Bratva Sinner: A Possessive Mafia Romance Read online

  Her face turned pale as she clenched her jaw then looked out the window and didn’t speak as I drove back to my place. German kept an eye on her, gun still out, though held down low where nobody would notice it from the outside.

  Cara O’Shay. Gorgeous, perfect, incredible, tasty as all fuck, Cara O’Shay. Definitely more trouble than she’s worth. Definitely going to be a problem.

  But my problem.

  Now I had to figure out what I was going to do with her—and how badly the Lionetti family might want her.

  I glanced into my rearview again and felt a strange, tugging thrill in my gut, and knew that no matter what went down from here on out, nothing would ever be simple again.

  2

  Cara

  I sat in the back seat of this stranger’s car and kept asking myself one simple question: Why wasn’t I dead yet?

  The two men didn’t speak as they wove through the Philly streets. I kept glancing at Luke as he drove. He was a big guy with a handsome face and dark eyes that seemed to pierce deep into my chest. He could’ve finished me out in that alleyway, and I had a feeling most men in his position would’ve done it. Not that I wanted him to obviously—but I didn’t know what he wanted from me.

  Unless he knew about the dossier.

  I kept my mouth shut. I felt like I was dizzy, like my brain was disconnected from my body and my head was slowly floating up toward the roof of the car.

  I was probably in shock. I saw my dad’s corpse lying there in a pool of his own blood and felt something break inside of myself, like a support beam in the core of me snapping in half.

  And I didn’t even love my father.

  He was a drunk and barely ever around. I lived in his house only because my mother’s life insurance paid it off when I was a little girl. She died in a car accident suddenly, and that sent my dad spiraling into a long pit of depression, anger, drinking, stealing, and fighting, although I didn’t remember what he was like before all that. My mom died when I was a little girl, barely old enough to walk.

  My dad drifted in and out of my life, stealing from me when he could, making my life difficult in a million little ways, but I managed. I had neighbors that helped feed me and I took a million little odd jobs to pay for everything I needed. It wasn’t easy, going to school and trying to support myself, but at least the house was paid off and all I had to do was cover taxes each year.

  Still, my father made it hard. He’d show up for weeks at a time, sit around drinking for hours, then disappear onto the streets again. Sometimes he’d appear with money, or with stuff he stole, like a case of expired soda or multiple boxes of toilet paper, but mostly he rolled in off the street when he was sober enough to remember where we lived.

  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?”

  I looked away, down at my hands. “I know a little bit.”

  “Tell me what you know then.”

  I cleared my throat. “He stole something from important people. Not money, or else he would’ve given it back if he could. I knew he was afraid and he was sort of saying goodbye.”

  “That’s why you were at the bar, to say goodbye?” He sounded skeptical.

  But it was plausible, so I went with it. “More or less. It wasn’t the first time I’ve said goodbye to my father. H
e wasn’t exactly a popular man.”

  “No, he really wasn’t.” Another long pause as he took a drink then stared. His gaze was so disconcerting, not only because he held it on me like a magnifying glass in the sun, but also because it sent a strange chill down my spine. His lips were full, his jaw square, his arms muscular, his chest pressing against this shirt, and all I wanted to do was scream, run away, or strip down and throw myself at him.

  Definitely still in shock.

  “I was in the bathroom. When I came back out, he was gone, and one of those old guys told me he left with you two. That’s when I heard the gunshot and went running.” I gritted my teeth and finished the whiskey. I nearly gagged but kept control of myself. “And now here I am, sitting in your living room, trying to figure out what’s going to happen to me.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to you,” he said and looked over toward the blank television. “Here’s the thing. If you’re right, and your dad did steal something important, then people are going to be looking for you. I thought this shit was only about money, but maybe I was wrong.” He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “God damn, Lionetti. God damn, Justin.”

  I curled up on the couch again, knees to my chest. “Who do you work for, anyway?”

  His eyes opened and he looked at me. “I work for the Morozov family.”

  “Never heard of you.”

  He showed his teeth. “We’re small now, but we won’t be small forever.”

  “Are you the big boss?”

  “No, I’m not. Only one boyevik among many.”

  “Then who is in charge? Maybe if I can talk to him—”

  “The Pakhan isn’t interested in little shit like you.” Luke shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “No, you’re my problem, and I intend on handling you myself.”

  “So I’m stuck here then.”

  “Until I decide what I’m going to do with you.” He stood up suddenly and nodded toward the stairs. “Come on, I’ll get you set up in my spare room.”

  I hesitated, then unfurled myself and went up with him. Every instinct told me to get away, but I was too frazzled and shocked to do much more than go along with whatever he wanted.

  The second floor was warm, but equally cozy and clean. The guest room was at the end of the hall and had a queen bed piled with blankets and pillows, a bookshelf crammed with paperbacks, a small TV on a dresser, and two nightstands. It looked like someone put some care into decorating at least, and I found it hard to believe that it was him.

  “Not much, but it’s yours for now.” He nodded toward the door. “Bathroom’s in the hall. There’s only the one, so we’re sharing.”

  “Great,” I said, but didn’t care. I was used to sharing with my father when he came stumbling back home drunk out of his mind.

  That wasn’t ever going to happen again, since he was dead.

  “Get yourself settled,” he said, turning away. “We’ll get you clothes and all that shit soon, but for now, hang here. I have to make some calls.”

  “Wait,” I said before he could leave. He hesitated in the doorway, watching me again with wary eyes. I stepped toward him and had the sudden, crazy urge to reach out and touch his cheek or to press my hands flat against his ripped chest, and instead I tugged at the hem of my shirt and looked away. “I guess I should thank you for keeping me alive.”

