Thief Read Online A. Zavarelli (Boston Underworld #5)

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Crime, Dark, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Boston Underworld Series by A. Zavarelli
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Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
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She is undoubtedly intelligent, but the level of her naivety gives me whiplash. There is an innocence about her that provokes doubts in me. Doubts that are at odds with every value I stand for. The longer I endure her presence, the clearer it becomes. I would do well to stay away from her because she is of no importance to me. And as shameful as it may be to see something so lovely destroyed, it might come to that in the end. I must remember this. Whatever fate befell my mother, so too will Tanaka’s be.

There is no such thing as pain. There is only discipline.

My leg comes off the floor, only to collapse again a moment later. The defunct limb has failed me, just as the heartless Russian so rashly observed. Even the slightest movement produces a backlash of agony throughout my ankle. The muscles I have painstakingly forged over the years are dying. After a lifetime of abuse, the reckoning has finally come, and in turn, the dark cloud above looms larger.

Illogically, my deepest fear takes root in my gut. A vision of me crippled, unable to move or walk at all. I may as well be, if I can never dance again. My eyes burn with repressed emotion, but I don’t give into it. Tears are a weakness I seldom indulge, and I’m not about to start now.

“Tashechka.”

Nonna is in the doorway, hands tucked into the sides of her plain gray dress. Nikolai’s housekeeper is a modest, quiet woman who favors simplistic dresses and headscarves to perform her duties. Since my arrival here, I have come to understand that those duties also apparently include me.

“Your lunch is waiting for you in your room.” Her Russian accent is thick, but discernable.

Lunch, as she calls it, will likely be soup with a hearty meat dish and sometimes potatoes. Often, she includes a fruity drink with berries inside, the calorie content of which I don’t know, but the sugary taste swiftly dissuaded me from consuming it. Already, in my time here, I have packed on five pounds, and the numbers on the scale from this morning’s weigh-in still haunt me.

“I’m not hungry.”

Nonna frowns, and I look away. I don’t mean to disrespect her. She has been nothing but attentive. Too attentive, in fact, and it’s the only reason for my ire. At home, I have a strict routine with my meals to keep me centered and focused, but here, food has turned to chaos. I am accustomed to providing my own meals. Often, I would be expected to cook my father’s dinner. It was one of the many things he deemed necessary to prepare me for marriage. But my father stuck to the business of eating the food provided and scarcely paid attention to my plate. It was a system that worked for both of us. But since being under Nikolai’s care, my meals appear like clockwork. Meals I have no right to enjoy when I’m not dancing. Even if I were, I’d rarely allow myself to indulge so often.

To my relief, Nonna disappears without a fight, leaving me to focus on my practice. It is the only thing I can focus on, present circumstances considered. Though it’s sometimes tempting in my moments of despair, I refuse to ruminate on the stark reality of my situation. After only two short weeks, dancing feels like a distant memory. The blood, sweat, and tears I have devoted to my craft cannot have been for nothing. My position in the company will surely be at risk. I would be surprised if they haven’t replaced me already. But these are thoughts I won’t be a slave to. Abandoning hope now would mean sacrificing everything I have worked for merely because I do not possess the strength of will it requires to succeed.

It makes little difference that I have been traded for a debt. It is of no consequence that my father has betrayed me, and Nikolai will likely kill me if his demands are not met. I am intimately acquainted with impossible odds, and I have always resolved that, regardless, I would prevail. Vivi always told me that my mind was the most powerful weapon at my disposal, and she was right.

It is with this intention that I close out my practice and exit the gym. I tend to avoid Nikolai if I can help it, and so far, it hasn’t been difficult. It’s only on rare occasion that we come in contact since he dumped me in my room and informed me it would be in my best interest not to attempt to escape.

He should have saved his breath. Just like my father, Nikolai lives his life under lock and key. From everything I’ve observed so far, it’s also apparent that his system is light years ahead of my father’s as far as technology is concerned. Between the fingerprint scanners and pin codes and voice recognition systems, I am not entirely sure how anyone ever leaves. By challenging me to escape, he was merely indulging himself in a good laugh at my expense.


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