Deviant Prince: A Forbidden bad boy Mafia Romance. (Born to Darkness Duet Book 1)

by Claire C. Riley

  Deviant PRINCE

  BORN TO DARKNESS

  -The Bratva Mafia Twins Duet-

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  Claire C. Riley

  King of Castleton Author

  Ellie Meadows

  -SONGS TO SET THE MOOD-

  Dangerously

  If You Want Love

  Treat You Better

  Fight for You

  Broken

  Goddess

  Love and Hate

  Love On the Brain

  Elastic Heart

  Poor Boy

  Mad Love

  Killer

  Bloodstream

  Devil Inside

  And more…

  CLICK TO LISTEN!

  DEDICATION

  To forbidden love that refuses to be ignored.

  BLURB

  Heavy is the head that wears the Bratva crown.

  Alexander Vasiliev carries the burden of his family’s legacy and his life must follow a singular path; Become his father, King of the four criminal cells in their area.

  A Pakhan.

  The Boss.

  The godfather of the Russian underworld.

  Fierce ruler with a keen sense of business and unwavering brutality.

  His life is a cocktail of blood, death, and money.

  But the weight of royalty goes hand-in-hand with certain pleasures. And Alexander is an Alpha with an appetite.

  He has everything he could desire. And more.

  Until he meets her.

  Marisha Zolotov.

  She’s off limits.

  She’s married to one of his father’s powerful business associates.

  She’s forbidden.

  But that doesn’t mean Alexander will take no for an answer.

  He’s used to getting what he wants, and he isn’t about to let her marriage get in his way.

  #

  Deviant Prince is the first installment of Born to Darkness, The Bratva Mafia Twins Duet. Followed by Twisted Princess.

  Disclosure: Born to Darkness is a HOT, no-holds-barred, mafia romance with flavors of suspense and DOMs that leave you wanting more. Graphic sex. Language. Violence. Illicit dealings. Not for the faint of heart.

  Chapter One

  Alexander

  Sitting on the right-hand side of my father, the rightful place for my position as heir to the kingdom, I wondered what consequences would befall a traitor like my uncle. My father didn’t trust easily—nor did any of the Vasiliev family for that matter—but betrayal always burned a little deeper when it was a blood relation doing the proverbial backstabbing. You always believed you could rely on family, right? You wanted to believe that, even when the truth was fucking unavoidable.

  We’re all silent, waiting on my father’s judgment. He ruled with an iron fist and he wouldn’t go easy on my uncle. We worked hard to build our empire and greed had no place in our circle. My uncle should have known better…

  “Come, Eduard, let us drink and forget this,” he waved a hand in the air, “we are brothers after all. A small mistake. A silly infraction.” He waved his hand again, a slight tremor tracing through his fingers, and I sneered because I could sense my uncle’s fear. It was palpable in the air.

  We were all gathered in my father’s office in our family home. Though ‘home’ was an understatement; the place was big enough to comfortably handle several large families within its infinite rooms and copious grounds.

  My father sighed and stood up. He nodded as he moved around the large mahogany desk. His face was a mask, giving no sign of what he would do next. But I already knew.

  Blood is thicker than water.

  But disloyalty is a stain that won’t come clean.

  He stood behind my uncle's chair, putting his hands on his shoulders. “Brother, you disappoint me so,” he said, before letting go with a heavy sigh. I knew in that moment that my father was letting go. Of the brotherhood that had defined his childhood. He would not embrace my uncle. He would not give him such a soft goodbye.

  That wasn’t the way of things.

  There was no forgiveness, not for this kind of betrayal.

  “It is not always so black and white, brother. It’s not always that easy,” my uncle replied. “You know this.” There was no dark resignation in his tone. He still believed that the blood between them would save his life.

  But he was damned.

  In soul and body.

  My father stood behind my uncle.

  Posture straight, shoulders back, his mouth pulled in a tight line.

  I picked up my glass, sipping on the vodka in it as my father pulled out his gun and fired a single bullet into the back of my uncle's head. Blood sprayed the desk and my uncle's head lolled forwards. My father sighed and shook his head and I raised an eyebrow.

  “It is always that easy, brother,” he said with a heavy heart. He looked across to me and I gave a nod of agreement. I saw the power in his eyes, and the pride on his face at my disciplined and unfazed expression.

  “He was a traitor. He knew the consequences,” I stated simply. I put down my glass as I stood up, straightening my suit jacket before buttoning it. I headed across the room, patting my father’s shoulder as I went. “I’ll have Damien come and clear the mess.”

  I gestured to my uncle’s dead body with a wave of my hand.

  “Thank you, son,” he replied. “Are you coming tonight?”

  I stopped in the doorway and turned to face him. “If you want me there, then of course I’m there,” I smiled, “but if I’m not needed…”

  He laughed. “Always the playboy, my son. Unfortunately, those days must end eventually. You’ll need to find a wife soon enough, and there are many loyal families going to be there tonight, families with beautiful daughters. It would be good business for you to be seen. Perhaps someone will catch your eye there, or maybe you will catch someone else's eye.”

