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

by Claire C. Riley

  He nodded. “No need.”

  “You can go back outside. My father and his men will be here shortly, and I’d like you to meet them at the front entrance and explain the situation to them. Let them know you have recorded proof of Ivan’s betrayals.” My gaze was firmly on Ivan, whose blood was dripping between his fingers as he clutched his injured hand to his chest.

  Decatur nodded and left the room again.

  “No right-hand man, and no right hand,” I taunted.

  “How long? How long has he been in your pocket?” Ivan spit out the question, his eyes wild with unchecked anger.

  “Decatur was our trusted soldier before he became your bodyguard. Or did that fact slip your mind after all these years?” I gave him a half-cocked smile, tilting my head and showing him how very stupid I thought he was.

  “So, I have always had a snake in my garden. I should not be surprised, given how you Vasilievs operate. Never trusting, never completely honest.”

  “We are not honest, Ivan?” I shook my head, smile fading. “You who has acted like my father’s most ardent servant for decades, yet has been working against his interests at every turn? The word honest should burn your lips when you speak it.” I growled the last, letting my anger bubble again just at the surface, ready to serve my actions.

  “So, this is how it ends, is it? With a bullet to the heart. My whore wife in your bed and my bodyguard on your payroll.” He spat at the ground by his feet. “Let’s settle this like real men.”

  He came slowly from around his desk, away from his gun, and I raised an eyebrow at him. He was braver and stupider than I’d first thought. He nodded towards the gun in my hand.

  “Hand to hand. No guns.” He stood in front of his desk and when realizing that I’d made no move to put my gun away he glared at me. “Did you see the bruises on her face, Alexander? Did you see what I did to the little whore?” he chuckled and stepped closer. “The things I made her do in the bedroom though… that was where the real punishment was to be had.”

  Rage as red and as vibrant as lava burned through my veins. My jaw clenched so tightly I was surprised my teeth hadn’t cracked.

  “Oh, how she called out in pain. Her tears and torment like an aphrodisiac to me,” he laughed again, his blood dripping on to the carpet as he walked slowly towards me. “I brutalized her body. Over and over…”

  I was gone.

  I threw my gun to one side and charged him, ready to tear him piece by piece, regardless of what information he had. The anger was vibrant in my veins and it consumed me. Every part of me from head to toe, from bone to muscle, as I slammed into him and we fell to the floor in a mass of limbs and violence.

  I was going to kill him with my bare hands.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Marisha

  Bang!

  The bullet might as well have flown through the house, through walls, and struck me in the heart. It caused unimaginable pain to me.

  Someone had fired a gun.

  I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t stay safe in this room while Alexander was out there with Ivan, fighting to save me.

  Alex didn’t know the level of violence Ivan held inside his body, just waiting to explode like a geyser when the time was right… or the time was wrong… or anything at all inconvenienced him. God, he’d hurt me so many times. He’d been brutal, leaving me raw and bleeding and sobbing against the plush carpet of our bedroom.

  My wounds never seemed to close up, never seemed to fully heal, before he was back at my body like a wild animal hungry for bone marrow.

  Alex was so strong, so confident, but how could he be a match for someone so twisted and evil? My Alex was kind and protective. When he held me it was like all the world fell away and only he existed. If he was going to die at the hands of my sadistic husband, then I wanted to die right alongside him.

  So, I couldn’t stay safe here now.

  Besides, no matter what, my death would come once Ivan killed Alex. And I knew how it would be.

  Slow. Painful. I’d beg for mercy in the end. Not that it would make any difference. Ivan didn’t believe in mercy.

  Decision made, I pulled the heavy chair from beneath the knob and yanked the door open. Mother’s pin was still in my hand, biting into my flesh. A reminder to keep going, keep fighting, I was still alive. At least for now.

  As I moved, I pinned it to my blouse, the bird’s one eye blinking at the path ahead. If it were alive, if it had a voice, I knew it would be shrieking at me. Jarring singing that warned me to go back, go back before it was too late.

  But I couldn’t.

  If I was going to die, I’d die now.

  With Alex.

  I’d die with the man I loved more than life itself.

  I barreled down the stairs, gaze shooting to the front door and seeing a shadow moving away from the house through the frosted glass. Even now, a seed of doubt sprouted in my heart. Had Alex decided I wasn’t worth it? Had he decided to leave me in Ivan’s hands.

  No, he wouldn’t do that.

  I shook my head, dislodging the ugly thoughts as I moved towards the sounds of talking. A crashing sound startled me as I turned towards the study. A series of grunts and the sound of splintering wood made my heart race. I didn’t know what I’d see beyond the doorway, but there was no going back now, no changing my fate.

  The sounds of a bird’s call drowned out everything else inside my brain. It could sing its haunted tune louder and louder, but its warning fell on deaf ears.

  The hidden cabinet doors in Ivan’s study were splayed wide, revealing the dozen monitors set into the wall. I saw them first on the television, wrestling against the floor next to the broken armchair.

