Promised to the Killer: A Dark Mafia Romance

But that won’t help. Not anymore. Not after Enzo took my phone.

The house appears at the top of a short rise. It’s bigger than most houses in the area, a big old mansion with red and brown brick, clay tile roof, and long Spanish arches. It’s beautiful, and the wildflowers are in bloom, and I pause to pick a bunch. They’re pink and yellow, and I hold them up to smell them.

I think of smelling Maxim.

“Siena.” My name sounds like a gunshot. Enzo stands in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.

I thought I’d see him. Enzo, my older brother, glares. He’s a dead ringer for Papa. Same nose, same eyes. Dark hair and dark eyes. He’s a big guy, like a massive Italian bear. If he could be Papa, he probably would—he’s far enough up our father’s ass to be a part of the old man’s intestines at this point.

“Yes, eldest brother?” I answer, even though I’m quaking.

“Inside.” He doesn’t look angry. Strangely, he seems… resigned.

I drop the flowers and pad after him.

The house is quiet. Normally, it’s bustling with people—guards, business associates, my brothers and their friends and girlfriends and mistresses—but today there’s nobody. I dump my shoes by the front door and follow Enzo down a short side hall and into Papa’s study.

It’s a big room, wood-paneled, with a huge fireplace. A fire burns now, the log crackling. It’s stifling and hot, and I always hated how he’d use that thing despite the Texas heat. At least the humidity burns away as the sun blazes across the sky. Bookshelves are crammed with books, all of them very serious tomes of business and the art of war, and two big overstuffed chairs sit in front of a massive desk.

My next older brother, Franco, is perched in one of the chairs. He’s muscular like Enzo, with the same dark eyes, but he’s quieter. His hair is slicked back, and he’s wearing a pair of dark khakis and a short-sleeve button-down, the top two buttons undone, showing off all his tattoos. His face shows nothing as I look around the room.

Santo sits next to him in the other chair. My youngest brother looks terrified. His face is pale and his hair is a mess—a nervous habit. He tugs and pulls at it when he’s nervous. He’s dressed like Franco, but a bit more disheveled. He tries to smile when I meet his eye, but he fails and looks down.

I love my little brother. I love all my brothers—even Enzo although he doesn’t deserve it—but Santo the most. We’ve always been close, and it breaks my heart to see him like this.

I hope he doesn’t blame himself for what’s about to happen.

Papa sits behind the desk. I stand in front of him with my hands clasped in my lap. Enzo shuts the door with a loud click and looms behind me like an enforcer. Papa’s balding, whip-thin, with dark bags under his eyes and a mean hooked nose. He stares at me and clears his throat. Santo twitches, and I wish I could hug him—not for myself, but to bring him some measure of comfort.

It’s not his fault. I made my choices.

“Hello, daughter,” Papa says. “Did you have a good night?”

I shrug. “It was okay.”

Enzo grunts behind me. “No bullshit, Siena. This is serious.”

“He asked me a question and I answered. What do you want from me?”

“He wants you to take this seriously,” Franco says, rubbing his face.

“She’s incapable of that,” Enzo sneers.

“Leave her alone,” Santo says. “You guys know—”

“Enough,” Papa says, his voice cutting through their bickering. I stand up straighter and fear lances through my stomach. Even though I know I’m going to die today, I’m still so afraid of my papa. Respect for the family and complete and utter deference to my father, the Don and Papa, was beaten into me as a young age. It’s a part of my body, like my bones and my marrow.

Which makes what I did so much worse.

“I don’t care that you snuck out last night, Siena. If I were in your position, I might’ve done the same thing. Only I’m curious why you didn’t run.” Papa tilts his head, watching me.

I shrug, try to meet his gaze, and fail. I stare at the floor. God, I’m so weak. I’ve always been so weak and pathetic. The boys know it too. Enzo uses it against me, and Santo thinks I’m worthless because of it, and only Santo tries to defend me.

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” I say. “Would you have let me go?”

“No, I wouldn’t have.”

“So I came back. No reason for everyone to suffer.”

Papa grunts his approval. “I can respect that, daughter. You understand why we’re here?”

“I think I know.”

“I’ll give you once chance.” He leans forward. “Look at me now.” I look up and meet his eye. “Tell me the truth. Were you involved with the Tianna girl’s escape?”