Broken by Sin: A Dark Mafia Romance Page 2

  “What if I find someone else to marry?” It’s desperate, I know, but the thought of going off to some faraway place to marry a total stranger is more terrifying than anything I can imagine. I like my life, I like my home, my brothers, my little desert world. I like it here, and I don’t want to give it up for anything.

  “There’s nobody else. You know as well as I do—”

  “Someone in the Famiglia.” Desperate, so desperate. Papa can see right through me.

  His lips quirk. “I thought we’re all a bunch of filthy gangsters.”

  “You are, but I’d rather marry someone I know than a stranger. Please, Papa. You want to marry me off? Let me choose.”

  “Karah—”

  “I’ll choose soon. I swear it. Give me a week, and I’ll pick someone from the Famiglia. Someone good. Someone you’ll be happy with.”

  This is absurd. I know it’s crazy. The whole point of marrying me off is to make an alliance with another mafia family. Letting me pick my future husband from among our business won’t strengthen anything at all.

  But I’m so desperate, I’m willing to try anything at this point.

  “You know I can’t,” he says quietly, shaking his head.

  “Please, Papa.” I take a step closer. I feel a stone in my throat the size of a softball and I think I might throw up. “I’m asking for a favor. One final favor, and after this I’ll never ask anything from you again. I know you’ve been soft on me, and I’m begging you to give me this one final chance.”

  He closes his eyes. “Karah. It doesn’t work like that.”

  “Please, Papa.”

  He sighs and rubs his face. For one long, silent moment, I picture my life somewhere far away, tethered to a strange man I barely know, rotting in a family that doesn’t love me and views me as little more than expedient currency. It’s a nightmare, one I’ve always known might be my fate, and now that it’s here, all I can think about is escape.

  “One week,” he finally says and releases a long breath. “If you can find someone suitable in a week, I’ll change my plans with the Novalov family. It may cost me dearly, but I love you, Karah.”

  “Papa, thank you.” I rush to him as tears stream down my cheeks. I hug him tight, my massive bear-like Papa. He hugs me back tightly.

  “I am too soft on you, girl,” he says quietly. “I’ve been too weak with you, but that’ll change from now on. Do you understand me?”

  “I understand.”

  He pulls me away and looks into my eyes. “You’ll grow up after this. No matter what happens, whether you marry the Russian or find someone suitable, you will grow up.”

  “Yes, Papa. I promise.”

  “Then you have a week. I hope you have someone in mind.”

  I only smile and extract myself from his big mitt-sized hands. “You know me, boy crazy.”

  He laughs and sits back down in his chair, already absorbed in his work.

  I leave his study and stand in the relative cool of the hallway, tucked back into the shadows of the doorway. The house is still and quiet, only the sound of the staff in the kitchen preparing dinner echoes up from the kitchens.

  I don’t fully understand why Papa gave in so easily—why he’s giving me this opportunity or why he’s always been so gentle with me. The others all notice and complain about it, especially Casso. Nico even teases me ruthlessly every time Papa bends his rules ever so slightly to make my life just a little bit easier. Everyone knows Papa has a soft spot for me, and I’ve never questioned it before, at least until today.

  Now I have to wonder—why would he do this?

  Why risk angering a potential ally and a rival family?

  It doesn’t matter. I can either accept that he has his reasons or I can obsess over what they might be, but either way I’d better find a husband and do it fast.

  One week.

  I have no clue who I’m going to marry, but I have one week to figure it out—or I’ll be sold to some stranger and shipped away from my home forever.

  Chapter 2

  Nico

  Walking through Villa Bruno is like skinny dipping in snake-infested waters. Except I’d rather get my cock bitten off by a cobra than have to spend my life smiling and nodding and pretending like everything the old shit Don Bruno has to say was pure gold.

  This isn’t forever. I won’t let it be.

