Stolen Heir Sophie Lark Quotes

I see her, and she sees me. I was death, and she was life.

I see her, and she sees me. I was death, and she was life. I thought I’d had stolen her, brought her down to the underworld. All the while she was waking me up. Stirring the blood in my veins. Breathing air into my lungs.

moja mała baletnica.” My little ballerina.

A marriage strangles and dies on apathy. Passion keeps it alive.

There he lays. My beast. My enemy. My captor.

But now I feel that most dangerous emotion of all—guilt. The emotion that drains you, that makes you regret even the most necessary actions.

Do you know why I sent you away?” I ask her. “Yes,” she sobs. “Because you love me.” “That’s right,” I sigh.

Love is the one thing you can’t steal. You can’t create it, either. It either exists or it doesn’t. And if it exists, you can’t take it by force.

What are you doing, little ballerina?” he growls.

I was a corpse when I met you, Nessa,” he says. “No breath. No heart. No life. I felt nothing. I cared about nothing. Then I saw you, and you woke me up inside. I was such a fool at first. I was so numb that I thought that spark must be hatred. If I was a normal person, I would have realized it was love. Love at first sight. From the second I laid eyes on you.

She’s a piece of music that gets stuck in your head, repeating over and over. The more you hear it, the more it lodges in your brain. Most people become predictable, the longer you watch them. Nessa Griffin is the opposite. I thought I knew exactly who she was—a sheltered little princess. A dancer living in a fantasy world. But she’s much cleverer than I gave her credit for. She’s creative, perceptive. And genuinely kind.

I’ll follow her. Stalk her. And take her at my leisure.

Then I taste his lips and his tongue, I breathe in his scent, and it’s gasoline on an open flame. I’m the wood, he’s the accelerant. No matter how much we burn, we’re never used up.

I’m more than good, and he’s more than bad. We’re opposites, and yet made for each other.

I’ve never seen Dante with a girl. Aida told me he was in love once, a long time ago. But the girl broke his heart.

Then you can go around the house and garden. Everywhere but the west wing.” I don’t ask him what’s in the west wing.

Now she’s looking at my arms again, trying to decipher the meaning of my tattoos. She won’t understand them. They’re dense, convoluted, and they have meaning only to me.

Now it’s all been ripped away, and what am I without it? A weak and frightened girl who is so deeply, deeply lonely that I would even sit down to dinner with my own kidnapper again, just to have someone to talk to.

I’m watching her with awe. The way a hunter would watch a doe that walks into a clearing. Nessa is the doe. She is lovely. Innocent. Perfectly at place in her natural environment. I’ll send my arrow straight into her heart.

And then I kiss her. Her lips are parched from dancing. I lick those lips, tasting the salty skin, and then I thrust my tongue into her mouth, and I lick every part of that, too—teeth, tongue, palate. I inhale her scent and her taste. I fuck her mouth with my tongue.

He ate the beef with a small serving of vegetables. No wonder he’s so lean. Maybe he doesn’t like human food. Maybe he prefers drinking warm blood.

Your men raped my sister, on her way to write her university entrance exams. She was sixteen years old. She was a good girl—kind, gentle, innocent. She wasn’t part of your world. There was no reason to hurt her.” Zajac’s eyes narrow. “If you wanted restitution—” “There is no restitution,” I say bitterly. “She killed herself.

Nessa, I’ll love you every second of my life. I’ll love you for exactly what you are, and whatever you become. Anything you want, I’ll make it happen for you. I’ll never hold you back. I’ll always tell you the truth. I’ll keep you safe and happy, at any cost.

Mikolaj, I love you with all my heart. I promise, you’ll be the only man in the world to me. I’ll be your lover and your best friend. We’ll do the hard things and the fun things. We’ll make our choices together, for the good of us both. I’ll always put you before anything else, so that nothing can come between us.

You’re going to be okay,” she promises me. Probably not, but I won’t argue. I have to tell her something, while I still have time. “Do you know why I sent you away?” I ask her. “Yes,” she sobs. “Because you love me.” “That’s right,” I sigh.

We break apart, staring at each other, equally confused about what the fuck just happened.

He looked over at Klara. Their eyes locked together. The jolt of energy that passed between them was palpable.

As she descends the staircase, I’m rooted to the spot, staring up at her. Instead of walking down the stairs, I see her walking down an aisle toward me. Instead of an evening gown, I see her in a white wedding dress. I see what Nessa would look like if she were my bride.