  “Alex!” I screamed, turning to find them in real life.

  Both men froze.

  And I regretted yelling his name, regretted distracting him. As he turned to find my face, Ivan struck, his bloody fist catching Alexander in the jaw.

  “No,” I breathed out, horrified at what I’d done, backing away until I ran into Ivan’s desk.

  Alex recovered, slamming fists into Ivan’s chest so hard that he was pushed a foot away against the wrinkled area rug. Alex rolled to his knees, hands ready to strike again, but Ivan was on the move, making his way quickly to a standing position. Despite his looks, the softening of his gut and the thickness of his untrained legs, Ivan moved quickly. But he was running on adrenaline, he couldn’t outlast a younger man in a fight. He was breathing heavily, his eyes betraying his fatigue.

  Ivan was like that when he was treating my body as a punching bag. When he was ramming his thickness into my unready opening and using me for bloody, brutal therapy. He’d exhaust himself, run out of steam, and he’d grow angrier at his own shortcomings. And he’d beat me harder, he’d abuse me longer. Even as it took a toll on his own physique.

  Maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe Ivan couldn’t win against the man I loved, no matter how terrible his temper was.

  Alex jumped to his feet, his shirt was ripped down the front and stained with blood from his busted nose. Glistening muscles peeked from beneath the tattered dress clothes.

  “How could you ever satisfy a woman when you can’t even fight like a man,” Alexander spoke through clenched teeth, his eyes narrowed and stormy. Why did he taunt Ivan? Why? It would only make this so much worse…

  “You’re going to die, but before the goddamn light fades from your eyes, you’re going to watch me fuck her one last time. Fuck her while she cries, fuck her until she bleeds.” Ivan growled out the words and pointed at me. I shrunk away, the memories of his hands against my body like knives slicing through my strength.

  Alexander’s expression grew darker, a hurricane in the middle of this home I hated so much. “When I kill you Ivan, you’ll be forgotten. No one will dare utter your name. Your grave will be an unmarked stain on the Bratva history. And your wife? She’ll be alive and my queen.”

  The two men rushed at one another again.

&n
bsp; But I saw something that Alexander didn’t.

  The flash of something black and metallic strapped against Ivan’s ankle. It showed as he ran towards the Bratva prince with wild abandon, ready to kill or be killed.

  Ivan had a small gun he wore at his ankle. I knew that. It was often missed in quick pat-downs during business meetings.

  I hadn’t thought to warn Alexander.

  But I couldn’t now. I couldn’t distract him again and cause him to be hurt further by Ivan.

  The men were beating one another senseless, muscles flexing and sprays of blood staining the surrounding wallpaper and surviving furniture. Alexander picked up Ivan, gripping him tightly in his fists and slammed him into a glass cabinet. Glinting shards exploded to fall in too-happy tinkling against the hard floor. Ivan grunted, kicking out sharply and catching Alexander in the knee, then reaching upwards to curve his hand around his neck and squeeze.

  Alexander moved them away from the cabinet, still hoisting Ivan in the air. But his face was turning darker as Ivan squeezed the breath from him. He lifted him higher, before slamming him down so quickly that Ivan lost his grip on his neck. Ivan hit the floor, bits of glass biting into his back and he yelled in agony.

  Alexander kicked out, his foot catching Ivan in the ribs over and over. Ivan curled on to his side, trying to protect his body from the beating. Blood and sweat mixed as grunts of pain and rage filled the air. Alexander was brutal in his beating, holding nothing back. His eyes were as black as the night as he pummeled Ivan into submission, never giving an ounce of leeway to him.

  I realized in that moment, how brutal and violent Alexander truly was. So much like Ivan in many ways, yet the recent memory of Alexander’s hand gently cupping my chin and his soft kiss against my forehead reminded me that he wasn’t Ivan. He was my Alex.

  And he was winning, Ivan was prostrate on the floor, covered in blood, and whatever was to happen would be over in minutes if Alexander continued at this pace, and he showed no effort in stopping.

  But then I saw Ivan’s hand, reaching down towards his right leg which he bent to gain access to his ankle. He had to reach with his left, I realized, as his right hand bore a gaping, seeping hole.

  He was going for the gun though, and I wanted to scream. I wanted to warn Alexander. But my voice wouldn’t come. I opened my mouth, again and again, but I was a fish out of water. I couldn’t speak, my throat was dry and scratchy. Arrested by fear.

  My eyes searched the room frantically. Another gun, tossed against the floor. Waiting to be used. Waiting for the trigger to be pulled so it could do what guns do best.

  Hurt. Maim. Murder.

  I dove for it, ignoring the pain as I hit the floor and was reminded of how bruised and battered I was. But my own injuries didn’t matter.

  All that mattered was saving him.

  Saving Alexander.

  I scrambled to my knees, my hands curling around the gun and my index finger finding the trigger. I pointed it at Ivan and squeezed, but the trigger wouldn’t respond to my touch.