  I hurry down the basement steps. As I walk, the overhead lights turn on like I’m in some kind of movie, the depths illuminated in a ghostly white glow. I reach the concrete landing and step into a large room with six-inch-thick poured concrete walls packed with tables, each one covered in row after row of cash.

  It’s like the basement vault in a bank.

  Except there’s more money.

  I remember the first time I saw the Famiglia’s treasure stash. It was years back when I was new to the Bruno family and just starting to get close to Casso. He brought me down here to brag—I still remember the stupid grin on his face and the casual way he took a stack of twenties and shoved them into my hands saying, here you go, you earned this, just don’t tell my papa—but all I see now is endless horror.

  Cash, cold hard cash, the product of the Bruno family’s hard work.

  All of it dripping with blood.

  I bypass the nearest table and walk over to a clipboard tossed casually beside an industrial-sized counting machine. Numbers are written in a tight script down the side and I quickly pick up the pencil as I scan down the list. The room’s dead silent and I can hear footsteps above—staff, family, whatever.

  Better be fast then.

  I make a few small changes, turning sevens into nines and eights, ones into sevens and nines, and on and on until the count is so thoroughly fucked they’ll have to redo the whole thing a dozen times just to make all this shit add up.

  I don’t feel better when I turn away.

  The door above opens and I freeze. I don’t move, listening intently as someone starts down the steps. I walk away from the clipboard and pause in front of the cash at the far side of the room, my jaw clenched tight.

  I’m allowed down here—I help with various things for the Bruno Famiglia, including taking care of their vast reserves of paper bills—but it’s unusual for me to be here alone. My heart double-beats and I prepare myself for possible violence, a specter that haunts my every waking moment.

  Casso comes into view and grins. “Enjoying the spoils, brother?”

  I smile back, relaxing marginally. I hate when he calls me brother. “Can’t help myself. Sometimes I come down here and just breathe. You know how cash smells?”

  “Smells like power.” Casso’s tall and broad with dark eyes, a lazy grin, and tattoos snaking up his throat, just like me. He’s got an easy demeanor like he expects the world to present itself at his feet like a supplicant before a king—and for the most part, it does.

  We have a lot in common, like a penchant for vice and killing and a reckless outlook on life, except he was born to wealth and power, and I was born to misery.

  “Were you hunting me down or did you come to steal some for yourself?”

  “I saw the light on and wondered who was admiring the plunder.” He walks to the nearest table and takes a few twenties. “But while I’m here.” He shrugs and turns back to the steps.

  If I did that, just casually stole from the Don of the Bruno Famiglia, they’d take me out back and shoot me in the head.

  If they knew what I’d done to the clipboard, they’d torture me before shooting me in the head, but that’s beside the point.

  Casso tosses a casual arm across my shoulders and steers me away. “Did you hear about the new restaurant?”

  “Your father opened it up across town. The boys say it’s nice.”

  “Extremely nice. Papa’s overpaying some fancy chef to cook pasta. Can you imagine? How many fucking restaurants do we need?”

  I laugh and pat his back. “I can imagine, brother. Your papa’s getting to the point where he cares mo
re about prestige than money.”

  Casso’s eye is sharp as he gazes at me. “Papa, yes, but me and my brothers? We still know what’s valuable.”

  “Blood and treasure.”

  “Blood and treasure,” he echoes and walks upstairs.

  I follow after, sparing only a glance at the clipboard.

  It’ll take them another few days to sort that out and someone will be severely punished for the mistake.

  But it won’t be me.

  One small gesture, like spitting at the sea.

  The house upstairs is quiet. The staff is busy cleaning the east wing, and Don Bruno’s out making the rounds of his properties. He’s an active Don, the sort of man that needs to get his hands dirty from time to time. I respect that and even admire him for it—a man of his age and prestige earned the right to sit back and relax.

  Not Don Bruno. He prefers to roll up his sleeves and do things the hard way.

  Just like I do.

  “Listen, I’ve got to make some calls. You hanging around?” Casso pauses near the hall that leads back to his office on the main floor. Staff members busy themselves nearby dusting priceless paintings hanging in overwrought gilded frames.

