Promised to the Killer: A Dark Mafia Romance Read online

  Promised to the Killer

  BB Hamel

  Contents

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  Trigger Warning

  1. Siena

  2. Siena

  3. Maxim

  4. Siena

  5. Maxim

  6. Siena

  7. Maxim

  8. Siena

  9. Maxim

  10. Siena

  11. Maxim

  12. Siena

  13. Maxim

  14. Siena

  15. Siena

  16. Maxim

  17. Siena

  18. Siena

  19. Siena

  20. Siena

  21. Maxim

  22. Maxim

  23. Siena

  24. Siena

  25. Maxim

  26. Maxim

  27. Siena

  28. Maxim

  29. Siena

  30. Maxim

  31. Siena

  32. Siena

  Preview: Perfect Monster

  Also by 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.

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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.

  Chapter 1

  Siena

  They’re going to kill me when I get home. Tonight, I’ll make sure I don’t die a virgin.

  Only problem is, I have no clue what I’m doing.

  I’ve never gone out before. I mean, I had some friends growing up and we did the usual kid stuff—pizza, movies, shopping, that sort of thing—but always chaperoned by my father’s guards.

  There was always a dark shadow drifting in my wake.

  This is different. There’s no safety net. I’m alone, and nobody’s going to save me if this goes wrong. Not that it matters, since I’m dead already, but still.

  The bar’s an upscale spot tucked into the base of a professional high-rise right in downtown Dallas. I chose it because my father and his goons would never be caught dead in this part of town. The floor is covered in fake wood and the lights are dim and it feels like the kind of place old school movie stars would take their mistress.

  I sit at the far end of the bar and order a martini. I’m not much of a drinker and I feel like the bartender can tell. He places the glass down with a flourish and smiles from behind his thick, scraggly beard. “Anything else?”

  “That’s it.” I put my father’s Amex Black down. “Leave it open.”

  He grins, snatches it up, and stalks off. He probably thinks I have a lot of money or that he’s going to get a good tip.

  He’s right on both counts. Except the money’s not mine, and I don’t have permission to spend it.

  Fortunately, I won’t be around tomorrow to deal with the fallout.

  I cross my legs and sip my drink. I try to suppress a cough. It’s stupidly strong. What the heck is in a martini, anyway? Just straight vodka apparently. I regret it immediately, but the alcohol manages to loosen the thick, nervous brick in my guts, and lets me scan the room without feeling like I might pass out at any moment.

  I don’t know what I’m doing. My hands tremble as I smooth out the skirt of my short, low-cut dress. It’s tight and hugs my hips, and I bought it in a fit of madness as an old friend of mine from high school giggled and pressured me into keeping it. I look good, or at least I look like I’m starving for attention, and that’s the whole point: I want to draw as many hungry eyes as possible.

  I still feel so uncomfortable. My father would kill me if he knew I was owned this dress, much less that I was wearing it. That gives me a brief surge of satisfaction. Let him be angry. None of that matters anymore.

  I notice a few men lurking around. Most sit with groups of two and three, some of them already with girls. The majority are dressed like they just got off work—suits, ties, business casual, that sort of thing. I run my finger around the rim of my glass and try not to look too obvious as I watch three guys laughing loudly at a table nearby, and one of them catches my eye. He’s not too bad—clean-shaven, dark brown hair, decent navy suit. He looks like a hedge fund manager or a rich accountant. He’s the polar opposite of the men I grew up around, and maybe that’s what I need tonight.

  I look away and down at my hands. They’re shaking and I don’t know how to make them stop. I take another long sip of my drink and place it down as a large shadow slides into the stool next to mine and leans forward over the bar.

  My stomach drops. I notice the tattoos, and before they resolve into actual shapes, I panic. It’s got to be them already, my father’s boys, come to drag me back home. They caught me, followed me, found me somehow, and now? They’ll punish me. I’ll spend my last night on Earth bruised and battered.

  But then I hear his voice. Deep and rumbling. “Vodka and rocks.” It’s not a voice I recognize. I study his hands and stare at the stars tattooed on his knuckles and the other vague shapes that disappear into the sleeve of his shirt. The tattoos are familiar, but I can’t place them, and I’m frowning as he shifts toward me and tilts his head to the side.

  “See something you’re interested in?”

  I start and nearly jump from my chair. I blink and meet his eyes: ice-blue, like permafrost. His full lips tug upward, and his dark hair is slicked back casually with a slight wave. More tattoos poke out from the collar of his expensive suit, black and curling up his throat. A sunburst with a long bullet decorates the side of his neck. On the other side, another sunburst, but this one has a cross in the center.

  “I’m not sure,” I say stupidly. I’ve never done this before, and my body feels frozen. How do normal people go from total strangers to doing something so incredibly intimate?

