Broken by Sin: A Dark Mafia Romance

  Broken By Sin

  BB Hamel

  Copyright © 2021 by B. B. Hamel

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design by Coverluv Book Designs

  Contents

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  Trigger Warning

  Prologue: Nico

  1. Karah

  2. Nico

  3. Karah

  4. Nico

  5. Karah

  6. Karah

  7. Karah

  8. Nico

  9. Karah

  10. Karah

  11. Nico

  12. Karah

  13. Karah

  14. Nico

  15. Karah

  16. Nico

  17. Karah

  18. Nico

  19. Karah

  20. Nico

  21. Karah

  22. Karah

  23. Nico

  24. Karah

  25. Karah

  26. Nico

  27. Karah

  28. Karah

  29. Nico

  30. Karah

  31. Karah

  32. Karah

  33. Nico

  34. Karah

  35. Karah

  Preview: Perfect Monster

  Also by BB Hamel

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  Trigger Warning

  This book contains graphic descriptions of sexual content, explicit violence, some mild drug use, and past trauma. These scenes were written to create a more vivid, in-depth experience, but may be triggering for some readers.

  Read at your own risk.

  Prologue: Nico

  Eighteen Years Ago

  The smoke’s so thick I can barely see the carpet beneath my feet as tiny embers of ash and flame drift down from the fire-drenched ceiling and I cry out as Mom slaps my back, dousing the flames on my shirt.

  A bone-deep ache covers my spine, and I cough and gag and spit, but Mom keeps tugging me harder toward the window. She’s scared, and I’m scared and in pain, and the fire’s getting closer and I don’t know what to do.

  Mom clutches my hands between her own. “You need to jump, baby.”

  We’re in the extra bedroom on the second floor. She pushes me toward the window at the far side.

  “Jump? Mom, I can’t, it’s too high.” I want to argue more but I start coughing.

  Mom shakes me roughly. “Nico, baby, there’s no other way. The fire’s too bad back there and it’s only the second floor. You have to do it.”

  “Where’s Dad? What happened? I heard yelling and then some fireworks went off—”

  “Nico, listen to me.” Mom grabs my shoulders and stares into my eyes. She’s terrified and I know she’s trying not to cry. I’ve never seen someone so scared before, and the fact that it’s my mom drives it deep into my core like a red-hot knife.

  Where’s Dad and why is there such a huge fire?

  Tears cut gray streaks down Mom’s smoke-drenched face so I try to be brave for her.

  “You have to jump,” she says, shaking me slightly. “Do you understand me? Please, baby. When I say so, you jump.”

  I love my parents. I love my house, and my room, and my videogames. Mostly my videogames. But I love the comfortable world they build me, the woods nearby, the stream deep beyond the trees, the bushes and the flowers. I love it all—and I’m so afraid I’m about to lose it.

  I just don’t understand what’s going on. Daddy’s missing and Mom’s freaking out, and the fire’s getting worse. Where’s Dad? Why aren’t there fire engines coming? I don’t hear sirens or anything, just the wild blaze and crackle of flames everywhere. There are men downstairs shouting in a language I don’t recognize. I can’t understand a word they’re saying, and Mommy seems so afraid.

  Mom pushes me aside and wrenches open the window. We both hang out of it, coughing hard and sucking clean air into our lungs. Deeper in the house, someone screams and yells and another loud bang goes off.

  It’s a firework, or a gunshot, or a firework.

  I’m dizzy and the forest beyond our house looks infinite in the night. Down below, Mom’s rose bushes seem to glow in the full moon.

  “What’s going on, Mommy? I don’t understand. Who are those men downstairs?”

  “Your father made a mistake. He did something stupid and now we’re paying for it.” Her eyes are wide and wild. “He never should’ve gotten involved with them. I told him again and again, don’t get involved, but he insisted. He said he could control it. He made things more complicated, and now we’re paying the price.”

  “Who, Mommy? Who’s downstairs?”

  “I don’t know, baby. I don’t know who they are.” She hugs me tight and turns me toward the window. “You have to climb out. Go ahead, I’ll help.” Mom pushes me and I stumble forward. I grab the cold ledge and hoist myself up on shaking arms. I grip the ledge so hard my fingers turn white and I feel the wood and vinyl cut into my skin. It hurts and I want to cry, but Mom’s crying so I can’t right now. I have to be strong for her, right? “Dangle like that. Good baby, good. Just hold on and when I say drop, you drop, okay?”

  “Mom, I’m scared. It’s too far.”

  “You can do it. Be brave, baby.”

  The door opens behind her. I hear it swing in and thump against the wall. More smoke pours out the window and I try to pull myself up to look but I’m not strong enough. Mom says something—Get away from us, you monster—but I’m not sure what I hear. There’s another scream, and Mom’s hanging out, staring down at me with wild eyes.

  “Drop, baby! Go! Run!”