  It’s all excess and posturing.

  “Might as well. I haven’t seen Fynn or Gavino around.”

  “Fynn’s with Papa and Gavino’s out on some hike bullshit. He’s on a health kick.” Casso rolls his eyes. “I keep telling him all he needs is weights and protein but you know him, can’t hear a thing anyone else is saying. He’s gotta learn himself.”

  “Sounds like someone I know.”

  Casso grins and punches my shoulder. “You calling me stubborn?”

  “I’m calling you pigheaded.”

  “Bastard. I can have you shot for that.”

  “I’d love to see you try.”

  He barks a laugh and strides off with a wave. I wave back and my smile slowly slips from my lips. I release a pent-up sigh and stretch my neck.

  Fucking Casso. Fucking Gavino and Fynn and Don Bruno.

  I hate it here so much and it makes me sick how comfortable it’s all become.

  I walk to the back of the house. The staff members ignore me—they’re used to having me around by now, and anyway, they’re paid to be invisible and busy. I step out back into the blazing Arizona heat and shade my eyes.

  Twenty feet away, the pool lazily laps against the stone and tile exterior as little waterfalls spout from a retaining wall. Lounge chairs line either side, and sitting in one furthest away from the house is Karah Bruno.

  I study her, unable to help myself.

  She’s wearing this neon green bikini that makes her tan skin practically fucking glow. She shimmers in the powerful afternoon sunlight, body glistening with a sheen of sweat, her eyes covered by aviator sunglasses, her hands up above her head. Her dark brown hair’s pulled back and damp like she went for a swim not long ago, and one leg’s pulled up revealing her long, gorgeous thigh.

  My cock twitches at the thought of pulling that hair and making her lips part with a pained and surprised gasp.

  I walk toward her slowly. My heart beats a study thud. No matter how many times I come across Karah like this—and it must’ve been dozens by now—I can’t get over her breasts barely contained by that bikini top, or the line of her full lips, or the perfect curve of her little chin, or her small rounded shoulders, or the gorgeous line of her hips.

  I stop a few feet away and lean against the back of a chair, watching her silently, blood rushing a vicious pulse, and I wonder how long she could survive if I held her under water.

  A minute? Two? Three?

  Would she beg me to let her come up for air?

  I wouldn’t let her drown. Oh, no, there’s no fun in that, and besides, nothing gets me harder than a glimmer of fear in her eyes.

  She tips down the sunglasses and glares at me. “Are you just going to stare at me or what?”

  “I planned on enjoying the view for a while longer.”

  She sighs and looks away. “What do you want, Nico?”

  “I’ve got some time to kill so I thought I’d come pay you a visit.”

  “Not interested.”

  I smile and sit in the chair next to her, leaning forward on my knees. “Is this all you do, princess? You sit around the pool and get tan?”

  “Yes, asshole, it is. Now would you leave me alone?”

  “Let’s swim some laps together. See who can do the most.”

  “No, thanks. And you don’t have a bathing suit.”

  “Princess, I’ll kick your ass in dress shoes and slacks. Besides, when you look like I do, a bathing suit only gets in the way.”

  She snorts and shakes her head. “Doubt it. And still not interested.”

  I tilt my head, watching her carefully. Her lips quirk slightly and her eyebrows knit forward, which means she’s getting annoyed. In another minute or two, she’ll start tugging at her hair, pulling on the strands in an attempt to calm herself.

  There’s nothing I love more in this world than watching Karah Bruno squirm.

  It’s petty and small in the grand scheme of things. Pissing her off is a lot like fucking with the count down in the basement—annoying, traitorous, but ultimately meaningless.

  But it makes me feel better.

  Otherwise, I think I’d fucking hang myself.

  I can only pretend for so long before my rage sneaks out. Karah’s like my escape valve: I can vent as much of my frustration on her and she takes it like the good little princess she is.

