Promised to the Killer: A Dark Mafia Romance

Feliks gives me a heavy look and follows. I’m not sure what they’re thinking, but I chase after the brothers as we reach the third landing and stalk back to the library.

The rooms are so familiar. I spent a few weeks living here, but that was the best time of my life. Those days with Maxim when we finally gave in to our feelings were like heaven. Mornings with his arms wrapped around me and nights with his lips on my flesh. Our moans and gasps and laughter. I never imagined I’d ever be given a gift like that, and it breaks my heart wondering if we’ll ever have it again.

I don’t feel any differently. If anything, my emotions are so much deeper. It’s more that I’m afraid Maxim’s father will never let him be free enough to love the way he wants to. There will always be a tether keeping Maxim tied back to the bratva and tugging him away from me and our joy.

Maxim’s mother is seated in a chair near the window, her legs crossed. Jasha stands near the fireplace with a drink in his hand. Maxim’s father sits back against the desk, glaring at his wife and his youngest son. Everyone looks over as Maxim and Feliks stride into the room, and I slip in behind them, hoping nobody notices.

My hopes are dashed when Maxim’s mother walks over and kisses both my cheeks. “Hello, darling,” she says warmly. “I’m glad you’re home.”

I blink at her and my cheeks flush. Home? “Thank you,” I manage.

She grins and returns to her seat. Maxim’s father stares at me with a dead, neutral expression I can’t read, and Jasha raises his glass and winks.

“Father,” Maxim says, standing in the middle of the room like a criminal on trial. Feliks lingers over next to me like he wants to try to avoid whatever’s about to happen.

“Maxim.” Damir Novalov is a terrifying man. He’s not physically imposing, but he has an aura about him of command and control, like anyone that might ever disobey would meet a swift and painful end. Everyone subtly moves around him, like planets drifting around a cold, dead sun.

“I assume you heard from Oleg. And I’m guessing your spies told you what happened this morning.”

“Yes, I’m aware of your meeting with Don Bastone. Or I suppose the former Don of the Bastone family. Who holds that title now?”

“His son Enzo will take over, assuming we help him.”

His father’s eyebrows raise. “And why would we do that?”

I notice Maxim’s jaw twitch. He does that when he’s angry and physically restraining himself from saying something he shouldn’t.

“Because of the deal we’re going to strike with them. In exchange for a cut of their profit, we’ll give them access to our resources. This is your chance to grow the business, Father. You wanted to get into the flesh trade, and now you can, without taking on all the risks involved. The Bastone family will do that for you, and you’ll reap the rewards. It’s a win for everyone.”

His father stares. Nobody moves, not an inch. His mother looks exhausted and drawn, and Feliks tugs at the hem of his shirt. Jasha takes a long drink and looks at the ceiling like something interesting dangles from the light fixtures.

“You have been extremely presumptuous, Maxim,” his father says coldly. “For a man barely still in our family, it’s amazing you have the stones to assume I’d want to take a deal like this.”

“You’d be foolish not to,” Maxim said and Feliks flinches like someone punched him.

His father sucks in a sharp breath. “Foolish?”

“Enough with this pageantry,” Maxim says angrily. “I understand you’re unhappy with me. I don’t care about that. I made my choice with Siena and I don’t regret it. You want to punish me? Then go ahead. But do the smart thing for the bratva and take the damn deal.”

Nobody moves. It’s like Maxim dropped a bomb on the floor and left it there, ticking away. The hand grenade is about to explode, and I don’t think anyone’s going to throw their body on top of it to save everyone else.

His father’s lips twitch and pull into a tight smile, like he’s amused but trying not to show it. I feel like I might throw up from the anticipation.

“Very well, Maxim. Since you’re in a deal-making mood, I’ll offer you a deal of my own. I will accept the Bastone arrangement and make them a client. I’ll give the Enzo boy the resources he needs to control his family and to grow his business. And if I do that, you will marry Siena and run the Novalov interests in Moscow for one year. You will never be my heir, and if you return to the States after your year is over, you will have a lot of work to do before you’re allowed back into the inner echelons of the bratva. What do you say, boy? Are you willing to suffer for your choices?”