Promised to the Killer: A Dark Mafia Romance Page 3

  But yes, of course I am. I’m scared, but I’m excited. The fear makes the excitement that much sweeter. Slowly, I slide my soaking wet and totally ruined panties off and kick them aside.

  I’m naked. He’s naked. I’ve never stood naked with a man before.

  And this is a complete and utter stranger.

  He steps close and takes my right hand. He guides it to his cock. “You’re nervous,” he says, kissing my neck. “Should I go easy on you? I haven’t decided.”

  “Now I’m the one that’s afraid you mean to hurt me.”

  “Princess, I absolutely will ruin you, if you let me. But only if you beg first.”

  I bite my lip as he kisses my nipples. I stroke him nice and slow. God, he’s so hard. He’s pulsing every time I feel his tip. I roll his precum into my palm and stroke him faster. He lets out a soft grunt of pleasure, and I get a spike of excitement straight to my brain.

  He licks my nipples again and bites down. Not too hard, but enough to hurt. I suck in a sharp breath and he smiles and does it again. He bites my chest, my shoulder, and my lower lip—before he turns me around and pins me against the wall.

  “I want you here,” he whispers. “I think the bed’s too far away.”

  “It’s only a few feet. You seem like you’re in good shape. I think you’d make it.”

  He laughs and he spreads my legs. I gasp in surprise as his hand teases me from behind. I didn’t know if I could do this, not after coming already, but the pleasure’s there. It’s hotter, deeper, more intense than before, as if my orgasm only heightened everything swirling around inside me.

  Oh, god, it’s there, and it’s going to destroy me.

  His fingers roll through my folds and tease my clit before he fucks me with them again.

  From behind. Pinned against a wall. With a total stranger in his hotel room.

  I’ve lost my mind, and nothing matters.

  “I can do things most men could only dream of, but I’m also impatient. Let’s call it a character flaw.”

  “You, flawed? I never would’ve guessed.”

  “You have a mouth on you. I love it. I think I’d love it more wrapped around my cock.”

  “I think I’d love it more—” He presses two fingers inside and I gasp, my no doubt extremely clever retort entirely lost as he slides them in and out.

  “What were you saying, princess?” he whispers. “I believe you were praising my stamina, masculine good looks, and my skill with my tongue.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say, stupid with pleasure again and unable to think.

  But he seems to like that. He growls and I feel his cock press against my soaking entrance. I gasp in a breath, surprised and suddenly afraid, but he grips my hips and slides his shaft up and down my pussy, spreading me wide and getting his cock dripping wet and drenched with my juices. I moan and want him to keep going, just rub my clit with the tip of his cock—

  But he presses himself inside and my world explodes in an insane mix of pleasure and pain.

  I groan as he fills me. Slowly, god, so slowly. He’s being—gentle? Kind? I don’t know what he’s doing. I don’t even care. He groans and seems to like it as he pulls back and goes deeper, driving himself further and further with every slow thrust until he’s all the way inside of me. I pant, moaning, and he reaches around my hips to tease my clit. There’s pleasure and pain and it’s all mixing and mingling and I can’t think, I’m so blinded by the sensations drifting along my body in sparks and whorls and brightness.

  “I love it when you call me sir,” he purrs in my ear. “I want you to say it again.”

  “Sir.”

  “That’s right. Say it.”

  “Fuck me, sir.”

  “Say please.”

  “Please, sir. I want you to fuck me.”

  He grabs my hair and slides himself back. He fucks me in one rough stroke. In and out, in and out. I moan, and god, it fucking hurts—a sharp, burning pain that slowly, so, so slowly, resolves into something good.

  Something amazing.

  So this is sex? This is what I’ve been missing?

  I’m a dumb asshole for waiting.

  But I have a feeling sex with normal men isn’t like this.

  No, sex with monsters? That’s the way to go.

  I’m addicted. Like a candle to a flame, I’m burning. I’m lit up bright. He fucks me faster and I move my hips. I have no idea what I’m doing and I don’t care.

