Charming Killer: A Dark Mafia Romance

“You don’t know me,” she said, voice husky.

“I want to.”

“You think I want to give myself to a man like you?” Her anger was delicious and addictive. Her hate flowed like lava and I wanted to drown myself inside of it. “I’ve hated men like you my entire life. My brothers, my father, my cousins, every pompous asshole from all the other families. I hated you too.” She pushed me again, jaw clenched, tears in her eyes. “And now you want to drag me through this. Make me your wife. All to get a chance at freedom.”

I caught her wrist again, but this time I didn’t twist. I held it loosely and tugged her close.

She came to me, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from rolling down her cheeks.

I wiped them away with the back of my thumb.

“You can be free with me if that’s what you want. I won’t keep you locked away.”

“That’s what you think now, but when I’m your wife, what then? I’ll pump out your screaming babies.”

“I don’t need kids. We can adopt.”

She snorted. “Doubtful. That’s not how the Oligarchy works.”

“It will when we’re in control.”

She shook her head. “It’s not going to happen. It’s just a stupid dream.”

“Work with me, Erin. Let me protect the people that depend on me. Let me give you what you want.”

“Nobody can give me that.” She stared into my eyes and I could see how desperately she needed this.

I kissed her again. This time, I was gentle. She returned the kiss with a surprising passionate need, and I tasted her lips, my tongue in her mouth, her body pressed against mine.

But it didn’t last. She pulled away, stumbling back, before she walked past toward the house. I watched her go, my heart racing.

She paused before heading inside.

“If you wanted to convince me that you’re not a piece of shit, you didn’t have to make me come to Colorado. You could’ve tried to do that back in Chicago.”

“You wouldn’t have believed me back there.”

She smiled, head tilted. “I don’t believe you here.” And she went inside, the door swinging shut behind her.

I stood staring at the ground.

Why did I bring her here? To show her my home, my family?

To make her want to marry me?

All of that and more. I wanted her to know me as something more than just a bloodthirsty Oligarch drunk on control and power. What I did to my father was monstrous and barbaric—but necessary. Things were better without him.

She couldn’t see that, not yet. But I hoped she would one day.

After she became my wife.

Chapter 7

Erin

I woke up early after a restless night of dreams. I kept seeing his face, feeling his hands on my wrists, feeling that strange helplessness, that impossible excitement, and yes, god, yes, the quiet in my brain.

When he kissed me, all the noise stopped, and there was only him.

But it was terrifying. He could take away my greatest strength simply by being near me. A single kiss could strip me bare.

I didn’t know what it meant, but it worried me.

I got out of bed. The sun hadn’t risen yet. I pulled on clothes and considered taking a shower when someone knocked softly at the door. I hesitated, thinking it might be Redmond, but it was too early for him to come looking for a booty call.

Chika peered at me from the darkness of the hall. She held up a finger for quiet and stepped into my room.

She was dressed head to toe in black, her hair pulled back, braided and bundled on top of her head.

“What are you doing?” I crossed my arms, studying the woman.

“Exploring. I found something you might be interested in.” She tilted her head, almost daring me to turn her down.

But the house was quiet, and I had come here to find an advantage. It didn’t matter if kissing Redmond was like finally finding the inner peace I’d always craved. I didn’t care if I wanted to kiss him again and again and again.

I could only ever be free through strength.

“Show me.”

Chika led the way. I moved as quietly as I could, but I was like a bumbling toddler compared to her. She was a wraith, darting from shadow to shadow, and I did my best to keep pace. She took us down a hall, along a back staircase, and into the kitchen. She bypassed the main prep area, found a storage closet, and pushed aside several boxes of potatoes.

Beneath it was a trap door. Stairs descended into the basement.

Chika took them without hesitating. I went slowly, aware of every creak of the old wood. I waited for my eyes to adjust halfway down, and though there was little light, I could make out shapes in the gloom.

Chika took a flashlight from a pouch at her hip and turned it on.