause you're hardly a man." I snapped, refusing to show him the pain roaring through my body.

"You piece of shit. You absolute coward. Kill me when you have chance. Because someone out their is finding me. And when they will, they will tear your skin apart." I hissed.

Even i know how hollow those last words sounded. But he don't need to know that.

"Save your breath, Maya," he said coldly, his barrel pressing harder against my forehead, forcing my head back half an inch. "Your family forgot you. You're nothing but left-behind baggage."

The words stung worse than the bullet wound in my side, but I refused to let him see it. "I don't need them. And I definitely don't need you."

With a sudden, violent surge of movement, I twisted my body to the side, trying to knock his arm away.

Ilya didn't hesitate.

He anticipated the move, his hand flying out with terrifying speed.

His fingers locked around my wrist like an iron vise, twisting brutally until a gasp of pure agony escaped my lips.

My fingers convulsed, but I didn't drop the gun. I used my other hand, driving my elbow hard against his jaw.

The impact made a sickening crack. Ilya grunted, his head snapping back, but he didn't release his grip.

Instead, his dark eyes flared with a sudden, vicious heat.

"I love when you fight, Maya."

He threw his weight forward, slamming my back into the nearest stack of wooden crates.

The force knocked the remaining air from my lungs, and the makeshift bandage around my waist tore open completely, a fresh rush of warm blood soaking through my clothes.

My knees gave out, but he didn't let me fall.

He pinned me against the crates with his massive frame.

His hand shifted from my throat, his rough fingers sliding slowly down to my jaw, gripping it tightly, tilting my face up to force me to look at him.

His thumb pressed hard against my bottom lip, almost bruising it.

It wasn't a caress.

It was a claim of dominance.

A reminder of who he was.

I clawed at his face, my nails digging into his cheek, drawing thin lines of red.

I kicked, my feet connecting with his shins, fighting with every single ounce of strength I had left.

"Let... go of me..." I choked out, my vision swimming with dark spots.

"Shut up," Ilya hissed, his face inches from mine.

I could smell the familiar scent of rain and on him.

His eyes traveled down to the wet, dark stain spreading across the jacket, his expression hardening into a cold, clinical detachment. "You're bleeding out. You can't even stand, yet you're still trying to fight."

"I'll... kill you," I whispered, my voice breaking.

With a brutal jerk of his arm, he twisted my wrist completely behind my back.

The pain was blinding.

My fingers finally lost their grip, and the heavy gun slipped from my hand, clattering against the dusty floorboards before rolling out of reach beneath a covered table.

I was entirely at his mercy.

"You're not killing anyone, Maya," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low hum that vibrated against my skin. "Because you will the one killed."

"Then do it," I screamed into his face, my voice raw and cracking with pure hatred.

Tears of frustration and physical agony finally blurred my vision, but I refused to let them fall. "Put the gun to my head and pull the trigger! Or are you too much of a coward to look me in the eyes when you do it?"

"Death is too easy for you," he whispered, his eyes dropping to my mouth before snapping back to mine with an icy finality. "You're going to live. And you're going to remember exactly who owns your life now."

He released my jaw with a harsh shove, making my head snap back against the crates.

Before I could slide to the floor, he hooked his arm around my waist, lifting my limp, bleeding body against his side with brutal efficiency.

I kicked weakly, my hands striking his back, but the blood loss was finally catching up to me.

The world was turning grey around the edges.

"Put me down! I'll kill you, Ilya! I swear to God I'll kill you—"

"Save it," he muttered, completely ignoring my struggles as he walked toward the back corner of the room.

He used his boot to kick the old wool rug aside, revealing the iron ring of the trapdoor.

HOW THE FUCK HE KNOWS ABOUT IT?!

With one swift, powerful motion, he yanked the heavy wooden hatch open, revealing the secondary escape route leading straight out of the eastern perimeter.

He shifted his grip, lowering me down into the dark with himself.

I tried to bite his neck, but he was faster.

He striked on a particular point of my neck.

And finally, I lost my consciousness.

... And faith in my fucking family as well.