  “I’m not having your rich friends palm me off with one of their daughters, father. A man should choose his own wife.” It was the one thing we’d both agreed on; I would find my own wife with no interference from the family. Though, our deal didn’t stop every rich Russian family from trying to lay their supposed virginial daughters at my feet.

  I sighed, turning the platinum band on my right hand, the emblem of the family crown smooth under my fingers. Murder. Death. Violence. None of these things even made me blink, but the thought of marrying frayed my nerves.

  My father laughed heartily. “Stop fearing the inevitable, son. A wife isn’t so bad.”

  “Neither is a harem of women,” I countered with a chuckle.

  He barked out another laugh. “This is true, but a harem of women can’t bring you an heir, and that is what we need to continue the family name.”

  He had me there. I raised an eyebrow and nodded. “I’ll see you at the party, father.”

  “And I will see you, my son,” he responded with a firm nod of his own. And the steel in his gaze spoke further than his words. My father and I might have a ‘deal’, but I couldn’t put off marriage for much longer. There would come a time when he would choose a wife for me, if I refused to choose my own. The continued Vasiliev legacy was greater than either of us.

  Leaving his office, I headed to my car--a sleek black Maserati GranTurismo Sport. Before stepping out into the sunlight, I was already pulling my cell phone from my jacket to call my best friend, Nikolai. He picked up on the third ring, as the phone connected to my car after starting the engi
ne; the rumble beneath me was satisfying and electric. It was the lifestyle I chased, the lifestyle I was clinging to…

  The lifestyle that would drastically change once I was chained to a wife.

  “Party tonight,” I stated.

  He laughed. “I’m not falling for that one again. This is some stuck-up family thing you’re roping me into again, isn’t it? I have a very good memory of the last time, Alexander.”

  I smirked at the memory. “One moment,” I replied as I pulled out of my driveway, but almost immediately slowed to a stop again. Lowering my window, I gestured for Damien, the head of our family’s security, to come over. Nikolai fell silent immediately.

  “Alexander,” Damien said as he approached, dipping his head in a show of deference.

  “It’s done. Get the body moved and the office cleaned,” I ordered, and he nodded assent.

  “I’m sorry,” he offered, his face a picture of frustration, “I should have known. I could have stopped what was happening earlier.”

  I held a hand up to stop him. “No one could have known his treachery. What’s done is done. Have the situation dealt with and my father’s office spotless before we return home tonight, and all will be forgiven.”

  Damien nodded once again and stepped away from the Maserati. I rolled my window back up and continued to drive. For a normal person, someone not born into a world of darkness, what had just happened in my father’s office would cause distress. They’d be emotionally distraught, unable to function.

  For me, it was just another day. Just another death. I felt nothing.

  “Now, where were we?” I asked, alerting Nikolai that he could speak.

  “You were telling me about the crazy party we were going to tonight. Lots of women, lots of alcohol, and lots of drugs, yes?”

  I laughed, “how did you guess? That’s exactly how it will be.”

  “Please tell me that there’ll at least be some women our age? We don’t have much longer before we’ll be married with no time to have any fun,” Nikolai whined.

  Just like me, he was reluctant to marry. Yet we both knew it had to happen. And sooner rather than later. We both must follow in our fathers’ footsteps, which meant an heir was needed to continue the bloodline. Of course, Nik had it easier. His father was dead, honorably so in service to the family. Though, my own father treated Nik like a son and both of our mothers were also eager to have us married. We’d been told all of our lives that our wives must come from good stock, whatever the fuck that meant. They had to be the products of wealthy, established families and one could only hope that they would be beautiful too.

  Line the best stock up in an auction house and bid on them like cattle. The best breeder wins the hand of the Prince and his best soldier.

  “There will be lots of women,” I agreed, breaking from my thoughts.

  “You swear?” Nik sounded like he trusted me about as far as he could throw me.

  Which was not at all.

  I laughed heartily. “Lots and lots of women, all ripe for our choosing.”

  It was one of the many benefits of being the son of the feared Eduard Vasilov and heir to his bloody, powerful throne; people were at my beck and call, and women were always primed for the taking.

  Even at a boring-as-hell business function that I’d just tricked my de facto brother into attending with me in a bid to liven up the inevitable tedium.

  Chapter Two

  Marisha

  “I’m not feeling well,” I averted my gaze, not looking at the reflection of my husband in the mirror as I sat at the mahogany vanity, one of the only furniture items I was allowed to bring with me when we married.

  Ivan was already dressed in an impeccable bespoke suit which fit perfectly over his hard, chiseled body. He was wearing the platinum cufflinks I’d gotten him for our first anniversary two months ago. They glinted, catching the light when he moved. I hated how they sparked, how they reminded me that I was shackled to him. To this marriage. To this life.

  “You are coming, Marisha. This is not up for discussion.” His voice was a low rumble, a thunderstorm threatening a downpour if I did not comply. He alone could be my shelter; he alone could give me the lifestyle I had. He reminded me constantly… that I would be nothing without him.

