Bratva Sinner (A Possessive Mafia Romance)

Finally, though, all his bullshit caught up with him.

I felt torn. He was a bastard and I hated his stinking guts, but he was still my dad. I knew he’d die one day, and figured that day would be sooner rather than later, but he still seemed invincible despite how much he drank and all the bad situations he put himself into.

I didn’t know how to feel about his death.

I knew he deserved it at least.

Luke parked the car and looked back at me. “Are you going to run?”

I hadn’t even considered it yet. “No,” I said.

“She’s going to try,” German said. “Give her a minute and she’ll bolt.”

“She won’t.” Luke frowned at me. “You’re smarter than that, right? You realize the streets aren’t safe for you, right?”

“I realize you killed my dad and now you kidnapped me.” I didn’t know why I was pushing back so hard, but my heart raced in my chest, pumping fast and making me breathe in short, quick gasps, and I couldn’t think straight.

Still in shock.

“Told you, she’ll run.” German got out and walked up the stoop of a simple row home.

Luke stared at me. “I know this is hard, but understand that if you don’t come with me right now, you will die out there. You want to end up like your dad? Dead because you’re too stupid to do the right thing?”

I clenched my jaw. I wanted to scream at him, but he was right and I knew it. Dad was dead because he stole from the wrong people, and now I was paying the price for his mistake.

“I won’t run,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Good.” Luke got out and followed after German.

I went last and stepped into a quiet, cozy-looking home. German closed and locked the door behind me then headed into the kitchen. I stood in the living room in front of a big leather couch across from a TV on my left. Stairs disappeared into the second floor and I could see one open door at least up there. The walls were painted in muted colors and there was a surprising amount of houseplants lined up near the windows.

Luke tossed his keys on a side table then placed his gun on the windowsill next to the door. He nodded at me.

“Make yourself at home,” he said.

“You live here?”

“Sometimes.” He shrugged. “I’ve got a few places around town. This one’s the quietest.” He pointed to the couch. “Sit down. You want something to drink?”

I shook my head and sat, curling my knees up to my chest. I didn’t know what I was doing here, but every time he ordered me to do something, I felt like it was easier just to go along and do it. Maybe he was right, maybe I was safer here, or maybe these guys were about to do something horrible to me.

I didn’t think so, though. Not based on the way Luke looked at me, with that wild intensity.

He disappeared after German into the kitchen. I heard them speaking quietly to each other. German left through the back after a minute then Luke came out with two glasses of something brown. He put one in front of me on the coffee table and sat in an old, beat-up recliner.

“Drink,” he said, tipping his own glass back.

“I’m not in the mood.” I stared down at my hands. “My dad’s dead. I always knew he’d end up dead, but it’s weird that it’s real.”

He grunted. “I know what you mean.”

“Do you?” I glared up at him. “Did someone kill your parents then kidnap you too?”

“You’re not kidnapped,” he said, pointing at the door. “Feel free to leave.”

I worked my jaw. “You know what I mean.”

“My parents are both dead. I’ve been on my own for a long time. So yes, I know what it feels like to lose something.” He stared at me without an ounce of pity in his eyes.

That asshole.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, leaning forward to grab the drink. It was whiskey, all right, and burned on the way down. Cheap stuff.

“I haven’t decided that yet. All I know is, Maher would’ve killed you too and sent your body off to the Lionetti.”

“Maher?” I shook my head. “I don’t know who that is.”

“He’s a gangster. Works for the Doyle family. And he’s a real fucking piece of shit.”

I stared at him. “You’re calling him a piece of shit? You shot my dad in the head.”

“True, but I didn’t shoot you.” His eyes bore down against me like hammers. “Do you wish I had?”

“No,” I said. “But it’s very pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think?”

“We’re both gangsters, that’s true, but Maher only cares about making money and not much else.” He took a long pull from his glass. “What I want to know is why you were there with your dad at all. Do you know what he did?”