You killed two of my men. That can’t go unpunished.

My brother just became the newest Alderman of the 43rd Ward. That’s in addition to his position as scion of Chicago’s most successful mafia family. It always gives me a strange feeling when I think of us that way—as Irish mafia.

I open the program, scanning through the list of dances, then down to the credits. I’m expecting to see my name—in fact, I intended to ask Jackson if I could take this home to show my parents. Instead I see . . . absolutely nothing. Jackson Wright is listed as head choreographer, Kelly Paul as second. There’s no mention of me at all.

It’s just . . . I think they forgot to put me as one of the choreographers,

They didn’t forget,” he repeats. “You’re not credited.

You’re not a choreographer here, Nessa,” he says, as if he’s explaining that one and one makes two. “You’re a corps member. Just because you threw a few ideas in the ring—” “I created four of the dances!” I blurt, my face burning. I know I sound like a child, but I can’t help myself.

Here’s the thing, Nessa,” he says. “You put in some work. But your work is not that original. It’s simplistic. The parts of the performance that bring it alive, that make it sing, are from me. So you’d only be embarrassing yourself, trying to insist on credit that you don’t deserve.

My assets are in the eight figures if you add them all together. But, looking at me, you’d never know it. I keep a low profile, and I force my men to do the same. You get lazy, sloppy, and flashy, and you draw the wrong kind of attention.

I run the Chicago Braterstwo now, with my brother Jonas. He’s my brother by covenant, not by blood. We’re the adopted sons of Tymon Zajac. I worked for Tymon for ten years. He taught me, trained me, and mentored me. My biological father died in Warsaw. I don’t know where his gravestone sits. I don’t care. I’ll never set foot in Poland again.

I run the Chicago Braterstwo now, with my brother Jonas. He’s my brother by covenant, not by blood. We’re the adopted sons of Tymon Zajac. I worked for Tymon for ten years. He taught me, trained me, and mentored me. My biological father died in Warsaw. I don’t know where his gravestone sits. I don’t care. I’ll never set foot in Poland again. I don’t even like to think about it.

Tymon brought me here, to America. He told me we’d build an empire larger than the entire wealth of our homeland. I believed him. His dream became my dream. It gave me something to live for.

But we’re not the only gangsters in Chicago. We found ourselves in conflict with the Colombians, the Russians, the Italians, and the Irish.

We crushed the Colombians, taking over their drug-running pipeline.

Then the DOJ did us a favor, cracking down on the arms trafficking run by the Russian Bratva.

Which left us free to attack the Italians, specifically the Gallo family. But Enzo Gallo wasn’t as old and complacent as we expected. His sons put three of our men in the ground, buried under the foundations of their high-rise on Oak Street. Before we could strike back, the Gallos formed an unexpected alliance with the Griffins, Irish mafia royalty at the pinnacle of crime in Chicago. The Gallos married their only daughter to Callum, the Griffin’s only son.

It was extremely unexpected. Like an alliance between Israel and Palestine, or cats and dogs.

When Aida Gallo and Callum Griffin came poking around one of our clubs, we drugged them and brought them back to an old slaughterhouse on the west side of the city.

Mikolaj,” he said. “You are my son and my heir. I know you will never fail me again.” I had long since lost the ability to feel anything like love. But I felt the fire of a loyalty stronger than love. Tymon spared my life twice. He would never need to do it a third time. I felt reinvigorated. I planned to work with my father to crush the Italians and the Irish. To take our place once and for all as the rulers of the city. Instead, a week later, Dante Gallo murdered Tymon. He gunned him down, leaving him to bleed out in the gutter. I’ve yet to take my revenge.

I want them to suffer. I could kill Callum or Dante. But what would that accomplish? I want to break the entire empire down. I want to drive the two families apart. Then pick off their members one by one. To do that, I need to find their weak point. Their vulnerability. So I’ve been watching and waiting. Letting them think the Braterstwo are defeated, that they cut the head off the snake when they killed Tymon.

Right at that moment, a girl walks into the club. I see a hundred gorgeous women every night, dolled up in their tight dresses and heels, faces painted, hair freshly coiffed, skin dusted with glitter. This girl catches my eye because she’s the opposite of that. Young, fresh-faced. So cleanly scrubbed that she almost glows. Her light-brown hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail. Her eyes are wide and innocent. She hasn’t tried to cover up the spattering of freckles across her nose.