  His smell permeates everything. His growls and groans of delight drive me wild with lust. I want to make him feel good and I want him to fuck me until I’m screaming. Pain, pleasure, pain, pleasure—it’s all mixed up and I’m lost in him.

  He grabs my arm and takes me. He fucks me rough and fast and I think I’m going to explode as he rubs my clit again. I scream out his name—“Fuck, Maxim, please,”—and he keeps going with a guttural suck of air. I’m sweating, and taking him deep, and I come like a lightning bolt, my entire body twisting and writhing, and he fucks me through it, savage and growling, a beast and a nightmare.

  He pulls me from the wall. I’m kissing him, my body wrapped against his. God, how wet am I? I’ve never been this aroused in my life. We stumble back, through the living room, until he throws me on the bed.

  His eyes are burning. He stares at me as I crawl back. My hair splays all around as he comes to me, cock pulsing. I don’t know if I can handle more.

  He spreads my legs. I’ll find out.

  He pushes himself deep inside and leans forward, gripping my hair, his belly against mine.

  “I want to fill you, Siena,” he whispers in my ear. Hot and deep. He fucks me slow. “I want to come between your pretty legs. But I need to know. Are you on birth control?”

  “I hope so,” I say, digging my fingers into his back. “A little too late for that one.”

  He chuckles drily. “God, that mouth of yours.” He fucks me hard once, twice. Deep thrusts. It hurts and sends a blast of pleasure into my brain. “You don’t talk back when I’m fucking you though. I like that.”

  “I bet you do,” I say, scratching his back. He goes faster, taking me deep and rough, and I moan into his ear.

  I don’t know how long we’re there. Time loses meaning. He spreads my legs wide and fucks me, and I grind my hips against him, my clit rubbing against his belly. I’m so wet it’s like the ocean, and I gasp, panting in his ear. “Make me come again, sir,” I moan. “Please, Maxim.”

  “Beg,” he growls.

  “Please, sir. Please, I’ll be good. I promise.”

  He moans and goes faster. I come in a torrent, in a blast. He grunts and this time, he doesn’t stop or slow down.

  This time I feel him fill me. His orgasm is a miracle between my legs. We come like that, together but also lost in our own pleasure, until the ringing in my ears begins to lessen and he slides to the side.

  I expect him to get out of bed. Instead, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me tight. He slips the sheets back, and snuggles up close.

  Maxim, the Russian bratva heir, holds me tight and seems to like it. Good to know.

  He breathes like a bear, his lips hot against my neck.

  “Princess,” he says in my ear. “I will dig up a thousand treasures for a woman that can fuck like you do.”

  “And I’d gladly kill a thousand evil grandmothers for a man with a tongue like yours.”

  He chuckles and nuzzles my neck. “Do you have anywhere to be?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Good.” He kisses me gently “I’m not finished with you yet. For tonight, you’re mine.”

  “Yeah,” I whisper. “Just for tonight.”

  I close my eyes. Tomorrow’s coming faster than I wanted. I replay what we just did and try to exist in each moment for as long as I can, but soon he’s kissing me again and his cock’s stiffening, and I don’t know how I’m going to take more—but I’ll find out.

  The light’s harsh in the morning.

  Arms and legs. I blink at the bedside table. A clock with red letters.

  Six twenty-three in the morning.

  Oh, fucking fuck.

  I stayed out all night.

  Maxim’s still asleep. He’s breathing like a bear in hibernation. His body’s still smothering mine, but I manage to slip away without waking him. I sneak into the adjacent room and get my clothes back on. I don’t bother with the panties. I leave them on the coffee table. They can be my parting gift.

  The last bit of me left in the world: a pair of soaked and destroyed panties.

  Not exactly the memorial I’d hoped for, but oh, well.

  I linger in the doorway. For a killer, he sleeps peacefully. I wonder if he dreams about his victims.

  I wonder if my papa will sleep so soundly after he kills me later.

  “Goodbye, Maxim. Thank you.” I whisper the words. Once they leave my mouth, they disappear into noting.

  Impermanent and unheard. As if they never existed.

  Just like me.

  I smile and blink back the tears.