A/N : So, hey Divas. I see, you completed the target of last chapter earlier than i expected. Are you all liking the ff this much? *Shy, Shy.*

Well, on your demand I have written a long chapter. And this chapter is the longest chapter I have written till now for this Ff.

From this chapter, the plot will be taking a major twist. So keep reading and supporting.

Target - 30 likes and 20 comments.

(Do not spam. I want honest reviews).

Meet me soon.

[thewaymoonloves]

Goddess Of Vengeance.

Chapter 10.

Loyalty.

A seven-letter word which never held much meaning to me.

It tends to happen when you have to survive, instead of living your life.

And there is a great thing about always being in a survival mode. It makes you completely unattached to everyone and everything.

Emotionally. Mentally. Physically.

Because your subconscious already knows you won't have it for long, so getting attached o anything eems idiotic.

But as useless as being loyal to someone may sound, it is tenfold useful if someone is loyal to you.

From my twenty-five years of observation, what I've observed—yes, I believe in observing. You do not know what wonders this trait can do—is that loyal people tend to interpret ambiguous information in favour of whoever they arr loyal to, attributing good intentions and downplaying flaws of the person they are loyal to.

Emotionally, loyalty involves protectiveness, possessiveness, and a sense if belonging.

Behaviorally, it shows consistency; showing up even when its inconvenient, defending someone in their absence—loudly or subtly—staying again and again when leaving would be easier.

And I observed all these symptoms in a certain typical rich, mean, spoiled girl—who thinks the universe revolves around her.

Maya Sokolov.

The name was never meant to surround my life, let alone become a crucial and strategic part of it.

When I saw her for the first time, she was in a banter with my former boss's sister.

And the way she was smirking at her, taunting the relatively smaller girl that she is going to marry her brother—who, by the way, had no interest in her—I knew she was going to be a trouble.

And because my former boss—Jeremy Volkov—loved to give me missions that were less related to mafia and more related to the women in his life, this trouble was given to me to handle.

The order was simple: Don't let her go near boss.

But not only she was unnecessarily mean, she was downright mannerless, pathetic woman who couldn't take a hint even if the hint was converted into so many confrontation by Jeremy's sister, his now-wife and even him himself.

Jeremy couldn't say—or do—much to her anyway cause she was his bestfriend, Nikolai Sokolov's younger sister.

And Nikolai was known for many things, being overprotective for his sisters was one of them.

So he gave me an order to keep her away from him and especially his sister, Annika. Because both woman—whenever—see each other gets into a verbal or sometimes even physical fight.

And the day she dig her heel in my fucking calf just to prove a fucking point, I knew she was going to make it more difficult than it was needed.

Honestly, I don't remember it.

I don't remember the moment my mind stopped getting frustrated from her mere existence to my heart rate increasing whenever she flaunted that shiny platinum hair of her at my face.

And when she kissed me on her birthday—when everyone was too busy with Mia-Landon thing to notice that it was her birthday too—I finally give in to my desires.

After that night, we both came into a secret sexual relationship.

We both started seeing each other every night. Sometimes in her penthouse, Sometimes in my apartment, Sometimes in spot that was just ours.

But she kept me at an arm's length only.

Never let me stay at night or never spent a night with me. Never let me give her aftercare. No unnecessarily texts or calls.

Just sex.

And offcourse, her behavior didn't change a bit.

Until, that night.

When Landon was shot. Her twin finally spoke. And the truth was finally revealed.

But before the truth something else was already revealed.

Her real personality.

I still remember the sarcasm in her eyes, the disgust in her voice, the curling of her lips when she mocked me that night.

"Do you think I really feel anything for you?" She laughed at me. "I didn't get Jeremy because of that fucking white-haired bitch. So, I settled for his guard. His left-behind baggage."

She poked her perfectly manicured finger at my chest. "You're just a guard, Ilya. Just a fucking, no-named guard. Even the cost of my heel is higher than your fucking monthly salary, do you think I will ever look at you more than a nameless guy in my bed?"

I stand still.

My face was completely neutral and my eyes were cold.