As soon I see her, I get a rush of adrenaline. My muscles tighten like coiled springs, and I can feel my pupils dilating. I imagine that I can smell her perfume, light and sweet, over the scent of smoke, alcohol, and sweat. It’s the reaction of a predator when it sights its prey. Because I recognize this girl. It’s Nessa Griffin. The cherished baby girl of the Irish mafia. Their little darling. She’s wandered into my club like an innocent gazelle. Foolish. Lost. Ripe for the taking.

She draws the eye of men and women alike, surprisingly sensual as she dances. She seems to have forgotten her shyness, lost in the music.

I love people watching.

He’s quite beautiful—like a starving angel.

When I make Nessa disappear, it will be like dropping a stone in the ocean. There won’t be a single ripple to show where she’s gone.

Istand at the edge of the parking lot, just out of sight, laughing softly to myself. Little Nessa Griffin spooks easy. Watching her sprint toward the studio gave me a thrill so sweet I could almost taste it. I could have caught her if I wanted to. But I have no intention of taking her tonight.

I watch as she bends and stretches, warming up. She’s flexible. Her joints look loose and rubbery.

Once she’s warmed up, she starts twirling across the floor. I don’t know the names of any dance moves, except maybe a pirouette. I don’t even know if she’s good. All I know is it’s beautiful. She looks effortless, weightless, like a leaf in the wind. I’m watching her with awe. The way a hunter would watch a doe that walks into a clearing. Nessa is the doe. She is lovely. Innocent. Perfectly at place in her natural environment. I’ll send my arrow straight into her heart. That’s my right, as the hunter.

My sister would be beautiful if she ever smiled. She’s got skin like marble, gorgeous green eyes, and lips as red as her hair. Unfortunately, she has the temperament of a pit bull. And not a nice pit bull—the kind that’s trained to go right for the throat in every encounter.

The only thing I don’t love is how grouchy my sister is first thing in the morning.

How can I make great art when I’ve barely experienced anything at all? I’ve been sheltered and babied my whole life. Art comes from suffering—or, at the very least, adventure.

I bought it thinking it would be a refuge. A place to go when I want solitude. Now I realize it makes the perfect prison.

I’m sorry,” I say angrily. “Am I not meeting your expectations as a hostage? Please, enlighten me as to how perceptive you’d be if somebody drugged you and plopped you down in the middle of some creepy haunted mansion?

Well,” he hisses softly, “I’d probably be smart enough not to antagonize my captor.

He means my family killed him. But in our world, the sins of the family are visited on all who share the same blood.

This girl has no idea how easy she is to read. She’s never learned to put up walls, to protect herself. She’s as vulnerable as a bed of tulips. I intend to stomp through her garden, ripping the blossoms from the ground one by one.

Your suffering will be long and slow. You will be the blade I use to cut your family again and again and again. Only when they’re weak, and desperate, and full of misery, only then will I allow them to die. And you can watch it all, little ballerina. Because this is a tragedy—and the swan princess only perishes in the final act.

All that was good inside of me died ten years ago. The last shred of the boy I used to be was tied to Zajac—he was the only family I had left. Now he’s gone, and there’s no humanity inside of me at all. I feel nothing anymore, except need. I need money. Power. And above all, revenge.

Nessa spins around and drops, then she crawls across the floor toward me, like a panther hunting its prey. I’m supposed to be the hunter. But I’m fixed in place, mesmerized by her green eyes looking up at me.

I’ve never seen a woman move like this, and I own a fucking strip club. Nessa is as innocent as they come. I kissed her once—I know how fumbling and inexperienced she was. But she knows how to dance. And, I’m learning, she knows how to be sensual. She has that sexual drive buried deep inside her. She just never let it out before.

She gives a little gasp of surprise. I’m almost certain that what I guessed is true—Nessa is a virgin. She’s never even seen a cock before, let alone touched one.

Just remember that. You’re raising a lamb for the slaughter. However sweet that lamb might be.

Callum Griffin walks through my door.

The last time I saw him up close, he was strung up from a meat hook while Zajac went to work on him. He doesn’t look much better tonight. Torture of the mind is as effective as torture of the body.

I’m not just a sweet, simple girl. I feel things deeply. I have a well of passion inside of me—for things that are beautiful, and for things that are broken . . .

