Mistress to a Monster Read Online Sam Crescent

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark, Mafia, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
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What could he have possibly done that was such a big giant screwup that put him at his enemy’s mercy? She wasn’t going to get any answers in the back of the truck, but she refused to go quietly.

If cops ended up following them, she’d be able to get their attention. She prayed for someone to flag them down, to bring awareness to her being kidnapped. Anything that would stop this from happening.

Her hands grew sore with the constant slapping against the metal can she was being transported in. The air was stale. Tiredness started to consume her.

She needed to get out. To get free. To finally be free of being a Russo and to be her own person.

“Let me out.”

The truck suddenly came to a stop.

It was so dark, and as she tried to figure out where the truck would open, the back or the side, she kept flicking her head to the front and to the right, wanting to surprise them and make an escape.

The truck opened, and she charged forward.

Once again, shocking the men as she shoved them out of the way, she ran as fast as she could.

She’d never been the person to wear heels, always preferring sneakers and flats. Milah ran as fast as she could, hearing De Luca’s men following behind her, but she had to get away. She didn’t have time to take in her surroundings, and it wasn’t too long before she was thrown to the ground, and a large body covered her.

No one said a word even as she kept on fighting, wanting to get away. Begging to be free. To fight. Hoping someone would take pity on her and let her go. Who would dare to betray De Luca?

In all her years of eavesdropping, she had never once heard of one of his men running away. Not a single one.

What kind of man instilled that kind of loyalty? She didn’t know who it was, nor did she want to.

She was once again off her feet and being carried back toward the house. Again, she didn’t get the chance to look at her surroundings as she was taken to a room. This time, she was dumped on the bed.

“There’s a bathroom through there. Use it. Clean yourself up, and be warned, there is absolutely no chance of escape.”

She spun around to face her captor, prepared to yell at him, but he was already gone.

Of course he was.

She moved to the edge of the bed and rested her palms on her knees, taking a deep breath. Wearing herself out wasn’t part of the plan. Not that she had any great ideas for escaping. She was stuck.

Getting to her feet, she assessed the room. This one had a large bed, like the last, but this time, she recognized the luxury silk sheets. A couple of cupboards were on either side, and she went to them, opening the three drawers in each, finding nothing. There wasn’t a lamp, and she touched the top of each surface, wondering if a lamp had been there. She would’ve been able to smash it to use it as a weapon.

Nothing. There were three doors. One was the entrance the guard had exited from just a few moments ago. Another, she opened to see it was an empty closet. Again, she looked through the drawers, and they were all empty.

Next was the bathroom.

There was no mirror, and only a curtain provided cover for the shower. This room looked like it had been designed to hold a hostage.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

What kind of man did this? Was this a happy coincidence or had he planned this?

****

Damon smiled as he watched Milah look around the room for something to fight with. The guards who’d dealt with her had already warned him that she knew how to fight. She wasn’t as trained as his men, but she would cause some serious injury to others if given the chance.

He knew she’d be a wildcat. That night at her coming-of-age party, he’d snuck in to finally get a look at the precious daughter Russo had been hiding. Damon wasn’t disappointed by the woman he’d found. Then, when she was eighteen, she’d been too young for his taste. At thirty years old, he liked his women to be of age and not just on the fine border of being legal.

That one encounter had stayed with him, and for the past three years, he’d watched Milah Russo. She was nothing like her father, nor of the rest of the Russo line. For one, she showed compassion. He’d watched her with stray animals she’d found, along with people she helped, even if it was down to aiding an elderly lady walk across the street. His men captured it.

Milah wasn’t cold or dead. She was full of passion and fire.


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