Promised to the Killer: A Dark Mafia Romance

“Clean,” I repeat, raising my eyebrows.

Guido gives me a look. “Our whores may fuck all day, but I am not in the business of managing filth. That’s another way we keep in business. Our guests are all happy, whether they’re here for pussy or for sleep.”

I nod to myself. That makes sense. Run it under the guise of a real establishment. Hide in plain sight. “Where do the girls stay?”

“Bottom floor in the back. We have rooms for them.” Guido reaches the landing first and gestures. “While you are here, feel free to take whatever you wish. You may sample the wares, so to speak, or perhaps you may take a girl as your own? Consider it a gift from my family to yours.” He shows me teeth in a simpering smile and my blood boils.

He wants to give me a girl as a present? I do not need to be gifted pussy. My mind flashes back to the last time I slept with a woman, two months ago. I haven’t gotten Siena’s moans and writhing out of my mind, and it kills me that she left before I woke. I’d never had a girl sneak away in the early hours before, and ever since, I’ve been trying to track her down, hungry for another taste. Especially after I noticed the bloodstains on the sheets and realized what it meant.

But so far, I’ve been unsuccessful.

“I am here only for business,” I say stiffly, not smiling back. He seems to get the idea and turns away, heading toward the rooms. We turn a corner and he stops again, gesturing. “Ah, there you are. Maxim, I’d like you to meet my manager, Zarita.”

An older woman in her early fifties approaches. She looks healthy and happy, with thick dark hair pulled back and a bright smile, though wrinkles line her eyes and mouth. She wears a conservative dark blue dress with a high collar, and she looks more like a schoolteacher than a madam. Then again, her job is to herd cats, which isn’t so different.

I shake her hand and she offers me a slight bow. Guido’s people are well coached and rehearsed, which I respect. A moan echoes from a nearby room and Zarita’s lips pull into a momentary grimace, but I only smile and that seems to ease the tension.

“Shall we visit a room?” Zarita asks.

“I’d like to see everything,” I say, even if I’d rather get the hell out of here. I’ve seen enough already to understand what they’re doing, and I don’t need the details, but my father sent me here for a reason and I won’t disappoint him.

Even if I’ve argued against getting into the flesh trade multiple times. It’s risky and dirty, and I don’t love the idea of buying and selling girls across the border. It’s the kind of thing that might draw unwanted attention, and our family has survived as long as it has thanks to clever planning and a dedication to secrecy.

Another loud moan escapes the room directly to my left. Guido glares at Zarita, who flushes red. I sigh and glance toward the parking lot, not embarrassed by the fucking—it’s a whorehouse, after all—but by the way Guido acts as though any small error might cause our association to end. My Pakhan is not so fickle as to hold the facts of his family’s trade against him, particularly when that’s what we want from them.

To learn how to run girls, and break into the industry.

“Last I spoke with your father, he said he’s thinking about, ah, investing in my enterprise,” Guido says as Zarita takes the group along the walkway. Enzo remains behind near the stairs, and I wonder if he’s about to break into that room to scold the poor girl getting humped by some sweaty businessman.

“An alliance is a better way of seeing it,” I say, frowning at him. “You provide us with resources and intelligence on running girls, and we help you expand into other business ventures in return. You grow, we grow, and everyone profits.”

“I wonder about that,” Guido says, still smiling, but his eyes are sharp. “My family has controlled the sex trade in this region for a long time now. I bled to build what we have, and my sons will continue on in my legacy when I am gone. But it seems shortsighted to train my own rivals and replacements.”

I nod once, understanding. He’s not wrong in his assessment, but he’s right, he is being shortsighted. “Whoring only gets you so far. You’re one of a dozen small families scattered all over Texas, eking out a decent living, but never growing. You know my father, the Pakhan. You know the influence my family wields in North Texas. We will muscle into your trade, whether you like it or not, but we are offering you the opportunity to get something for it.”