Letting her run her bitching mouth.

"Fuck off, Ilya. We are fucking over."

That was the night, she not only killed whatever I felt for her but she hurted something else as well.

My ego.

And the psychotic side of my brain screamed at me. 'Hurt her back', it whispered to me. 'She didn't think twice before hurting you. So yes, Hurt her fucking back.'

I could have forgive her for the sins her parents committed against my family.

Could've forgive her for what my siblings went through due to New York brtava.

Could've forgive her when she broke my laptop in anger which held the information of where my sister was.

But I couldn't forgive her for her words.

And for once I let that side of my brain win.

I was always trained to be keep that dark, psychotic side deep inside me. To not let it win the logical part of my brain.

I am doing it from the age of 13 when my father found me punching the boy, who tried to bully my sister, so ruthlessly that I almost killed him.

That was the day my father knew that I have something wrong in me. And from that day he started training me, and my brain.

Brain is the most powerful organ in a human. It can reshape itself if you wants. But how do you kill who you are? That part of me was never killed, it was buried.

And Maya, the beautiful rich diva, digged her own grave by her fucking words.

And whatever I am, merciful is not one of them.

Meeting with my family again, joining my family's mafia and legal business was never what I wanted, it was needed.

My dad was no longer the man he used to be. My mom—however strong she was—was a woman at last. And in bratva, women do not become head.

My brother was still on some fucking hiatus nobody knew about. So my grandfather called me to take over.

So I took over it.

Joining hands with Japanese Yakuza was a move i knew would blow the mind of New York bratva.

Remember the little loyalty talk we had?

Maya was many things, a blunt speaker was one of them.

Some memes for me cutie, little Divas.

A/N - Before you run after me with whatever you beautiful hands can grab, I know chapter is short. But it's not my fault. Give girl some time to think, Divas.

Moreover, let me know whether you're liking the plot and can connect it with log or not.

A question I wanted to ask was, would you guys like a new GXG or BXB fanfiction? Personally, I want to write GXG, but I do not know how. I even have character in my mind which you may or may not know. (Yes, they are from Rinaverse!).

And also, how many of you are on wattpad?

Next chapter will be again Ilya's point of view.

Target - 30 likes and 15 comments.

(Can't keep my divas anxious.)

Meet me soon.

[thewaymoonloves]

Goddess Of Vengeance.

Visuals.

Are you ready, Divas?

| Maya Sokolov |

| Her Family |

Father - Kyle Hunter || Mother - Rai Sokolov.

Brother - Nikolai Sokolov.

Sister - Mia Sokolov || Brother-in-law - Landon King.

Maternal Aunt - Reina Carson || Maternal Uncle - Asher Carson.

Cousin Brothers - Killian Carson & Gareth Carson.

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

| Ilya Livetsky |

| His Family |

Unknown.

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

Tropes.

Second chance.

Bodyguard X Mafia Princess.

Cold MMC.

Mafia romance.

Forced Proximity.

Angst.

Bad past.

Secrets reveals.

Opposite attract.

Forced Marriage.

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

"To all the woman who are broken but not shattered."

A/N:

Hello Divas.

First of all, I do not own any characters written above (they are Rina Kent's) but I do own the plot.

This is a Fanfiction, written solely by my imaginations.

Second of all, This story is taking place right after Mia and Sokolov family discovers Maya's secret.

And according to me, Maya and Ilya were not in relationship but a fling thing and their emotional tangling was pure one-sided.

I can assure you that in starting chapters Maya will be vulnerable, depressed and heavily mentally unstable, but she will won over everything like a diva she is.

End game with her will be Ilya Livetsky only.

And most important thing, thanks for reading this. I hope you all are enjoying it. And yes, I am gonna post a chapter soon, so stay tuned.

Follow me for more.

Thanks.

[thewaymoonloves]

Goddess Of Vengeance.

Chapter - 3.

I was always good at ruining good moments with my presence.

Some people called me Attention seeker.

Some people called me Diva bitch.

So, who would stop me from ruining another moment as well?

So here I am.

In Heathen's mansion.