  Someone grabs the back of her neck and yanks her back inside.

  I let go and drop. I fall fast and land hard in some bushes, and a thick branch tears a deep and nasty gash down the side of my face. Pain lances through my knees and my ankle, and I collapse to the ground, groaning with fear.

  Above, my mother screams.

  I stay there trembling. I’m in so much pain and my face is bleeding all over. I don’t know what’s happening—where’s Mom? Why hasn’t she followed yet?

  More fireworks go off upstairs. Another scream, this time I know it’s my mom, and I know those aren’t actually fireworks.

  They’re gunshots.

  I get up and stumble away from the house. I keep hearing my mother’s last screams as I run as fast and as far as I can, dripping blood down my neck and chest, staggering as I go.

  Chapter 1

  Karah

  When Papa finds out what I did, he’s going to kick me out of the family.

  Well, probably not. I am his only daughter, after all, and he’s a big softie at heart. Casso says Papa’s too easy on me, and maybe he’s right, but mostly I think Casso’s jealous since Papa nitpicks every one of his mistakes. Sometimes it’s good to be the oldest boy, but sometimes it’s a lot harder.

  Papa won’t toss me out on my own, but he’s definitely going to yell, and Papa’s terrifying when he yells.

  I hold my head up high as I march down the long hall that snakes along the spine of the Bruno family home. We call it Villa Bruno, even though there’s nothing provincial about our massive block-sized home in the heart of the Arizona desert a half hour outside of Phoenix. It’s a beastly construction of glass, wood, and slat
e, designed by some famous architect that loves the Southwest, so there’s plenty of turquoise and cacti and big natural red rocks jutting out all over the property. It’s beautiful, but it’s deathly hot. The house is like a maze even to me and I grew up in it.

  As I approach Papa’s study and prepare to get shouted down, a shadow steps out from the nearby rec room and pauses on my right. I slow and steel myself as Nico shows his perfectly white teeth and crosses his arms over his massive chest. Tattoos snake up his arms and disappear into his crisp white shirt. He’s always wearing suits, even in the oppressive desert heat. It’s like he doesn’t feel the temperature bearing down on him. Like his heart’s made of ice. I can’t remember ever seeing him sweat.

  “Where are you going in such a hurry?” he asks, his eyes sparkling.

  I raise my chin and steel myself. I know that tone: Nico’s in the mood to make me feel like shit once again. Sometimes I wonder why he’s always hanging around—he’s not part of my family, at least not my blood family.

  “Papa’s study. As much as I love our conversations, I can’t keep him waiting.”

  Nico laughs softly and leans against the walls, studying me. He always does that—stares like I’m a piece of fine art hanging on a gallery wall waiting to be picked apart and analyzed. It’s disconcerting, and I can never seem to get away from his oppressive staring.

  “I was just thinking about you, princess,” he says, head tilted, pretty lips pressed tightly together. “Your brother was talking about this little match of yours, and I’m curious how you’re going to weasel your way out of it.”

  My jaw twitches but I don’t let the discomfort show. “What match?” I ask carefully.

  His eyebrows raise. “You don’t know?”

  “Don’t play games with me right now, Nico.”

  “This is no game, princess. This is the word of the Don himself. Your father went and found you a husband.”

  I step forward and jab my finger into his chest. I feel nothing but hard muscle, but I’m too angry to stop myself from literally poking the bear and too dizzy with shock to think about how nice it feels to touch him.

  “That’s not true.”

  He snatches my finger as I try to poke him again. He squeezes hard and I release a surprised yelp. It doesn’t hurt—but it’s right on that edge of pain, and all he needs to do is push a little more to make me groan in agony.

  “Don’t touch me, princess.” His eyes blaze into mine and I know I crossed a line. Nico and I might bicker and fight, but we never touch, like there’s an invisible barrier holding us back. “If you want to call me a liar, go ahead and do it. But don’t poke at me like I’m some kind of fucking house servant.”

  I glare right back. This was a massive mistake—Nico’s not the kind of man I should be messing with, but I lost my temper and couldn’t control myself. Now I get to pay the price like always. I really should get into anger management or something.

  “Let me go, dickhead.”

  “No. I like watching you squirm. Little spoiled brat like you deserves some punishing every once in a while.”

  “Nico.” I glare at him, jaw working. “You want me to scream?”

  He leans closer. “I’d love it if you’d scream for me, princess.”

  “Asshole.” I rip my finger away. It hurts like hell but at least I’m free. I rub my knuckle as he watches me with an amused smile and I start to shift past him toward my father’s study.

  “Fair warning. He’s in a sour mood, so whatever you thought was about to happen is probably going to be worse.”

  “How do you know all this anyway?”

  He looks away. “Something with the business. I can’t say more.”

  “Oath of silence?”

  “Something like that. Famiglia shit, you know.”

