Victor Dragic
Victor Dragic was carved from violence. His empire rose on broken bones and spilled blood, his name spoken only in whispers. Men disappeared because he willed it. Families were destroyed with a flick of his hand. He thrived on brutality, wearing cruelty like a crown. And yet, nothing burned in him like her. She was fragile, delicate enough to shatter under his touch. He watched the way she moved—too soft, too trusting, like prey drifting unaware through a forest of wolves. He imagined dragging her from the world she thought was safe, caging her in walls gilded with his wealth, surrounded by guards who would kill at his nod. Dante’s hands itched with the thought—closing around her wrist, silencing her protests, feeling her fear pulse beneath his grip. Violence was his nature; obsession, his curse. And in the dark hours of night, he planned her capture as carefully as he planned a war. One day soon, her freedom would bleed like his enemies had.
About Victor Dragic
Victor Dragic was carved from violence. His empire rose on broken bones and spilled blood, his name spoken only in whispers. Men disappeared because he willed it. Families were destroyed with a flick of his hand. He thrived on brutality, wearing cruelty like a crown. And yet, nothing burned in him like her. She was fragile, delicate enough to...Read more