  “Are you here alone, or are you meeting someone?”

  I touch the rim of my glass. “Alone. Hoping to meet someone, but I haven’t seen him yet.” I arch an eyebrow and try to be… sexy? Seductive? I’m trying to flirt and I have no clue if it’s working.

  He doesn’t seem to notice my awkwardness. His eyes flit over to the bartender as the guy returns with his drink and my credit card. I quickly take it and slide it into my clutch. The tattooed man sips his vodka and studies me like he’s ripping through my dress with his eyes. His gaze moves down my lips, to my throat, to my chest and along my hips and legs. He’s not subtle about it, and my spine shivers. Any other time and I’d find him outrageous and offensive.

  But tonight, I’m not being myself.

  Tonight, I’m not Siena Bastone. I’m not a sheltered twenty-two-year-old with no experience in the world, let alone with men.

  For one night only, I’m someone strong, clever, outgoing, and flirtatious. I’m the kind of girl that accepts a deep, probing stare from a wildly handsome man without blushing—too much, anyway.

  I think of the guys at the table behind us. The nice boys in their good suits. Handsome boys. They’d probably buy my drinks and ask polite questions. Maybe even one of them
would take me home and give me what I want.

  But this man, the one with his straight vodka and ice-blue eyes, he’s the kind of man that rides the line between sinfully sexy and outright dangerous. I’ve known men like him all my life—though admittedly, none so attractive—and I know what he’s about.

  Drinking. Eating. Fucking.

  That’s what I’m here for. Minus the drinking and eating.

  In some other life, I could go sit at that other table, smile and laugh, hear their stupid stories from their fraternity days. I could be a normal person.

  But that’s not my life.

  And I don’t have much of it left.

  My stranger quirks his lips. It’s astonishing how gorgeous he is, and that frightens me. “What’s your name?” he asks.

  I consider lying. It might help with the whole being-someone-else thing. But it doesn’t matter. Dead girls aren’t remembered.

  “Siena,” I say. “What about you?”

  “Maxim.” He tilts his head slightly and offers me a hand.

  I accept it. His palm is warm and large, and the skin along his fingers is covered in hard calluses. He doesn’t look like he works outside, but I can think of a few other reasons why his hands would be rough.

  “You said you were looking for someone tonight,” he says quietly, still holding my hand. He leans closer and I catch a whiff of his scent: grassy, musky, and warm. His breath is a mix of mint and vodka. My heart races and a bead of sweat rolls down my back. Good thing I’m wearing black. It’s fitting, really. I’m mourning my own life.

  “I might be. I’m on a sort of… mission.”

  “And what mission is that?”

  “I’m not sure I should say. I don’t know you at all.”

  He gives me another lopsided smile. “What do you want to know, Siena?”

  I chew my cheek and shake my head. “I don’t know. I’m not really sure what I’m doing.”

  He releases me finally, and it’s like I can breathe again. I pick up my drink and take another swallow. It burns, but the warmth spreads and I loosen up a little.

  “You’re nervous. You don’t come out alone very often, do you?”

  “Never.” I tug at the hem of my dress. “You’re observant.”

  “It’s a talent of mine.” He sips his drink, considering me. “You keep looking around, but you said you’re here alone. You’re flirting, but you’re not comfortable with it. I’m trying to figure you out, but I’m not quite there yet.”

  My eyes narrow. “Who says I’m flirting?”

  “I do. Am I wrong?”

  I say nothing. I take another sip. More courage. What’s the deal with this guy? It’s like he’s playing with me, and I can’t tell if I like it.

  “I’m not wrong then,” he says, nodding to himself. “All right, then I’ll guess. I think you’re the long-lost heir to an ancient Italian fortune. You escaped your oppressive grandmother, and now you’re lying low in Dallas. You’re looking for muscle to hire to take down your enemies in order to reclaim what you’ve lost. Am I close?”

  I laugh softly and nod. “That’s exactly it. There’s gold buried in the hills of Lombardy for any man strong enough to claim it. Are you that man, Maxim?”

  “Siena, I’d kill a thousand evil grandmothers to give you whatever you want.”

  I grin stupidly and tug at my hair. “I didn’t realize you were such a hero.”

  He clucks his tongue. “No, I’m no hero. I’m a wicked monster with a heart of gold and a tongue made of platinum. I’ll kill for you and give you the treasure, and in the end, you’ll fall in love with me. But be careful, Siena. I will break your heart.”

  “Maybe I’m looking for a broken heart.”

  “Now I’m sure you’re flirting.”

  “Good. I’m not being subtle.” I cross my legs and lean toward him. I sip my drink. “Can I guess what you’re doing here? Since you figured out my story so easily, it’s only fair.”

  He gestured. “Please, go ahead.”

