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That Sweet Boy Is Mine

That Sweet Boy Is Mine


Last update: 1970-01-01

Chapter 1 Prologue And Prelude

  • Prologue
  • Petya Duscha Zaytsev Ivanov, known to her enemies and other unfortunate people as Lisovik, is a cold and calculating woman, billionaire tycoon and head of the Romanóv clan. A cold and calculating woman, multi-millionaire tycoon and head of the Romanóv clan, at the age of 25 she has managed to maintain order among the clans surrounding the cold city of Moscow, the main cup of negotiation, arms trafficking and huge money production. At only 16 years old, she became the most feared leader and cold-blooded killer of the Romanóv clan, capturing the attention of her enemies and allies.
  • At 25 years of age, between parties, alcohol and nightly encounters, her life was completely made, despite a possible confrontation with members of the Aziz clan for power, money and the expropriation of property and real estate valued in millions of euros, put at risk her position within the hierarchy. It is then that, in the midst of darkness and paths without exits to avoid war, he meets Táo Lukyan Zinov Agapov Zhōu, a young man of 20 years, extremely intelligent, sweet and compassionate, that young man would teach him all kinds of strategies, at least he thought that was all.
  • Something new arrived without foreseeing it, love, something he had never noticed, would come into his existence, to undermine his composure and sigh for a pair of hazel eyes, luminous and touching. That innocence made him want to take every last drop of his soul, but those feelings demanded him to have behaviors unbecoming of the dreaded Lisovik, patience and understanding. Those feelings and emotions destabilized everything she formed for more than 10 years, causing her to awaken something new and difficult to reject.
  • Love and the struggle for power will lead her to despair, anguish and she will have to decide which path to choose.
  • "My sweet, no matter how far you wander from me, I will always find you, no matter how dangerous the path full of debris, I will come to you. Not for nothing are you afraid to mention my name, for those who are my enemies are better off showing their faces to me than hiding in fear.
  • Remember, Sweetness, here and now, caressing your lips softly with mine.... I have gone, I have found... and never lost." —Petya Duscha Zaytsev Ivanov.
  • Prelude
  • The phone rang. The dreaded Petya Duscha Zaytsev Ivanov, stroked her temples slowly, dying and reeking of alcohol and tobacco, something not surprising after a night in different bars accompanied by her people, enjoying, above all, the evening together with the crowd, ecstatic and eager for more adrenaline, adventure and madness. She opened her blue, blushing eyes, mumbling every possible rudeness. She stood up staggering, half naked, showing her sculpted and worked body to no one, her perfect and adequate attributes, made her look like a goddess, imposing, that dictator, she was having a migraine and that made her even more angry. He picked up the phone a few steps away and lazily put it to his ear, listening to the voice of his friend, happy and content, Donato Pyotr Pasha Dimitrieva De Angelis.
  • —Good morning princess, are you done fucking yesterday's guy yet? —he smiles teasingly, sticking his head out of the window of his Heroleck.
  • —Bastard, before you even thought about it I had already eaten the whole thing, what do you want? Hurry up, I have a fucking headache. -I've got a fucking headache.—she yawns, tired and satisfied. —I don't even know what time they took it out of my house. —She rubs her eyes softly, slightly impatient. —Talk now or I'm going to hang up on you.
  • —Oh, but what a bad mood you're in today. —he sighs. —Today we have the meeting with the Yakuza. Bitch, I know that Sunday is for resting, but clearly you took it too seriously to forget that you have commitments today... —he chews the cigarette that seconds before he had put in his mouth, thoughtfully. —Duscha... Did something happen at the bar?
  • Silence reigned, almost penumbral. The dictator, demanding and cold Petya Ivanov, stared at the ceiling of the great hall, untidy and smelling of sex and tobacco, hypnotized, dry-lipped and gaping, looking for some air, to breathe in that place? It was impossible, she felt herself floating in the clouds, deeply absorbed in her thoughts, until she finally took a deep breath, staggered once again and looked around.
  • —I leave in an hour, wait for me outside the castle.
  • —Duscha, wait...
  • She hangs up quickly, gently placing the phone on the desk. Watching it as this one holds big secrets through the screen. "Damn it, I can't have come to my house and fuck without getting in trouble first, that's what's wrong." Enraged she throws the chairs towards the wall, smashing them, full of anger. You stroke her abundant, newly short hair, a little more than halfway down her neck. You rub her green eyes, slightly red from drunkenness; She drops onto the white leather couch and screams angrily, ending with curses into the air, takes a deep breath and rubs her lips together.
  • —Fuck, fuck, fuck! —she mumbles angrily. —Jessica! —she calls irritatedly to her housekeeper. She appears instantly, as always elegant and clean. Undoubtedly that woman during her youth was the most beautiful woman in that rich area and the secrets she could reveal of everything she had seen in more than 30 years of experience would ruin the name of anyone who dared to touch a hair on her head.