  I roll my eyes. I know what the family business is. “You know, Nico, I can’t wait for the day when my papa assigns you somewhere far, far away and I never have to deal with your crap again.”

  “I highly doubt that.” He looks back at me and a smirk graces his pretty mouth. “You love it when I torture you and, princess, you’d better believe I love to torture.”

  “What you call fun, I call annoying and borderline harassment, so kindly fuck off,” I flip him off, turn on my heel, and march to my papa’s study.

  But his words linger. Nico is a lot of things—asshole, bully, conceited piece of shit, aggressive dickhead, so on and so forth—but he’s not a liar. So I’m more than a little concerned when I reach Papa’s study and knock on the intricately carved wooden door before turning the handle.

  It’s cool and quiet. Big, shaded windows line the top of the walls, beneath which bookshelves are packed to overflowing. A big desk sits on the left, and a fireplace that’s never used is on the right. I drift forward and Papa looks up from his laptop, a perpetual frown on his lips. He looks older every day—his thick hair is turning gray and thinning at the edges, and thick bags hang beneath his eyes. It’s all the stress from running the family business, and sometimes I wish my three brothers, Casso, Fynn, and Gavino, would step up sooner rather than later, just so Papa wouldn’t have to work so hard.

  But that’s not the way things are. Papa’s the head of the house and the Don of the Famiglia, and I’m just the little baby daughter, the least important person in the room at all times. And guys like Nico will never let me forget it—especially Nico himself, the asshole. It’s like that man was born to tease and bully me, and his words are lodged in my head like a record stuck on repeat, ticking away again and again—this little match of yours—and a cold fear sinks into my stomach.

  “Karah,” Papa says and gestures at a chair. “Please come and sit.”

  I walk over but I linger beside the chairs. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Papa?”

  He gives me a tight smile. “Do I need a reason to summon my youngest child? What if I simply wanted to see your shining face?”

  I gave him a big, cheesy smile. “There it is. May I go?”

  “Sit.”

  I sink into a chair and fold my legs beneath me. Papa studies me for a moment and I feel my cheeks beginning to turn red with anxiety. I hate that I always blush whenever I’m upset or nervous, but I can’t help it.

  “I’m sorry about the Amex,” I blurt out suddenly, unable to take the silence.

  Papa groans and rubs his face. “You’re pathetic. You couldn’t hold out for ten seconds.”

  “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have taken it. There was a sale—”

  “I don’t care about the credit card or the dresses.” He gives me a sharp look. “Under other circumstances, I’d be upset.”

  “I won’t do it again.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you will, but that won’t be my problem soon enough.”

  My heart starts to race. So Nico really wasn’t kidding. Papa’s finally gone and found me a husband after threatening to do just that for the last few years, and my days of lounging around Villa Bruno sketching with charcoal and swimming and being happy and carefree are finally over. My life as I know it will change, and change drastically, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it, no matter how badly I want things to keep going on like this. I’m the youngest and the daughter, and it’s my duty to marry, procreate, and be a good, happy mafia bride.

  I knew it wouldn’t last forever. Papa’s been saying since I was a little girl that one day I’d marry a man for the Famiglia. My brothers would give their lives to the business, and I’d do the same, only different. I used to think it was glamorous and imagined my husband as a dashing but dangerous man that doted on me wonderfully.

  But then I grew up and met more and more men in the business and realized I didn’t want to be married to a single one of them or a man remotely like them.

  “Who is he?” I ask quietly, almost too scared to say the words.

  Papa sighs and gently shakes his head. “His name is Jasha. He’s from a good family out in Texas—”

  “By good family do you mean
he’s a filthy gangster like the rest of you?”

  Papa’s eyes go wide with amusement. He stares at me in surprise and I have to put my hands over my mouth to keep myself from saying more. I’m so stupidly angry and it just burst out of my dumb face, and now I can’t take the words back even if I wanted to. I sit there terrified and I know Papa’s going to yell, but he only rubs his temple and is quiet for a real long time before speaking.

  “Karah, you’re twenty-two. You’ve lived in my house, under my roof, for a long, long time. I’ve been easy on you—don’t argue, we both know it’s true. But it can’t go on forever. Jasha Novalov is a good man, and his family is strong—”

  “Papa, he’s Russian? You’re selling me off to some strange Russian? You couldn’t have picked someone Italian?” Panic rises in my chest. “I don’t want to go. You can’t force me to marry someone against my will.” I jump out of the chair and back away.

  “Karah.” His voice is hard, sharper than the slate rock that dots the desert landscape. He stands and glares at me, my big, strong Papa. He’s gone gentler in his old age, but he’ll always be a massive mountain of a man, covered in thick dark hair and muscle, and with an undercurrent of vicious, deadly violence rippling below every move he makes. My name is like a rumble in his chest, like an earthquake. “You will do as you are told. You can’t be a child forever, girl.”