  “You could, if you wanted.”

  “But I’m not going to.” I met his gaze, forcing some resolve into my stare. “You still killed my dad, even if he was an asshole.”

  Luke only laughed and left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

  I collapsed onto the bed, trembling with fear, excitement, anger, remorse, anguish—or some horrible combination of them all. I curled up, pulled pillows around me, against me, built a little nest for myself, and tried to figure out what I was going to do.

  The ladies’ room at Daly Drinker might hold the key.

  But there was no way I’d get back in there without Luke following me. He seemed like a thug, but there was something smart lurking beneath that rugged, angry exterior. He was going to watch me closely, and there was no way I’d get within ten feet of that bar without him finding out.

  Which meant I had to find some other way to get that file back.

  3

  Luke

  Babin sat crossed legged on the stoop and took a long drink from a vodka bottle wrapped in a paper bag. He passed it over to me and I took a pull, since it was rude as hell to turn down a man’s drink like that.

  “Been a while, Luke,” he said, squinting at me. He was older, in his fifties, with a craggy, pitted face and a scruffy white and red beard. He wore sweats with stains on the thighs and a sweatshirt that was too big for his skinny frame.

  He was an artist type, loved to paint, and was a long-time addict deep into heroin. The guy knew everyone on the street though, and sometimes went weeks out in the homeless encampments just because he could. He knew all the dealers, all the players, and anyone in between. I came to him from time to time with cash in hand and questions that needed answering, and since we got along, he was happy to tell me what he could.

  “I’ve been busy,” I said, shrugging. “You know how it goes.”

  “I hope those Morozov guys haven’t been pushing you too hard.”

  I grunted. “My bosses are fair as always.”

  “I bet.” He grinned, showing crooked, yellow teeth. “Whatcha got for me today, eh?”

  I passed him a small stack of twenties. “Got an easy question for you.”

  He eyed the money with a frown. “Must be real easy.”

  “I killed Justin O’Shay yesterday,” I said casually, looking down at my fingernails. “Took his daughter in under my protection.” German was back at the house, making sure she didn’t run away.

  “I heard about that. There’s some drama going down around poor old Justin.”

  “What’s the word on him?”

  Babin licked his lips then grabbed the cash like a lizard catching a fly. “Word is he took something important from the Lionettis.”

  “I thought it was money.”

  “That was the story at first,” Babin said, passing me the bottle. I took another drink and handed it back. “But apparently now they’re telling the truth. Stupid, dumb fuck Justin took something important, and they really want it back.”

  “What’s that have to do with the girl?”

  “No clue,” he admitted, shrugging. “All I know is, a few crews are out looking for her right now. I think the Lionettis believe she knows where that thing is.”

  “What did Justin take, exactly?”

  Babin hesitated and took a drink. I slipped him another couple twenties, which disappeared into his pocket. The poor bastard would be rolling in heroin for the next few months at least now.

  “Some files,” he said, shaking his head. “Papers and shit. Some dossier. I don’t really know what’s on it, but the Lionetti family says they’ll pay anyone a lot of money that can bring back the girl along with a folder full of paper. That’s all they’re saying.”

  “That’s vague as hell,” I said softly, more to myself. The Lionettis didn’t normally give jobs like that. They were a straightforward crew and ran their work like professionals. If they hired someone, they told them exactly what they wanted and what they were looking for, no bullshit, no games.

  The fact that the Lionettis have crews out looking for some vague folder and won’t give details about the thing means it’s very, very serious, and I dove headfirst right into the middle of it all.

  Just my luck.

  “You’ve been helpful,” I said, patting Babin’s knee. “Don’t get yourself killed, all right?”

  “Don’t you worry. I’m a professional when it comes to dosing. No more, no less, that’s my motto.”

  I stood up and stretched. Babin took a long chug from the vodka bottle and let out a satisfied breath.

  “One more thing,” I said.
“Is Maher looking for the girl?”

  “Of course he is. You know Maher’s involved if you’re anywhere in the vicinity of something.”

  “I really hate that guy.”

  “He really hates you too. I don’t know why you two boys don’t just kiss and get it over with.” He cackled as I punched him in the leg then walked off. I left him half groaning, half laughing, clutching at his thigh. He’ll be bruised tomorrow, that asshole.

  He was right though. Maher and me, we’ve been stalking around each other for years. We grew up together, went to the same schools, had the same friends, but we never got along, not back then and not now. He fell in with the Doyles and I took in with the Morozov, and slowly our rivalry progressed over the years until now we want to kill each other more than anything in the world.

  I couldn’t remember how it started. Probably some girl, or maybe drugs or money. It didn’t matter though. If Maher was looking for Cara, that meant he’d find her sooner or later. That guy had a sixth sense when it came to me.

  I headed back to the house. German was sitting in the living room watching boxing on TV. He grunted as I came in and held up a glass of vodka toward me.

  “You and fucking Babin, drinking in the middle of the day,” I said, heading into the kitchen.

  “It’s just vodka,” German said, following me. “What’s your problem?”

  “The girl didn’t tell us the whole story.” I crossed my arms and paced. “Where’s she at right now?”

  “In her room like a sullen teenager. What do you mean, she didn’t tell us everything?”

  “Justin stole something important from the Lionettis. Some sort of file or dossier, Babin didn’t know what exactly, but apparently the Lionettis want it badly.”

  German grunted and stroked his chin. He needed a shave. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking she knows something. I’m also thinking she’s a serious liability.”

  “She always was.”

  “But I thought it was because the Lionettis would want to get their money back from her. If something like a dossier or whatever’s involved, that means real trouble.” I stopped pacing and nodded past him. “I need to talk to her.”