  Because god forbid Karah Bruno does anything wrong.

  A hair out of place? A sloppy outfit? God, no, never.

  Not perfect little Karah.

  Perfect, worthless, empty little Karah.

  “How did your meeting with daddy go? Did he write you a check and kiss your toes?”

  “No, he didn’t.” Her frown deepens. “How did you know about the marriage thing?”

  “Casso told me.”

  “And Papa told him?”

  “He’s a part of the inner circle. Unlike you. Which means you’re, what? Less important than your brothers?”

  She tugs at her hair, squeezing some of the water onto her shoulder. There it is. My stomach does a flip as my eyes roam her body. She’s lean and beautiful, truly a gorgeous specimen, and that makes me want to bind her wrists to the headboard of my bed and mercilessly tease her body until she screams for a release that’ll never come.

  “That’s not true and you know it.” She doesn’t sound convinced. I smile at her and don’t bother arguing. Let her say what she wants—but I know what’s happening in that pretty little head. “Papa only knows that I can offer something else to the Famiglia.”

  “That’s right. Your body. You’ll go marry some Russian bratva asshole and pump out his babies and that’s all you’ll ever be good for, isn’t it?”

  “What the fuck is your problem, Nico?” She sits up straight and stops tugging at her hair. We’re almost at the last stage: total, complete rage. When that happens, all bets are off. My lovely princess can be unpredictable when I push her past her limits, and I love seeing what she’ll do next.

  Will she yell? Scream? Try to slap me? One time, I teased her relentlessly until she scratched my face and made my lip bleed.

  I was hard for a week after that.

  “Only speaking the truth. You know you’re thinking it.”

  She glares at me, breathing hard—but suddenly she sits back and slumps her shoulders forward. “Dick. You don’t have to say it out loud.”

  My eyebrows raise. What just happened? Normally, she’d flip out on me, but she looks like she’s resigned herself to something.

  Like she knows something I don’t.

  “Did your father show you a picture of the Russian? I hope he’s good looking, but you never know.”

  “Forget about the Russian.” She looks away from me toward the pool. “I made a deal with Papa.”

  “You mad
e a deal?” I sit very still. Did the princess seriously get out of doing the one thing that makes her worth something to the Famiglia?

  All her life, Karah’s been spoiled. As long as I’ve known her, she’s been the family’s little princess and her father has doted on her like she’s worth more than all their jewels and art and money combined.

  And now her father asks her to do one thing for the Famiglia, one fucking thing, and she manages to get out of it?

  Anger simmers in my guts.

  I know this family is a nightmare. I know they’re corrupt and bloodthirsty tyrants—but they’re mostly fair. They treat their men with loyalty and honor so long as they get that back in return. And they pay well, which helps.

  But this? Karah should be shackled to that fucking Russian. Not lying next to the pool, looking relieved.

  “I have to marry someone,” she says chewing on her lip. “But I get to choose who. Someone in the Famiglia. Someone that my Papa will approve of.”

  I sit very, very still.

  She’s looking for a man to marry in the Famiglia?

  That won’t bring a new alliance or shore up an old one. It won’t bring more power or plunder or profits.

  But it could help strengthen things from the inside. If she marries the right man—someone young and hungry and ruthless—that might add more strength to the inner circle of Famiglia men. And it would help if she gave her father a bunch of grandbabies.

  “Have anyone in mind?” I ask because I can’t help myself.

  “Not you, in case you’re wondering. I’d rather suck Russian dick for the rest of my life than marry you.”

  I smile viciously and stand. “And I’d rather watch you suck Russian dick than be forced to fill your cold, dead pussy with my seed.”

  “God, you’re gross.”

  “Good luck choosing the right husband.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Good luck being a douche.”

  I walk away. I can’t sit there any longer. Why does Karah get whatever she wants, when the world has done nothing but take and take and take from me?

  I resent her. I’m jealous of the ease with which she moves through life—so much like her brothers and Casso in particular.