Promised to the Killer: A Dark Mafia Romance

Not tonight. I had a long day after leaving Bastone’s place. Business never stops, not for a family like mine. I pass the second floor, which houses my sisters and the live-in staff, and reach the top floor, which contains my rooms, my brothers’ rooms, and my father’s rooms.

The hallways are narrow, with dark hardwood floors that shimmer in the orange overhead glow. Ancient oil paintings of the old world hang on the walls, showing massive snowdrifts, old battles with scarred bodies and musket-bearing infantrymen, cannons and cavalry. My father likes that sort of shit. I hear a creak around the corner and stop as a door at the far end of the hall opens and my brother Feliks steps out, his face buried in his phone.

He’s twenty-two, square jaw, dark hair and dark eyes, the spitting image of our father. His lips are pulled into a deep frown, and whatever he’s reading isn’t sitting right with him. I clear my throat and he looks up, and his frown turns into a more neutral stare—which is pretty much a grin, coming from him.

“When’d you get home?” he asks. “Father’s been waiting.”

“Where is he?”

“The library.” He cocks his head. “Did you visit that whorehouse today? I’ve been thinking about taking a trip out there.”

“Not worth your time,” I say, shaking my head. A spike of jealous adrenaline hits me when I picture Feliks meeting Siena. “Besides, rumor is you get plenty of girls on your own.”

He lets out a breath. “Don’t we all? But it’s never enough. That should be the Novalov family creed. It’s Never Enough.” He shakes his head and stares down at his phone. “Anyway, go see Father before he gets annoyed.”

“Will do. Are you coming to dinner?”

“Plans,” he says as he walks past.

I watch him go. He disappears down the stairs, the iron railing creaking under his bulk. My brothers are all big men, as big as me or larger. Feliks is only twenty-two, but he’s the oldest. Next is Jasha at twenty, and then the girls, Galina and Emiliya, eighteen and sixteen respectively.

A big family. Lots of children. Three strong, clever, healthy boys, and two spoiled Russian princesses. Our numbers make us strong and our blood keeps us united.

Except for me. My blood unites me to nobody.

Which is why I have to work twice as hard as the rest of them.

I turn away and head to the end of the hall. The library is around the corner and through a large oak door. The floor is covered in a green and red carpet with a low pile and intricate patterns. Massive wooden bookshelves hold ancient, rotting, leather-bound tomes that nobody bothers reading except for my little sister Emiliya, and only then because she likes hiding out from everyone in here.

My father sits near the window with a blanket in his lap, his bald head gleaming. Damir Novalov is the Pakhan and leader of the Novalov Bratva, and with it the heavy responsibility of running our massive organization sits on his shoulders. He looks down at a laptop perched on a bay windowsill, frowning at an email before I clear my throat to announce myself.

He looks over and closes the computer lid. “You’re back. I was beginning to wonder.”

“It’s been a busy day.”

Father gestures at a chair. “Come sit.”

I hesitate. All I want is to take a shower and think more about Siena. She’s in my blood now, singing like a songbird. I can’t get rid of her, but I also can’t walk away from the direct order from my Pakhan and my father. I don’t have the same luxury and leniency that’s given to Feliks and Jasha. I love them dearly, but they don’t understand what it’s like to be the outsider, and they never will.

I sit and stretch my legs.

“You met with Bastone,” Father prompts, nodding at me. “And what did you think?”

I scowl at the window. Clouds drifts across a fat, silver moon. “You know what I think.”

“Yes, I understand your objections. But you saw the operation. What are you impressions?”

I clench my jaw. Father knows I don’t want anything to do with the flesh trade, and I think that’s why he assigned me to deal with this. He has a sick sense of humor, my father does, and he’ll take any opportunity to put me in my place.

To remind me of what I am.

Family, but not quite family.

“Bastone’s clever,” I say finally, accepting that I can’t avoid this forever. “His operation seems well done. The Velvet Rope is impressive. I didn’t stay long, but I’ll go back for another visit soon.”

“I’ve heard things about Bastone,” Father says. “There are vicious rumors about him. I hear he locked his own daughter in a cage for some unknown reasons. The girl’s been missing for months.”

I shrug. “I didn’t see any cages. Only working girls.”