  • —I may be his housekeeper, but I wiped your ass and I still have to keep on doing it. —With finesse and without losing the perfect posture of her shoulders, she went inside and started picking up all the dirty clothes from the floor, including men's underwear, black habaneros and a couple of dirty condoms. —What in God's name is that? —she questioned, looking at the thing with utter disgust.
  • —Have you never seen a sex toy before? —she asks calmly, closing her eyes seconds later.
  • —No wonder that boy limped out of this room, we had to drive him home, and I say we had to drive him home because I had to accompany him, your men were trying to make fun of him and I hit each of them with a rod in the back. —she mumbles, irritated. -Educate that pack of animals, no, it's more... Start with you, get up and fix your room, I'm not going to clean it.
  • —But...
  • —Nothing. —Inflexible, she points her index finger authoritatively, closing her mouth between grumbles to the young blonde-haired girl. —Hurry up, breakfast is almost ready. Got it?
  • —Yes. —she sighs and looks at her, still standing in the doorway. —Yes, ma'am.
  • Lazily and sticky with sweat, she diligently cleans the room, mumbling and cursing every now and then, until the job is done. Certainly, to Madame Volkova no one could give orders, she is the one who gives orders when it comes to the care of the household and good behavior, regardless of how dangerous was the guest entering that castle in the middle of the cold and greenish countryside, she inspired respect and sometimes fear. "To challenge Madame Volkova, is to challenge the devil, daughter, don't you dare to contradict her, unless it is very, very necessary to do so," are the words of her father, Vladimir Viktor Zaytsev Tarasov, former patriarch of the Romanov Clan. After inheriting everything to his daughter, he decided to retire to the forest, about 20 kilometers from the family castle, it was literally another world in that small hut, sometimes the silence despaired Duscha when she goes to visit him, causing laughter in her father who watches her and sighs, "When you learn to make patient, you will understand how important silence is at some point in our lives", Duscha, of course, just laughed and told him that he was already old and that's why he thought he was some kind of mountain monk. But all those actions had a reason to be, the tiredness, without the exhaustion, had come sooner than Mr. Vladimir thought, but that, which is power, did not interest him anymore and he wished only to eat sardines from the small stream and drink hot water with honey on cold and rainy nights.
  • —Finally, damn, it smelled like shit. —she sighs, inhaling the smell of oatmeal soap on her skin and the sweet smell of cinnamon shampoo. Her stomach growls. —Fuck. —she pats her stomach and quickly pulls on the black turtleneck sweater, matching perfectly with her grayish suit, with light plaid stitching, tight to her muscular arms, enhancing her worked buttocks and enhancing her athletic and imposing figure. She quickly descends the stairs, finding her men in the kitchen dining room, eating, if that's what you call eating decently, bread, butter, cereal and other baked goods.
  • —Chief, good morning.
  • —What's so good about them? Oh, my goodness. —shakes out his suit jacket and combs his slightly wavy hair to the side. —Let's eat quickly, you must accompany me to a meeting. —she says with her usual expression, neutral, cold and certainly, to a certain extent, pacific. The three men who were watching her from time to time, jump in their chairs, slightly startled, seeing her thoughtful face and then raising her left hand, instantly, "The left hand", thought the troglodytes in the kitchen. —I don't want any fight, I remind you that no matter how much your asses itch, the Japanese are our allies. —she observes them carefully; to which they nod. —Jasha, I'm serious, I don't want your crappy mood at the meeting, I swear, if you provoke any of the members, I'll put you in a coma myself. —she says with dull, opaque eyes, sipping from her coffee cup. —Jasha, also nicknamed "The Quiet One", nods and wrinkles his nose, annoyed by the call for attention. -Okay, not being any more, let's wait for Donato to arrive and then we'll leave, meanwhile get the cars ready, Alexey! —she takes a deep breath and observes the man with black eyes, who, silently, finishes chewing his fifth loaf of bread with cheese and ham. The man nicknamed "El comelón", smiles trying to make his boss's face change. —I'm not laughing, stop eating, in fact, I shouldn't even give you a glass of water after you disappeared the two-story cake from the house, to eat it by yourself.
  • —Duscha! —shouts her dear friend, Donato. —Hurry up, I don't have all day! —he plops down on the seat, licking a lemon popsicle. The heat was infernal, he needed to cool his brain.
  • —Get up!, he was much earlier, I'll see you at the big house. See you at the big house.
  • She quickly finishes her coffee and adjusts her clothes, and then goes out to meet the green haired man, smiling like a happy child with his lemon popsicle. She climbs into the car quickly, thundering her bones as she sits down next to him.
  • —Shit, what a long night.
  • —It looks like it sucked, except for the fucking?
  • —Yeah, pretty much except for the fucking. —she laughs loudly and sighs. —Start, we have to keep to the schedule. —sigh. —Inu Yasha clan, let's talk... Let's talk very well. —she smiles slyly, closing her eyes in anticipation of bad news.