  I’m afraid, but I turn from Maxim and walk to the door.

  It was a good last night on Earth.

  Chapter 2

  Siena

  I’m a grown-ass woman and that was the first night I ever spent away from my papa’s house.

  Okay, well, mostly grown-ass. I’m twenty-two, which is grown-ass enough that I should’ve spent at least a single night away from my papa’s home.

  Except that’s not the kind of family I was raised in.

  No, to my father, I’m a precious little flower. My entire world is controlled, from my phone use, to my internet, to my friends. If anything is wrong or displeasing to my papa, it’s removed and thrown away and fixed.

  I flag down a cab and slump down in the back. It’s been weird, living off-grid and without a phone. Somewhat freeing, even though all my data’s been monitored since the day I was given my first iPhone way back when I was fifteen. Papa’s top bodyguard, Renato, takes a sick pleasure in reciting all my mundane and stupid Google searches like he needs to remind me that he knows what I look up what those Tibetan mountains are called or a good skincare routine for girls with a pale complexion. Whatever, Renato’s an asshole, and I won’t miss him when I’m dead.

  The cab drives through downtown Dallas. The buildings loom like massive glass sentinels and I smell the reek of disinfectant and old body odor drifting from the fabric seats. The driver speaks in a steady stream of Farsi as he rolls along with his window open, allowing the early morning humidity to drift into the cab. I want to tell him to roll it up, but I can’t muster the strength.

  Each second I spend in this cab is another second I get closer to my death.

  Yesterday morning, my older brother, Enzo, woke me up early. He came into my room and shook me awake. I stared at him as he made a show of taking my phone, a deep frown on his lips.

  I knew then and there that I’d been caught and my time was up.

  He said nothing when he left. Now, I wish I’d talked to him. Not because I could ever change Enzo’s mind—no, he was much too stubborn and way too loyal to Papa for that—but maybe I could’ve had one last conversation with my brother before he fully understood the depth of my treachery.

  I lean my head back and close my eyes. I take deep breaths and think of Maxim’s lips on my neck. I think of his teeth pinching my skin. His tongue lapping my clit. I smile and squirm. God, that night was incredible. Maybe even worth the hell I’ll pay.

  The cab pulls into the Lakewood section. It’s one of the few areas in the city with access to the small lake, and the housing plots are surprisingly big. It looks strangely suburban, although technically still in the city. Big, green lawns, and massive houses with Spanish-style architecture line the street. Papa’s property is ringed with a white stone fence with black spikes all along it. The guards say there is crushed glass up top, but that’s not true—I learned that the hard way, by climbing over and praying they weren’t serious.

  That’s how I escaped. I snuck out when nobody was paying attention, stumbled along the back yard, through the short bit of wooded area, and got over the fence. Once I was on Lawther and in sight of the lake, it was easy to flag down a passing cab.

  Now I took that trip in reverse. This time, I tell the cab to drop me off at the end of the long driveway. A sleepy guard sits beside the gate and frowns at me as I pay with the black card then walk over to him.

  “Good morning, Tony,” I say.

  Tony glares. He’s young, maybe a year or two older than me. He joined Papa’s family not too long ago and he’s still proving himself.

  “Do you know how worried they are in there?” he asks.

  “Don’t give me that. Nobody cares that I left.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Stay put. I’m calling this up.”

  I put my hands on my hips and wait. The asshole could open the gate and give me some dignity, but fine, whatever. I take off my heels and hold them while he talks into his walkie-talkie. After a minute, he waves me through.

  “What, nobody’s coming down to pick me up?” I ask, holding my heels in the air. “My feet are killing me.”

  “You’re lucky you’re allowed in at all. Now get up there before I get in trouble.” He keeps on glaring at me and I start the trek up the driveway to the Bastone family mansion.

  I put on a good front. I can pretend that I’m not terrified. But inside, I’m churning up, like sharks in a pool full of chum. I’m so scared my hands tremble, and I seriously consider turning and running.

  But that won’t help. Not anymore. Not after Enzo took my phone.

