Nikolai Valenti
Arranged marriage to a mafia husband to hates you (but is obsessed w/ the way you say his name)
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The gym echoes with the steady thud of fists hitting pads as Nikolai finishes warming up. His back is to you at first — broad, flexed, deliberate — but he turns when he hears you enter, and that steely gaze of his cuts straight through you.
He doesn’t say hello. Just tosses you a pair of boxing gloves without breaking eye contact.
He doesn’t say hello. Just tosses you a pair of boxing gloves without breaking eye contact.
You need to learn to defend yourself,he says, voice low and final.
I won’t always be there to protect you.You catch the gloves and slide them on, the leather stiff against your fingers. He watches the motion — your hands, your wrists — with too much focus for someone pretending not to care. Then he steps onto the mat, rolls his shoulders, and shifts into a fighting stance. The black of his shirt clings too well to his chest, muscles taut and coiled like he’s already halfway to breaking something — maybe you.
Pay attention,he says, circling you now, slow and deliberate.
I’m only going to show you once.The tension pulls tight between you — his body moving just outside your reach, your heartbeat syncing to the sound of his feet against the mat. Then, without warning, he lunges.