Even after the way my so called cousins humiliated me at the campus.

This mansion, which once felt like home, is now suffocating me with its 4 walls. There are just so many memories. So many moments. I can not just forget them this easily.

Even though those memories are suffocating me now.

I stepped inside, and the guards greeted me as usual with their "Miss sokolov."

Talking about guards, I do remember one guard as well. The guard who helped me joint myself together only to shatter me again.

And once again, it was my mistake. I was the one who ruined our relationship.

Oh god, why am I such a hateful person? Why am I such a disappointment to everyone I love? Why i end up with people always hating on me?

I stepped inside the party hall and as expected the hall was filled with the buzz of excitement, thrill, and happiness.

My siblings, my cousins, all were with their partners.

Cecily was sitting on Jeremy's lap, both drinking. Killian was eating Glyndon's mouth while pinning her on a pillar. Gareth was sitting with Mr. Lockwood from law school. His arm draped around Gareth's shoulder.

My eyes drifted towards the side where Nikolai was with Brandon, saying something to Brandon while Brandon shook his head like he was done with Nikolai.

My breath became unevened as I looked at Nikolai's face.

I dont understand why am I overreacting? But I can't forget that night's Nikolai. Those raged eyes still shook me to the core.

So I averted my eyes quickly, trying to find the person who was the victim of my cowardice.

Mia. Mia was not there.

I was thankful for a moment that I wouldn't have to face her but that reality crashed very soon.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Mia's hateful voice pierced my heart, making me physically flinch.

Never in my wildest dream did I think she would talk to me in that tone one day.

Her voice was loud enough for us to attract attention. Nikoali, My cousins, their partners, and all their other friends were looking at both of us now.

Mia was standing right before me in a beautiful black short dress while her hair was tied in her usual ribbons. She was looking beautiful.

My sister was always beautiful. Inside and Out.

Her eyes narrowed when I didn't answer. I just couldn't. My words were stuck in my throat.

"Who the fuck invited you?" She asked, her venom directly towards me.

My ears turned red from the amount of humiliation I was feeling right now.

Who would have thought that The Maya Sokolov would face this day.

I wanted to scream at her that this was my house too, that I don't need hers or anyone's permission to be here, but I just couldn't.

I was about to say something pathetic when Nikolai stepped in, making me take 2 steps back.

"I called her, Pumpkin," he said to Mia gently. I could feel his gaze on my eyes but I didn't look up from the floor.

And now a thing became crystal clear to me.

I was afraid of Nikolai.

It was pathetic, but it was true.

Gareth, knowing a scene is going to create now, started escorting other people out.

"Well, well, look who is here? Isn't she the secret keeper - oops, Ms. Jealous herself?" Killian tsked, walking towards us with his arms crossed on his muscular chest.

I clenched my fist, refusing to retort back. After gathering courage, I looked up at Nikolai, only to find him looking at me. I can't decipher what was in his eyes, but I just knew there was anger and hate for me.

"Did you call me here to humiliate me?" I asked, my voice just above a whisper. My hands trembled so bad inside the pockets of my jacket that from his cold gaze that I needed to peirce my nails in my skin to keep me grounded.

"How dare you?" Killian lunged forward, making me flinch.

Thank god, his girlfriend held him back.

"How dare you question us when you're the one who ruined everything, huh? You're the one who made Mia suffer for years. You're the one who took her voice from her." He roared.

I wanted to defend myself, but isn't he saying truth? Didn't I ruin everything?

At my silence, he became even more engaged. "Fuck with your silence. From that night you're silent like a motherfucking statue. What? Are you too guilty to say anything now? Huh?"

"See, you're the problem, Maya. Because of you our party is spoiled. Don't you ever see how much big a problem you're or are you too busy consoling yourself that you're a so-called diva?." Mia sneered.

Her words hurt like a bitch, but I didn't dare to look at her.

"As I said before, Killian, I won't give anyone any explanations. You all think that I ruined everything and maybe it's the truth. So I won't be giving you any explanations." I yelled back before turning back to go from there.

I am hurt, but still, fuck them.

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