  The house appears at the top of a short rise. It’s bigger than most houses in the area, a big old mansion with red and brown brick, clay tile roof, and long Spanish arches. It’s beautiful, and the wildflowers are in bloom, and I pause to pick a bunch. They’re pink and yellow, and I hold them up to smell them.

  I think of smelling Maxim.

  “Siena.” My name sounds like a gunshot. Enzo stands in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.

  I thought I’d see him. Enzo, my older brother, glares. He’s a dead ringer for Papa. Same nose, same eyes. Dark hair and dark eyes. He’s a big guy, like a massive Italian bear. If he could be Papa, he probably would—he’s far enough up our father’s ass to be a part of the old man’s intestines at this point.

  “Yes, eldest brother?” I answer, even though I’m quaking.

  “Inside.” He doesn’t look angry. Strangely, he seems… resigned.

  I drop the flowers and pad after him.

  The house is quiet. Normally, it’s bustling with people—guards, business associates, my brothers and their friends and girlfriends and mistresses—but today there’s nobody. I dump my shoes by the front door and follow Enzo down a short side hall and into Papa’s study.

  It’s a big room, wood-paneled, with a huge fireplace. A fire burns now, the log crackling. It’s stifling and hot, and I always hated how he’d use that thing despite the Texas heat. At least the humidity burns away as the sun blazes across the sky. Bookshelves are crammed with books, all of them very serious tomes of business and the art of war, and two big overstuffed chairs sit in front of a massive desk.

  My next older brother, Franco, is perched in one of the chairs. He’s muscular like Enzo, with the same dark eyes, but he’s quieter. His hair is slicked back, and he’s wearing a pair of dark khakis and a short-sleeve button-down, the top two buttons undone, showing off all his tattoos. His face shows nothing as I look around the room.

  Santo sits next to him in the other chair. My youngest brother looks terrified. His face is pale and his hair is a mess—a nervous habit. He tugs and pulls at it when he’s nervous. He’s dressed like Franco, but a bit more disheveled. He tries to smile when I meet his eye, but he fails and looks down.

  I love my little brother. I love all my brothers—even Enzo although he doesn’t deserve it—but Santo the most. We’ve always been close, and it breaks my heart to see him like this.

  I hope he doesn’t blame himself for what’s about to happen.

  Papa sits behind the desk. I stand in front of him with my hands clasped in my lap. Enzo shuts the door with a loud click and looms behind me like an enforcer. Papa’s balding, whip-thin, with dark bags under his eyes and a mean hooked nose. He stares at me and clears his throat. Santo twitches, and I wish I could hug him—not for myself, but to bring him some measure of comfort.

  It’s not his fault. I made my choices.

  “Hello, daughter,” Papa says. “Did you have a good night?”

  I shrug. “It was okay.”

  Enzo grunts behind me. “No bullshit, Siena. This is serious.”

  “He asked me a question and I answered. What do you want from me?”

  “He wants you to take this seriously,” Franco says, rubbing his face.

  “She’s incapable of that,” Enzo sneers.

  “Leave her alone,” Santo says. “You guys know—”

  “Enough,” Papa says, his voice cutting through their bickering. I stand up straighter and fear lances through my stomach. Even though I know I’m going to die today, I’m still so afraid of my papa. Respect for the family and complete and utter deference to my father, the Don and Papa, was beaten into me as a young age. It’s a part of my body, like my bones and my marrow.

  Which makes what I did so much worse.

  “I don’t care that you snuck out last night, Siena. If I were in your position, I might’ve done the same thing. Only I’m curious why you didn’t run.” Papa tilts his head, watching me.

  I shrug, try to meet his gaze, and fail. I stare at the floor. God, I’m so weak. I’ve always been so weak and pathetic. The boys know it too. Enzo uses it against me, and Santo thinks I’m worthless because of it, and only Santo tries to defend me.

  “It wouldn’t have mattered,” I say. “Would you have let me go?”

  “No, I wouldn’t have.”

  “So I came back. No reason for everyone to suffer.”

  Papa grunts his approval. “I can respect that, daughter. You understand why we’re here?”