Scandalous Prince (Mafia Royals 2)

Violet

I should have stayed at the bar like I was told. Instead, I decided that I wanted to dance a bit, or a lot, since I was only ever allowed to dance with my dad at political events.

I’d never even been to a club that wasn’t owned by someone my family owned—and they rarely let me go to Andrei’s by myself, for good reason.

I knew the sort of depraved things that went on here. As much as my dad tried to protect me. You can’t protect your eldest daughter from the horrors of a sex club you helped protect day in and day out.

My dad was both a hero and a villain; he played whatever role he needed to in order to keep the Family safe, and now that we were even more in the public eye, I worried about the toll it would take on the great Chase Abandonato. Other politicians called him the Dark Horse.

They had no clue how right they were because the minute he threw his hat in the game, it was already over, already won, a parade already planned.

Because he was Chase Abandonato.

And they would always be beneath him—beneath our Family.

I wasn’t able to dance long. I held my rum and coke in one hand and tried to maneuver my body through the sweaty people to get to where I saw some space when it happened.

A hand over my mouth—leather gloves protecting his fingers.

And an arm around my waist picking me up like I was a rag doll he’d just purchased and was in a hurry to get home.

My drink fell to the floor with a loud crash.

But nobody heard it break.

Just like nobody heard my scream.

Because the people in that club were used to that sort of thing. The way they saw it, I was probably already bought and paid for by whomever had just taken me.

“You won’t get away with this!” I yelled.

“Muzzle it.” He snapped back, his breath was foul as he yelled in my ear, he smelled like old cigars, whiskey, and something tangy that made me gag.

He carried me kicking and screaming past the dance floor, meaning Tank didn’t see a thing, and neither did my favorite bodyguard of Andrei’s, Ax.

“My father’s going to kill you!” I added in for effect because he would, and the fact that he’d make it painfully slow was the only thing that calmed me.

Because even if I died like this.

His death? This man carrying me?

It would be unimaginable.

That was a fact.

Something my dad promised me over and over again when I was a child expecting a fairy tale—he always swore he’d avenge me in the most bloodthirsty way, and for some reason, that’s what put me to bed at night with a smile on my face.

My daddy’s bloody promise.

My daddy’s oath of honor and revenge.

We made it to one of the metal doors, he knocked twice, and when it opened, it revealed both Andrei and Breaker in a room with five other men.

I breathed a sigh of relief when Andrei’s expression turned hard. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I want proof.” He set me on my feet and then wrapped a blindfold around my eyes before I could memorize the faces of the other four men, one of them was younger than the others; he had brownish hair and was muscular; that stood out against the older men’s wrinkled faces. But that was all I noticed.

“Proof?” Andrei spat. “Careful, you do realize who you’re speaking to?”

“I do, and that’s why we need proof.” A deep Russian accented voice spoke up. “You say you’re still in the trade, and yet, your alliance with the Italians is, shall we say, extremely disconcerting.”

A laugh erupted from someone, and then Andrei voiced. “And I should be concerned that you’re uncomfortable because…?”

“Because there are whispers of the great Andrei Petrov going soft, being, how did they put it… oh yes…” He laughed. “…fucking domesticated.”

This was bad.

Really bad.

I jerked against the man again but flinched when something sharp pricked my arm and then went deeper.

“What the hell did you give me?” I roared.

“Just something to make it easier to hold onto you… Jacko’s getting old, and you’re struggling isn’t helping,” a smooth voice said.

I didn’t recognize that voice, but it sounded… friendlier…

My body suddenly felt like it weighed a thousand pounds as I slowly slumped back against my captor. It was like he’d put me in a dreamlike state.

I was there.

But I was also somewhere else.

I didn’t like the lack of control, and I hated that the voices were even harder to focus on now.

“…it has to be a Petrov,” one said.

“…you know the price must be paid, pure of blood…”

What? What pure blood?

“He will do it.”

“I need proof, damn it!” someone yelled.

I shook my head. Focus. Just focus on something familiar.