Promised to the Killer: A Dark Mafia Romance

I want to kill him. I want to break Don Bastone’s neck and watch him bleed.

But most of all, I want to make sure Siena survives.

I think of her from moments earlier. That shy smile. Her beautiful face, her perfect body as she stooped to pull on her panties.

We were so close. We were so fucking close to having something good. I almost made her mine.

Almost.

But that’s not how the world works for people like us, and close isn’t close enough.

The world takes from people like me and her. It takes, and it takes, and it fucks us until we’re broken.

And it won’t stop fucking until we’re gone.

“Maxim,” Feliks says, grabbing my arm. “I see the way you look at her, we all do. You care for her. It’s real, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I say, my voice thick with rage and betrayal and sorrow. I can barely recognize it. My hands tremble, but not from fear, not for myself at least.

“Then run. I can help you. I’ll distract Father. I’ll do something—”

More pounding at the door. We both stare at it, and we know what it means.

“Maxim, sir, please open up.”

It’s my father’s top guard, Oleg. He has a thick Russian accent and is missing an eye. He’s a vicious bastard, and I’m sure he’s not alone.

“Fuck,” Feliks whispers. “I tried to get here before them. God damn it. There must be another way out.”

I shake my head slowly. “There’s no other way.”

“Maxim.”

“I won’t run. I won’t try to hide. I will face this like a man and do what must be done. There’s no other way.” I squeeze his arm tightly. “Thank you for coming here, brother. I’m not sure what’ll happen now, but this means something to me.”

His face hardens and he nods back. He knows there’s nothing I can do.

My father’s guards are trained killers. They’re strong, and they’re armed. I might be able to fight my way through the ones at the door with Feliks’s help, but what about the ones beyond them, and the ones beyond them? Where would that leave Feliks once the dust settles? Father would never let me escape, and I’d never do it. I’m too much of a loyal bratva son to turn my back on my family. And I’d never ask Feliks to make that sacrifice for my mistake.

“What will you do?”

“I’ll talk to him. Please make sure they don’t hurt her.” I raise my chin and take a deep breath. I want to go back and say something, anything, but I don’t know what words I can use to make this better. I’m so afraid that if I see her one last time, I’ll break down and do something rash, something stupid, something that gets us both killed.

I need her to live. That’s all I want.

The image of her bending over, stepping into her panties, and smiling.

So simple. And all gone.

The last look.

The last time I’ll ever be happy.

I open the door. Oleg frowns at me. He’s flanked by four men, two on each side, all of them armed.

“Maxim,” he says. “Your father. He wants you.” He looks past me to Feliks.

Feliks nods to Oleg. “Go on, brother. I’ll take care of things here.”

“Thank you, Feliks.” I step out. Oleg frowns, but says nothing as I close the door behind me. At least Feliks will make sure Siena knows what’s going on, because I was too weak to do it myself. He’ll make sure they don’t hurt her, as much as he can anyway.

Oleg leads the way, down the spiral staircase to the first floor. I think of all the things I can say that might buy her some time. That might save her life. We move through a side door and into the sitting room. Guards are stationed at all four corners.

Don Bastone is sitting on a chair with his son Enzo at his elbow. Enzo looks pale and drawn and doesn’t raise his head up when I enter. He only stares at the floor.

Don Bastone’s face twists into a sneer.

I don’t pay him any mind.

Father’s standing near the fireplace. He’s looking at the painting. It’s a piece done in oils from the seventeenth century depicting an old Russian farmstead in Siberia. Father insists that’s the farm our family is descended from, but that can’t possibly be true. He bought the damn thing at an auction at Christie’s for six million dollars.

But the story’s what matters. The Novalov family was born in ice and snow. We suffered for our food and nearly starved a thousand times, but we survived. Those harsh Siberian winters forged our family into iron, and now we dominate through the strength of our will and our arms. That’s the story Father wants to believe, even if we all know it’s a lie.

Like so much of my world.