SEDUCED BY MAFIOSO

||°VASILY MIKHAILOV-BREC°||

It's not every day we turn 21… These are the words of my twin sister, who is by my side with our other twin, or tri, as we liked to call him since we were little. The dance was organized by Darya, Mom and our younger sisters. Music vibrated in the masquerade ballroom, echoing off the walls decorated with crystal chandeliers and luxurious tapestries. I was positioned in the center, surrounded by a crowd of masked faces.

The atmosphere was full of expectation and mystery, but my eyes were fixed on just two people: my twin brothers, Darya and Yakov. Their gazes shone behind their intricate masks, reflecting a mixture of pride and concern. This wasn't just a birthday ball. It was the night I would assume the mantle of Pakhan, the leader of our bratva. Darya, always the most perceptive, was the first to approach.

— Vasily, are you prepared for this? She asks, her soft voice cutting through the surrounding noise. I knew she was referring to the weight of responsibility, the need to be ruthless and strategic.

— Yes, Darya. I was born for this — I respond, trying to convey the confidence that I knew was essential for our future. Beside me, Yakov nods, his silent support more valuable than any words. He was always the pillar, the brother who balanced my impetuosity with a calculated calm. And today he would seal his place as Don of the New York mob. As the night progressed, I felt the pressure increase.

The eyes of our allies and enemies were upon me, each waiting to see how I would lead. But with Darya and Yakov by my side, I feel renewed strength. This was our destiny, the legacy that was passed down to us for generations. And, to the sound of a toast, I raise my glass, promising everyone that the bratva will be stronger than ever under my leadership. From this moment on, there is no more room for doubt. I became the Pakhan.

It's in the middle of the toast and celebration with her brothers and family, she enters the room and everything around me freezes at the sight of her, her skin so white and clear, with her black hair reaching down to her shoulders, with the ends dyed red. Green, wearing a long silver dress, wearing a mask of the same color, covering almost the entire face. Her presence catches my attention. Will she be friends with Darya or Yakov? No… I would remember if it was. Or would she be the daughter of one of those guys who are here, through partnerships and alliances between their mafias and ours, or… would she just be an intruder at our ball? Without realizing it, I already see myself walking towards it.

— Good evening, miss, will you allow me this dance? — She looks at me and I notice the color of her eyes, such a bright and different green. Something unique. She's even more beautiful up close. She keeps looking at me and when I think she's not going to answer me and accept my outstretched hand, she does, taking her hand in mine. I smile and take her to the middle of the room where some people are dancing.

Throughout the dance, I find myself increasingly involved with the mysterious woman. The conversation between us is minimal, but the connection transmitted by look and touch seems to overcome language barriers. At this ball, where ostentation and mafia power mix with elegance and mystery, your figure, my masquerade, represents a fascinating interruption in my reality, a young man about to assume a leadership role in a dangerous and dangerous world. Relentless.

— I don't remember meeting us. — I say to her, as she runs her tongue across her lips, drawing my attention to them.

— No, we don't know each other. — she says.

— My name is Vasily — I introduce myself, expecting her to do the same, but she doesn't — won't you tell me her name?

— We waltzed calmly around the room, without taking our eyes off each other.

— I told you my name, aren't you going to tell me yours? — She smiles, and I think my heart skipped a beat. Her smile is the most beautiful in the world.

— Thank you — she smiles again, and I realize I was caught saying out loud how much I loved her smile. — You blush, it's cute. — Ignore my question once again.

— You would rather not tell me your name, okay. The search for his name and his story becomes a secondary issue given the intensity of the present moment.

The dance between us, accompanied by the music and the enchanted atmosphere of the ball, becomes a symbol of the curiosity and desire I feel to uncover the secrets it hides. The night advances, and with it the promise of discoveries and perhaps even dangers hidden beneath the masks and shadows. But for now, I let myself be carried away by the magic of the moment, by the dance that unites me with the stranger, whose enigmatic smile promises adventure and perhaps, a glimpse of vulnerability behind the facade of mystery.

— How about we go to a better place? — she changes the subject, asking in my ear, making my skin crawl.

“I have a perfect place,” I say, pulling her with me toward the stairs. And I thank my parents for buying this old house and making it a hallway on the first floor and keeping the bedrooms on the second and third floors. As soon as we walk through my bedroom door, her mouth crashes onto mine in a desperate kiss. Smiling, I respond to her kiss, pinning her against the door. The aura of mystery surrounding the lady who avoids revealing her identity can be both intriguing and frustrating to me.

The night shared between us, marked by passion and the desire to reveal who is behind the mask, ends with a silence that says a lot. Waking up in a now uninhabited bed, with only the sheets as mute witnesses of the previous night, leaves me with a bittersweet taste. The search for connection, for understanding for those who shared such intimate moments, is abruptly interrupted, replaced by unanswered questions. Who will you be, my mysterious lady?

||°VASILY MIKHAILOV-BREC°||

At the moment…

I lay her face down on the soft bed. His hands are tied to the headboard with my tie, his body thrust toward me.

I run my hands over her soft, golden skin, squeezing her thighs, I slide my hand across her buttocks, then I slap her, leaving marks on her skin.

— Oh! — she moans and rubs against me again.

Smiling, I slap him again, causing the crack to echo throughout the room.

“I'm going to f*ck your *ss, and I don't want to hear a peep,” I say, as she moves her hips against me, rubbing herself against my erection.

With my hands, I hold her buttocks, leaving her private parts exposed. I let my saliva run down her parts, feeling her anxiety. I run my thumb over it, hearing her start to moan, and I slap her *ss, making her shut up.

I rub my member between her buttocks, rubbing slowly, making her anxious, I smiled as I moved away, as a gesture of provocation, when I heard he