  My family name was disgraced, my mother and father breaking Bratva laws. They’d meant well, I had to believe they’d meant well… otherwise, how could they risk their lives? My life? They’d died for their betrayal, brutally. If Ivan had not spoken for me, if he had not already asked my parents for my hand before their wrongdoings came to light, I would have died as well.

  He’d saved me from a bloody fate and forced me into one of violent servitude.

  There was more hate than love between us, but I was ever the pliant and amenable wife for him. Sometimes though, god sometimes, I wondered if death might not have been easier.

  He was all about control. I was arm candy, sex, the woman who must give him an heir. And I felt those burdens with every inch of my tortured soul and bruised body.

  “I said that I do not feel well, Ivan.” I studied my face in the mirror, still refusing to look back at him. “I have not felt well all week. You know this.”

  I was searching for sympathy to escape this awful night, but I should have already known that it was futile.

  “What I know,” he moved behind me, and moments later his hands clamped around my shoulders, “is that you have moped and avoided your duties this entire week. You will be the wife I need you to be, tonight of all nights.”

  My duties… I had avoided his advances in the bedroom. I’d avoided the business meeting a few nights ago at our house when I should have played my part pouring drinks and running the kitchen staff. I’d avoided being mentally undressed by his corporate partners, discreetly touched by them as I moved around the living and dining room like a good hostess.

  I’d complained about it before to Ivan, that the men would touch me, and he’d said it was part of my role, that none of his business associates would dare to actually fuck me. I was to laugh at their jokes, act shy as their fingers grazed my skin, and cower against his side to show that I was already a claimed, timid thing, and that I belonged to him.

  They were all pigs.

  Animals.

  Thinly veiled sexual references whispered at my back, followed by thick male laughter.

  These weren’t Bratva men, but Ivan’s men. Men with no pride and no rules. He held so many of these small private meetings and parties at our home… only a few times had he taken me out to larger Bratva gatherings, thankfully. They suffocated me; I feared them.

  “Ivan, please. I cannot face it. The crowded room, the politics, the thinly-veiled business talk and wives doing lines in the bathrooms.” I lowered my head, coppery-red curls swishing across the pale cream robe I wore.

  “You will come,” Ivan repeated, his tone hard as rock, “and that’s final.”

  Now I did look at him, my dark eyes meeting the steel grey of his and I cowered under the severity of it. His gaze did not waver; there was no winning this fight.

  For years, I had played the preening, complacent damsel. Only lately had I felt the facade slipping, and Ivan’s patience was wearing thin with the changes.

  But, god, my patience was wearing thin as well. Like tissue paper, easily ripped and ruined, I found myself growing increasingly unstable. I was sick to my stomach of merely surviving and not actually living. I once had wishes and dreams, but now all I had was the hope that I could evade his advances for another day or escape his beatings if I failed him in some way. My life had become nothing but a black hole and all I wanted to do was let the blackness bury me.

  Before Ivan, before my parents’ transgressions, I was strong. I knew what I wanted out of life, and I was on the road to achieving my dreams. I was in college, majoring in social services. I wanted to help the world, do my tiny part to make up for the type of family I came from. Little did I know that my mother and father were als
o trying to change things, trying to grasp at a free life away from crime.

  Now, they were free.

  They’d accomplished their goal.

  And left me behind to suffer the fallout.

  Ivan’s hands were still vices, fingers digging into my skin.

  “I cannot wear your favorite dress if I have bruises,” I whispered desperately. A little reminder, a tiny defiance. “I’ll have to wear something that covers my body.” Which he wouldn’t like, not in the least. He wanted the other men to want me, wanted them to see what he had, and they didn’t.

  His fingers left my body and my own hands moved to caress the sore spots subtly.

  “Get dressed,” he ordered, his tone dark as he gave me one last stern look before turning to quickly stride from our bedroom.

  “I hate you,” I murmured to his retreating form, eyes welling with angry tears. When did I become so weak? How could I rewind time?

  Ivan had never hit me with full force—hard fists slamming into my delicate frame, but he was a violent man all the same. His touches were always just a little too harsh. His words always clipped and his tone a thunderstorm. He took what he wanted if I didn’t give it freely and it was always so much more painful that way. He frightened me, not so much because of what he had already done to me, but what I foresaw him doing in the future. Because I knew sooner or later the cord of his patience would snap and then who knew what my fate would be.

  I finished my makeup, swiping pale peach blush across my freckles, and crowing the soft but alluring look with a plum lip stain. Ivan’s favorite dress was hunter green, or ‘hunger’ green as he called it. I knew, inevitably, that donning the silk old Hollywood-style gown would lead to sex later. We would leave the party, only one of his hands would be on the steering wheel of the Bugatti, and his other hand would touch me anywhere he could reach.

  And whether I liked it or not, his body would enter mine, planting his seed… his seed that I would never let flower. Thanks to the pills I keep well-hidden.