Promised to the Killer: A Dark Mafia Romance

“Soon, I promise.” I laugh and kiss his cheek. “You need to get some work done too, you know.”

“Fuck work. They don’t need me. I want this.” He grabs my ass and I only wince a little bit. The pain’s mostly gone and only a ghostly yellow bruise in the shape of his hand remains from his punishment.

“You’ll get it later. Absence makes the heart grow, blah blah blah.”

“Let me pick you up when you’re done at least.”

“If you insist.”

He kisses me, deep and slow. “Don’t let my sister walk all over you.”

“She won’t. She’s a sweetheart.”

He grunts. “She’s bratva.”

I pat his face and head out. Emiliya meets me downstairs and one of the family drivers takes us to a barbeque place with a big tent outside. We sit in the shade at a picnic table and Emiliya wolfs down brisket like its water. She chatters on about her brothers (loves them dearly, thinks they’re all morons) and her parents (mother is a saint, father is the devil). “You seem to be getting along with Maxim,” she says, smiling at me as she wipes her mouth and takes a breath for the first time since we arrived. “How’s that going?”

“Oh, it’s going,” I say, picking at my food. I have no clue how she eats like that and still looks so skinny. I guess it’s either youth or good genes, but probably both.

“That’s a vague answer.”

“Maxim’s a difficult man to get to know.”

“And yet you’re his … Mistress? That’s kind of a gross title, you know.”

I snort a little laughter. “I know, right? It’s so old-fashioned.”

“That’s the bratva. Any girl they’re dating that isn’t a wife is called a mistress.” She waves a hand in the air. “It sounds illicit, but it’s actually not a huge deal.”

“Good to know.”

“I know they’re all pretty intense, especially Feliks. Father brought the boys up to be competitive. He says it makes them stronger.” She shrugs a little.

“How’d he bring you and your sister up?”

“Oh, we’re supposed to be perfect, obedient little bratva girls. You know, all smiles and grace. I should be prepared to make babies with the first eligible Russian man my father throws at me, and I better do it with a smile.”

I laugh and cover my mouth with a napkin. “That’s exactly how Papa was. He kept telling me that one day I’d be a wife and a mother and it would be the pinnacle of my life.”

“Oh my god, that’s so funny. I mean, I do want to get married and have babies, but I’d like to have a little say in it, you know?”

“That’s not our lot in life, I guess.” My smile fades as I prod at some mac ’n cheese. It’s delicious, but I don’t have much of an appetite at the moment. Emiliya eats for the both of us.

“It’s true that I’ll marry who my father chooses, but I’m going to make damn sure my father chooses somebody that I like.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Do you have that control?”

She waves a hand. “Father’s tough, but he’s not stupid. He knows that if he chooses someone I hate, it’ll only make everyone’s life harder because I’ll never let him hear the end of it. And besides, he’s only human, and people can be nudged in the right direction. I’m basically a second-class citizen growing up as a woman in the bratva, I’m taken care of and pampered and protected, and I’m not exactly free, you know? But I’ve found ways to control my destiny.”

I lean back, shaking my head. “Now that’s something I never figured out.”

“The men walk around grunting and scratching their nuts and making all the decisions, but you’re quietly in the background making suggestions. And suggestions turn into ideas—their ideas, obviously, since they’re so smart, they couldn’t have possibly gotten it from you—and from there it snowballs. You just have to find a different way to make them listen. But what the hell do I know? I’m just some spoiled bratva brat.” She grins at me and shoves a big piece of smoked sausage in her mouth.

The conversation moves on. We talk about movies and music, and she makes me laugh a whole lot—but what she said keeps lingering.

You just have to find a different way.

It’s almost what Maxim said. How I’m not worthless. How I’m not powerless.

Emiliya thinks the same thing. She’s growing up in a situation similar to mine—though possibly even worse, since her family has so much more power and influence—and yet she still manages to find a way to survive.

For so long, Papa told me that my only value to him is my womb. I’m marriage material and a baby oven, and nothing more. But I can be something else. I can be a wife and a mother. I can be a friend and a confidante. I can influence and nudge.