I know he hurt you. But if you kill him, you won’t be hurting him back. You’ll be hurting me. And I never wronged you.” She’s talking about fairness, justice. There is no fucking justice in this world. There are only debts that have to be paid. But there’s more than one kind of currency.

Stupid people are not creative. They always resort to violence.

She’s only nineteen. She can’t buy a beer or rent a car. She can barely vote!

I’m not like Callum and Aida. I’m not tough and resourceful. I’m not brave. I’m afraid of getting hurt. Physically, and in a deeper, more lasting way.

I always thought I’d fall in love in the normal way. With flirtation and romance and kindness and gentleness. Instead I’ve fallen into something so much darker.

Every time Mikolaj speaks to me, every time he even looks at me, he’s throwing a tiny thread of spider silk around me. Each one is so thin and light I don’t notice them. When we dance together, when he kisses me. When he even looks my way . . . I had no idea how entangled I was becoming. What frightens me is how much further this could go.

Mikolaj has embarrassed and frightened me. Taunted and tormented me. But I’m very aware of the lines he didn’t cross. I don’t think he wanted this connection between us any more than I did. It happened all the same. It’s real. I don’t think I could sever it if I wanted to.

I know the truth already. I’d miss this dark, old house, and the even darker man inside. I would feel drawn back here like one of Dracula’s victims, bitten and infected and compelled to come home.

Is it good to feel ensnared by a man? Probably not. This is probably sick and wrong on a hundred levels. But it’s powerful and real all the same. I can’t fight it. I don’t know if I even want to. All this time he’s been staring into my eyes, unblinking, infinitely patient. Waiting for me to make my choice. There’s no choice to make. It already happened, without me knowing it. He captured me, and there’s no letting go.

I breathe in his scent, and it’s gasoline on an open flame. I’m the wood, he’s the accelerant. No matter how much we burn, we’re never used up.

Everything that’s happened so far between us has been by accident. What if I were to sink into this intentionally? How deep is this well? I feel like I could fall down into it forever. So far that I’d never see the sun again.

I used to feel about sex like I felt about sleeping—necessary, but a waste of time. I want to fuck Nessa like it’s my destiny. Like it is the one and only thing I was created to do.

Nothing tastes as sweet as the fruits of others’ labor,” I agree.

I have no doubt that when he was breaking knees as an enforcer, he looked like walking retribution.

His eyes look like shattered glass, but they’re not just a mirror, reflecting all the pain in the world. They see inside me, all the way down to my soul.

I want everything. I want every experience life has to offer, as long as it’s with her.

I shake my head, smiling at Nessa’s endless optimism. She always finds the beautiful parts of anything.

Nessa Griffin is getting under my skin.

feel like she’s peeling back my layers, one by one. She’s looking into crevices where nobody should see. I’ve kept myself closed off from everyone for ten years.

They knew me, but they only knew the adult version. What I became after my sister died. They didn’t know the boy before. I thought he was dead. I thought he died at the same time as Anna. We came into the world together, and I thought we left it together. All that remained was this husk, this man who felt nothing. Who could never be hurt. And now Nessa is digging into me. Unearthing the remains of what I thought could never be resurrected. She’s making me feel things I never thought I’d feel again.

At first, I didn’t care in the slightest. In fact, I saw those tears as my due. They were the salt that would season my revenge.

Unfortunately, she has the temperament of a pit bull. And not a nice pit bull—the kind that’s trained to go right for the throat in every encounter.

Like an animal, he senses that someone is hunting him, even if he doesn’t know exactly who.

I don’t think of them as criminals with blood on their hands. I’m the youngest in the family, and they try to hide it from me. I’m not part of the business, not the way my older siblings are. Callum is my father’s right hand. Riona is head legal counsel. Even my mother is heavily involved in the mechanics of our business. Then there’s me: the baby. Spoiled, sheltered, protected. Sometimes I think they want to keep me that way so at least one part of the family stays pure and innocent.

Right now, his face is totally relaxed. I’ve never seen it like that. It makes me realize how beautiful Mikolaj is. His features are so sharply defined, they’re almost godly.

The Griffins and the Gallos made their alliance by marriage. I could do the same. But I’m not looking for an alliance. I never have been. I’m looking for total and complete domination. I don’t want to share the city. I want to own it. I don’t want recompense—I want revenge.

Constant cruelty isn’t how you worm your way inside someone’s head. It’s the mix of good and bad, give and take, that fucks with them.