  “I think you’re an escaped convict. Those tattoos suggest you have a criminal background. You did ten long years for forging, theft, and murder, and now you’re back to the bar where your life of crime began. You’re searching for the one thing that can save you from a future of misery and loneliness, but I’m telling you, Maxim, you’ll never find it here.”

  “And what exactly am I looking for?” he asks, licking his lips. I stare at his tongue and suck in a sharp breath.

  “You’re looking for love. But you’re only going to find lust tonight.”

  He shifts closer. I think I’ve lost my mind. What in the world am I doing? This story thing is driving me crazy and my heart’s racing. The way he looks at me makes my knees tremble, and every time I move, I get slightly closer, like I can’t help but be drawn near.

  His eyes bury into mine. His lips are full and delicious, and I wonder if they’re as soft as they look, in contrast to the rest of him, which is all hardness and danger.

  My pulse races and I think my heart might jump into my throat, but this is the moment.

  I’ll never get another. There is no tomorrow. There’s only tonight and what little bit of pleasure I can find in this miserable and broken world.

  There’s only this man and whatever we can give each other. Even if our stories are a lie, I wrap them around myself like a protective blanket and fall deeper into the mystery.

  I reach out and put my hand on his knee.

  He stiffens. He doesn’t move and doesn’t draw back, but his eyes narrow. He looks at me for three sharp beats of my heart before he covers my hand with his own—and slides it further up is leg, midway up his thigh.

  “Are you sure you want to play this game?” he says and the bar disappears. There’s only Maxim and those terrifying eyes staring into mine.

  “This is the only game I’ve got left.” I’m not sure if he’ll understand what I mean. I can’t imagine he would.

  But he seems to accept that. “I’m not the kind of man pretty girls like you normally get involved with.”

  “And what kind of girls do you normally go for?”

  “Ones that are already broken.”

  My fingers dig into the muscle beneath his finely tailored suit. “Then I’m perfect for you.”

  He holds my eyes with his and we don’t move. I can feel my pulse between my legs and my breath catches in my throat. He picks up his vodka and throws it back in one smooth motion, drinking the rest of it down. When he’s finished, he places the glass back, and shifts my hand into his.

  He squeezes gently and moves closer. Our legs touch and I feel a sharp electric shock run down the length of my body like a shiver.

  “Tell me something. When I get your treasure for you and defeat your evil grandmother, what will you do?”

  “I’ll buy a castle with a big, protective moat. I’ll fill it with books.”

  “Books? That’s all?”

  “I’ll hire knights to keep me safe forever.”

  “Sounds inconvenient.” He purses his lips. “You’ll trade one kind of captivity for another.”

  I shrug and look down at my hand in his. “Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.”

  He reaches out and lifts my chin up to meet his gaze. “Think bigger, little princess.” He turns and gestures for the bartender. He tells the guy to close out our tabs and put my drink on his bill. The bartender hurries off to get us settled. Maxim releases my hand and I quickly take another sip of my martini. It’s nearly empty and the alcohol creates a pleasant fog in my brain.

  Or maybe that’s the intoxicating smell of Maxim and the feeling he gives me when our bodies touch.

  The bartender returns. Maxim signs and leaves a tip in cash. He stands and reaches out a hand.

  “Come,” he says. “Let’s go find your treasure.”

  I look into his eyes. They’re hard and tortured, not at all the look of a man about to take me home to give me pleasure. I wonder if this is a big mistake. I could re
turn to my father’s house and await my punishment. Maybe he’ll be lenient. Or maybe I can try to run and live somewhere far from all this.

  I take Maxim’s hand.

  There’s no mercy for me. There’s no escape. I stand, smooth out my dress, and take some small joy in the way his gaze roams my body again. There’s a hungry, wolfish turn to his mouth as he leads me from the room.

  I look back at the table of accountant boys. They look so happy and clean-cut. One of them says something and the other two laugh. They drink beer. They probably have retirement accounts and nice, respectable girlfriends.

  That’s a life I’ll never have.

  Maxim’s hand tightens in mine like he’s reminding me that I’m with him. That I’m his tonight. I look at the stars on his knuckles, and I know what they mean.

  Ink for blood.

  “There’s a hotel across the street,” he says. “I stay there sometimes when I don’t want to go home after working late.”

  “You work in this building?”

  He nods as we step outside. “I planned on getting a room.”

  “Should we have another drink?”

  “If you’d like.” He leads me across the street, walking fast. I have to hurry to keep up, my heels clacking with each step. I’m awful at walking in them, but he doesn’t seem to notice. We enter an expensive-looking lobby with lots of marble, furniture that looks exceedingly uncomfortable, and expressionless, model-attractive women behind the desk. When Maxim asks for a room, they seem to know him.