Promised to the Killer: A Dark Mafia Romance

“This is your chance, girl,” Mira says, coming to Siena. “You gonna take it or not? We’ll make sure Ora doesn’t tell Zita. You can run.”

“Mira,” Siena says. The pain in her voice hurts me. How could I let her stay here? How could I let any of this happen?

“Go on, get out of here. This psycho Russian asshole clearly loves you. Just get going.”

Siena looks at me. I don’t deny it. She chews her lip and grimaces when the injury pulls.

“I can’t leave you,” she says, shaking her head.

“We’ll come back for her,” I say, pulling on Siena’s hand. “But first, we need to fix our situation. The girls will be safe. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Go,” Mira says. “We’ll always be friends. Just get going.”

Siena hugs Mira tight. I watch the other girls and see nothing but misery etched on their faces. A cold, dark fury has been spreading through my body since the moment I saw the cut on Siena’s face, and I can barely control myself. I’m trembling, shaking with rage. I want to burn this place to the ground.

But first, I have to make sure Siena is safe.

Then revenge.

“I’ll be back,” Siena says. “I swear I will.”

I wrap my arm around Siena and put the bandage back into place. “Leave your stuff. We’ll get you new things.” I steer her out the back door and into the early morning sunlight.

“This is for real?” she asks quietly, looking up into my eyes. We hurry toward the parking lot. “You’re really taking me from here? Even though your dad’s going to try to kill us?”

“I’ll handle my dad. Your father too. Don’t worry. I’ll fix this.”

We walk past the still-unconscious Ben. Siena notices, but says nothing. There’s a lot of blood pooling around his head. I take her to the car and get her inside.

“Lock the doors. Don’t move.”

She frowns at me and grabs at my hand. “Where are you going? Don’t leave me. Please don’t.”

“Stay here.” I pull my gun free with my other hand and clutch it tight. “I have to take care of something.”

She looks into my eyes and I think she knows. She releases me, shuts the door, and the lock clicks down.

I turn and stalk to the office. I keep the gun tucked up tight against my flank as my head turns into a whirlwind of emotions. I’m elated to have Siena back, but broken with sorrow over her injury. I could’ve prevented that if only I’d moved a couple days sooner. If I hadn’t gotten sucked into a death spiral of self-loathing and pain, I could’ve prevented all of this.

Instead, Siena suffered, and I’m partially to blame.

I won’t let it happen again. Never, ever again. She’s mine, and I’ll never let her go, not while I’m still breathing.

I reach the office door and shove it open.

The room’s dim. It smells like cheap coffee, stale cigarettes, and rotting leather furniture. Zita’s sitting behind the front desk reading a newspaper and she doesn’t look up until I’m looming over the counter.

“Yes, how can I—” She recoils when she realizes it’s me. The paper flies from her hands and flutters to the floor as she stumbles away, nearly slipping and falling on her face. “Maxim? What are you doing here? Why are you—”

I walk to the side of the counter and open the little gate. Zita screams and scrambles toward the back, ripping open the door and slamming it shut. I walk behind the counter and pull at the knob, but it’s locked.

I aim my gun at the handle and fire off a few rounds until it’s barely hanging on by splinters. I kick the door and it snaps free, banging inwards to reveal a terrified Zita sitting at a desk piled with paperwork and small CCTV monitors, her hands over her head.

She’s shaking. Trembling. A dark puddle spreads around her as she loses control of her bladder. My lips curl in disgust as I raise the gun and aim it at her face.

“You— You— You don’t have to,” she says. Pleading. Begging. I wonder if she listened when Siena begged.

“You hurt her,” I say simply. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Please.”

“Did you stop when Siena asked you to?”

“Please, I can help you!”

“No.”

I pull the trigger and Zita’s head rocks back. Her skull vaporizes into chunks of blood, brain, and bone. My clothes are drenched with arterial spray as Zita’s lifeless husk of a corpse slumps down to the floor and doesn’t move. I shoot her one more time—just to be sure—and turn away.

Renato’s standing just inside the office door, his mouth hanging open. He scrambles for something at his side, but I shoot him twice in the chest before he can draw his weapon. He slams back against the window and leaves a long crimson smear as he sinks to the floor. I walk back through the gate and shoot him once in the head before I step out into the lovely morning sunshine.