Broken by Sin: A Dark Mafia Romance

Otherwise, I think I’d fucking hang myself.

I can only pretend for so long before my rage sneaks out. Karah’s like my escape valve: I can vent as much of my frustration on her and she takes it like the good little princess she is.

Because god forbid Karah Bruno does anything wrong.

A hair out of place? A sloppy outfit? God, no, never.

Not perfect little Karah.

Perfect, worthless, empty little Karah.

“How did your meeting with daddy go? Did he write you a check and kiss your toes?”

“No, he didn’t.” Her frown deepens. “How did you know about the marriage thing?”

“Casso told me.”

“And Papa told him?”

“He’s a part of the inner circle. Unlike you. Which means you’re, what? Less important than your brothers?”

She tugs at her hair, squeezing some of the water onto her shoulder. There it is. My stomach does a flip as my eyes roam her body. She’s lean and beautiful, truly a gorgeous specimen, and that makes me want to bind her wrists to the headboard of my bed and mercilessly tease her body until she screams for a release that’ll never come.

“That’s not true and you know it.” She doesn’t sound convinced. I smile at her and don’t bother arguing. Let her say what she wants—but I know what’s happening in that pretty little head. “Papa only knows that I can offer something else to the Famiglia.”

“That’s right. Your body. You’ll go marry some Russian bratva asshole and pump out his babies and that’s all you’ll ever be good for, isn’t it?”

“What the fuck is your problem, Nico?” She sits up straight and stops tugging at her hair. We’re almost at the last stage: total, complete rage. When that happens, all bets are off. My lovely princess can be unpredictable when I push her past her limits, and I love seeing what she’ll do next.

Will she yell? Scream? Try to slap me? One time, I teased her relentlessly until she scratched my face and made my lip bleed.

I was hard for a week after that.

“Only speaking the truth. You know you’re thinking it.”

She glares at me, breathing hard—but suddenly she sits back and slumps her shoulders forward. “Dick. You don’t have to say it out loud.”

My eyebrows raise. What just happened? Normally, she’d flip out on me, but she looks like she’s resigned herself to something.

Like she knows something I don’t.

“Did your father show you a picture of the Russian? I hope he’s good looking, but you never know.”

“Forget about the Russian.” She looks away from me toward the pool. “I made a deal with Papa.”

“You made a deal?” I sit very still. Did the princess seriously get out of doing the one thing that makes her worth something to the Famiglia?

All her life, Karah’s been spoiled. As long as I’ve known her, she’s been the family’s little princess and her father has doted on her like she’s worth more than all their jewels and art and money combined.

And now her father asks her to do one thing for the Famiglia, one fucking thing, and she manages to get out of it?

Anger simmers in my guts.

I know this family is a nightmare. I know they’re corrupt and bloodthirsty tyrants—but they’re mostly fair. They treat their men with loyalty and honor so long as they get that back in return. And they pay well, which helps.

But this? Karah should be shackled to that fucking Russian. Not lying next to the pool, looking relieved.

“I have to marry someone,” she says chewing on her lip. “But I get to choose who. Someone in the Famiglia. Someone that my Papa will approve of.”

I sit very, very still.

She’s looking for a man to marry in the Famiglia?

That won’t bring a new alliance or shore up an old one. It won’t bring more power or plunder or profits.

But it could help strengthen things from the inside. If she marries the right man—someone young and hungry and ruthless—that might add more strength to the inner circle of Famiglia men. And it would help if she gave her father a bunch of grandbabies.

“Have anyone in mind?” I ask because I can’t help myself.

“Not you, in case you’re wondering. I’d rather suck Russian dick for the rest of my life than marry you.”

I smile viciously and stand. “And I’d rather watch you suck Russian dick than be forced to fill your cold, dead pussy with my seed.”

“God, you’re gross.”

“Good luck choosing the right husband.”

“Yeah, whatever. Good luck being a douche.”

I walk away. I can’t sit there any longer. Why does Karah get whatever she wants, when the world has done nothing but take and take and take from me?

I resent her. I’m jealous of the ease with which she moves through life—so much like her brothers and Casso in particular.

She lived the idyllic childhood I was denied.

She’s pampered and loved and protected.