Promised to the Killer: A Dark Mafia Romance

“I really hoped you’d stay away,” Mira says as we clean the first bathroom of the morning a couple days into my new existence. All the other girls welcomed me back, all except for Ora who studiously ignored me like I wasn’t real or whatever. I got my old bunk and all my old stuff, plus the few things I managed to shove into a bag before I left the Kremlin. I had enough. I could survive.

Only I didn’t want to anymore.

“I really did too.”

“I’m sorry about that day you visited. You understand, yeah?”

“I totally understand. I’m sorry too, Mira. I really didn’t want to cause trouble.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She shrugs and keeps scrubbing. “Zita’s been kind of nice lately, actually. Like the past few weeks, she’s been kind of chill? She even lets me clean most of the time. I take on a few clients here and there since I gotta pay off this debt, but I’m not on my back all day.”

“That doesn’t sound like her.” I wipe my brow and smile to myself. “I wonder if something happened.” That makes me think of Maxim and I feel the sudden stabbing pain all over again. I have to look away from Mira to hide the agony on my face.

“Fuck if I know.” She narrows her eyes at me. “You wouldn’t know something about it, would you?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” I quietly get myself together. I don’t know how long I can go on this way. “Depends who’s asking. Is it the girl I thought was my friend, or that cold-as-ice bitch I met one day when I came back to visit?”

Mira laughs and brandishes her brush at me. “I’m both of those girls and don’t you ever forget it.”

“I won’t.” My smile fades as I lean against the wall of the shower. “I think Zita will keep her head down, but I’m not sure. So much has changed. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“We’ll get through it. We always do.”

“Together this time?” As if it makes a difference. I do my best to smile. I don’t want her to know how badly I’m hurting, but it’s hard to hide it.

She snorts. “Girl, you’re one step away from leaving me behind for a second time. Don’t you forget it.”

I stare at her and take a deep breath. I slowly release it and shake my head. “I swear to you, Mira, if I ever do get away from here, you’re coming with me. I won’t leave you behind ever again.” But I know it doesn’t matter. There’s nowhere for me to go.

She smiles tightly and her cheeks blush. “Shit, stop looking at me that way. Why are you still good to me?”

“Because we’re friends and just because you were a dick to me that one time doesn’t mean that’s changed.”

“Yeah, you’re right. We’re friends.” She grins at me and gets back to scrubbing.

Days pass that way.

Mira and I do the cleaning. The girls do the whoring. Things are mostly quiet—the bouncers are on top of their shit for once in their miserable lives—and Zita keeps to herself. She shouts only when necessary, and acts like I don’t exist.

I can almost pretend like nothing’s changed. Even if I’m in agony every waking moment. I keep it together as best I can. Most of the time, I keep a smile on my face and soldier on. I help the girls where I can, I cook and I clean, and I offer my shoulder to anyone that needs to talk. I try my hardest to keep my mind focused on the here and now and not on the past or what could have been.

Except at night, every night, I close my eyes and I see his face.

Maxim. His ice-blue eyes and smirk. His wavy hair and his tattoos. The way he grunts when I kiss him and his moans when I take his cock in my mouth. I taste him and hear him and feel his arms wrapped around my body.

And I cry. Every night, each night, I sob until I fall asleep. I sob so hard it feels like I might puke my guts out, like I might puke up all my restless, horrible feelings, all my worthlessness, my self-hate, my loathing. I cry and cry and scream into my pillow until I pass out, trembling and drained.

Mira mentions it only once. She asks if I’m okay, and I tell her the truth: I’m as okay as I’ll ever be. She gets that. We don’t discuss it anymore.

I cry each night because of what I gained and what I lost.

For a little while, I was happy. Things weren’t perfect, but perfect didn’t matter when I was with Maxim. His lips and tongue and fingers and his laughter and his cocky grins, it all sent me whirling into overload, and I existed in a constant state of joy. That’s something I’ve never felt before, and I don’t think I’ll ever feel again. Maxim took my drab, dark life, with its pathetic future and worthless present, and he gave me joy and light and hope. He made me a better person. He made me want to dream.