Chapter 53 Chapter 53
Chapter 53
Nina’s POV
The pilot’s voice came through the headset, calm and clear. “Welcome to Gstaad.”
I sat pressed against Nana in the narrow back seat, our shoulders touching, her hand resting lightly on my knee like she could feel how much I needed the contact. I leaned toward the window, forehead against the cold glass, and looked down.
The village appeared beneath us like a secret that had been waiting. A small cluster of chalets with steep roofs buried under thick snow, windows glowing warm yellow against the white.
Church spires rose thin and dark, cutting the sky. Streets curved between the houses like gentle paths drawn in powder. Pine trees stood tall, branches heavy with frost, and the whole place shimmered under the moon and the chopper’s searchlight.
It was the most beautiful little village I had ever seen—peaceful, clean, almost unreal. But the snow made everything feel far away, wrapped in silence and cold, like the world had stopped breathing.
The helicopter banked gently, rotors slowing as we descended. Snow swirled up in white clouds around the landing pad, sticking to the windows in wet flakes. We touched down with a soft thud, the engine whine dropping to a low hum.
The door slid open, and freezing air rushed in, sharp enough to steal my breath. I stepped out behind Nana, boots crunching deep into fresh powder. The cold bit my face and hands, seeping through the thin blue top I had changed into on the flight. I hugged myself, shivering hard, the wind cutting straight to my skin.
Two women waited near the pad, standing beside a red Ferrari and a yellow Porsche that looked almost too bright against the snow. They were tall, with long blonde hair whipping in the wind, sharp cheekbones, and full red lips.
Their dresses were short and tight, black lace and silk hugging every curve, barely reaching mid-thigh. Big white fur coats draped over their shoulders, open at the front so the wind caught the fabric and showed flashes of smooth skin. They looked Russian—ice-cold beauty wrapped in luxury and sex. They smiled wide, teeth perfect, eyes glittering. “At your service,” they said together, voices low and accented, almost purring.
Nana and I looked at each other. Her eyebrows lifted, lips pressing into a thin line. I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they might fall out. These women looked like they belonged in a magazine spread, not standing in snow in the middle of the night. We both shook our heads, a silent agreement passing between us.
I turned away, taking in the view again. The village spread out below the pad, lights twinkling like fallen stars. Helicopters dotted the sky, landing on other pads near big chalets. Expensive cars moved through the streets—Bentleys, Lamborghinis, Rolls-Royces—tires crunching snow, headlights cutting yellow beams.
But the bodyguards were everywhere. Men in white camouflage that blended with the drifts, rifles slung low. Others in black tactical gear, patrolling in pairs, earpieces glinting under street lamps. The place looked peaceful, but it felt guarded, like every street corner had eyes watching.
I was lost in the sight—the snow-covered roofs, smoke curling from chimneys, moonlight making everything glow—when I felt heat on my skin. Enzo’s gaze. I looked down and caught him staring. My nipples were swollen, pushing hard against the thin blue top.
The cold had made them stand out, sharp and obvious through the fabric. Heat rushed to my face, embarrassment mixing with something hotter. He smiled slow, eyes darkening with hunger, and licked his lips like he could taste me already.
Before I could speak, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. His fingers brushed my left breast as he adjusted it—soft, deliberate, grazing the sensitive peak through the material. The touch was light but electric, thumb circling once, teasing the hardness.
Pleasure sparked sharp and sudden, shooting straight between my legs. My body reacted instantly—nipple tightening further, a warm pulse blooming low in my belly. I gasped, breath catching, thighs pressing together under the jacket. His hand lingered just a second too long, fingers splaying, palm cupping the swell of my breast.
Heat flooded me, my back arching slightly, a quiet whimper escaping my throat. The sensation was overwhelming—his warmth against the cold, the rough leather of his jacket, the way his touch felt both possessive and gentle.
When I opened my eyes, he was gone. He slid into the yellow Porsche, door slamming shut, engine roaring to life. Dante climbed into the red Ferrari, the cars peeling away in twin clouds of snow.
“Those bastards!” I hissed, pulling the jacket tighter. His scent clung to it—leather, smoke, and something darker, masculine. “What are we taking, a horse?”
Nikolai chuckled, the sound low and rough from his injuries. He leaned on the crutch the pilot had handed him, shoulder bandaged thick under his coat.
“If you want to, but for now we can all go in the G-Wagon.” He signaled to the pilot, who nodded and climbed back into the chopper. The rotors started up again, lifting off in a swirl of snow.
The black G-Wagon pulled up, big and gleaming, tires crunching snow. Nikolai opened the door for me, his hand brushing my lower back as I climbed in. The touch lingered, warm through the jacket, sending another shiver down my spine—not from cold this time.
Nana slid in next, and Nikolai got in the front with the driver. The heater blasted warm air, thawing my fingers and toes. We drove through the village, streets quiet and empty except for the occasional bodyguard patrolling.
The snow made everything glow under street lamps, chalets looking cozy with smoke curling from chimneys.
We left the center behind, climbing a narrow road to a house on the hill. It looked cozy from the outside wooden beams, big windows glowing soft, snow piled high on the roof like thick frosting. No close neighbors, just trees and white fields stretching out.
The two luxury cars were already parked in the driveway, engines still ticking as they cooled.
We stepped out, the cold biting again. Nikolai limped ahead, opening the door. But as soon as it swung wide, moans greeted us loud, raw, echoing through the house.
“Mmmmmm! Faster daddy! Yes arghhhh!”
A woman’s voice, breathless and needy, mixed with deep grunts and the rhythmic slap of skin on skin. The sound was erotic, pulling at something low in my belly.
Heat flushed my cheeks, my body reacting without permission, a tingle spreading between my legs, nipples tightening again under the jacket. The moans built, higher and more desperate, a man’s growl joining in.
Nana’s eyes widened. She hurried inside, muttering under her breath about “young people these days.” Nikolai paused in the doorway, a small smile tugging at his lips, but he said nothing. I stood frozen, the cold wind at my back, the moans pulling me in like a spell.
My thighs pressed together, trying to ease the ache. Who was inside? And why did it feel like the house was already alive with secrets?
The foyer was warm, wooden floors gleaming under soft lights, fur rugs scattered like snow patches. A fireplace crackled in the living room, flames dancing orange and casting shadows on the walls. The moans came from upstairs, rhythmic and building, making the air feel thick.
I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the heat pooling low. Enzo came down the stairs, shirt unbuttoned, hair messy, a satisfied grin on his face.
“What? We got here first,” he said, winking at me. Behind him, one of the Russian ladies followed, her fur coat open, dress rumpled, lips swollen and red. She smiled at me, not shy at all.
Dante appeared from a side room, phone in hand, looking annoyed. “Keep it down. We have work.” But his eyes flicked to the other Russian lady waiting in the living room, her legs crossed, fur slipping off one shoulder to show smooth skin and the curve of her breast.
The air felt charged, like everyone was waiting for something to snap.