  The safety. I’d forgotten the safety!

  I was going to be too late.

  Ivan pulled out the small revolver, pointing it up at Alexander.

  “How’s this for predictable, Bratva Prince?” He snarled out the words, left hand visibly unsteady and unpracticed holding a gun. Yet triumph, like a weed growing too quickly and swallowing hope, rang out through his voice.

  Alexander took a step backwards, and he tensed. Preparing to be shot? Preparing to pounce?

  “I thought we were doing this man on man, Ivan?” Alexander asked, swiping at the blood that trailed down his face. “Are you so much of a coward that you can’t honor your own challenge?”

  “Not a coward,” Ivan smirked, “merely smarter than you.”

  I searched the gun frantically, finding the small safety node and depressing it quickly. I aimed the gun again and I pulled the trigger.

  The kickback rocked through me, vibrating through my shoulder, neck and teeth.

  But my aim was true. The bullet flew across the room and buried itself in Ivan’s right shoulder.

  This time, he didn’t yell from the pain. He screamed. High-pitched, unmanly, jarring. He rolled against the floor, his gun forgotten, as blood trickled from the fresh hole.

  Both men’s gazes flew to me. Alexander’s face was surprised. Ivan’s ashen and disbelieving.

  Me, the useless, battered housewife, had shot a man.

  Feeling triumphant, yet hollow and weak, I clung to the weapon with shaking hands, and I realized in that moment that I never wanted to touch one again. Never. But I also couldn’t put it down, not yet. My fear was stronger than my weakness.

  I watched the scenes play out in front of me. Like a movie that wasn’t really my life.

  Alexander seized the advantage, dropping down to wrestle the smaller gun from Ivan’s now weak grip. When he stood again, he held the gun steadily, pointing it down at the twice-shot Ivan.

  “You bitch! You’ll pay for this,” Ivan stared at me and seethed, right hand cradled against his body, left hand clutching over the wound in his shoulder.

  My eyes moved to Ivan, and I could muster no feeling for him. Not hate. Nor fear. Nor relief. The floor was solid beneath me. It was real, comforting.

  “You don’t get to talk to her anymore,” Alexander spoke calmly, drawing Ivan’s attention back to him. Sweat trailed down the sides of his face and he shrugged out of his torn jacket and threw it to one side, his gun’s aim staying true to its target. “You don’t get to say her name. You don’t get to look at her. You don’t get to even think about her. She’s not yours and you’ll never touch her again.”

  “She’s my goddamn wife,” Ivan spat back, rolling onto his side and trying to get up. He managed to almost kneel. Almost.

  But Alexander stopped him with a bullet to the knee. “Not anymore.”

  Ivan screamed again. A long drawn-out howl of pain as he stumbled back down to the ground from weak, shaking knees. He writhed around, blood pouring from him. Yet still his eyes gleamed with rage and vengeance.

  “As long… as I’m alive,” he breathed out shakily, “she’s mine. I’ll find a way… to make her pay. One phone call… one call,” he took a breath, blood pulsing from his wounds, “and you won’t even find her body, Bratva Prince. I have more allies than you will ever know.” His words were almost a whisper at the end, his eyelids fluttering against the pain.

  Alexander took a deep breath and then sighed. “It would be better to keep you alive so we can find those you are linked to in your traitorous ways, Ivan, but if you’re determined to die…”

  He lifted the gun higher.

  Took aim.

  And placed a bullet in Ivan’s forehead.

  I gasped, my hand flying to cover up the sound as it slipped from between my shocked lips. My emotions were released again, and a strange feeling washed over me. I slumped in exhaustion, my body going limp and the gun in my hand hitting the floor with a soft thud. Peace and disbelief.

  Ivan was dead.

  Ivan was dead!

  Alexander was alive. And so was I.

  Without warning, my overtired body was racked with great, heaving, unstoppable sobs. I curled against the softness beneath me, my mother’s pin snagging on the edge of the large area rug. This moment couldn’t be real, it was all a dream. I had to cry to grieve, to rid myself of the pain that what had just happened was all in my head. Because how could I actually be free? How could I no longer be strapped to an abusive husband, an orphan surviving in a world of bloodshed?

  It wasn’t real.

  Alexander didn’t win.

  I shut my eyes against the pain. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.

  “Marisha?” A voice I recognized, a voice that made my heart leap, said my name softly. But I couldn’t make myself open my eyes and see his face. I feared that if I did, he wouldn’t be there. The sound of him was only a figment of my broken imagination. A construct o
f the hope I still held, the hope I needed to abandon because if Ivan was the victor, then I was as good as dead.

  “Marisha?” His voice spoke again. My name, my name on his lips was the only thing I needed to die happily.

  When I didn’t move, didn’t respond, strong arms scooped me up and cradled me against a damp, chiseled chest.

  “It’s okay,” his voice crooned, hugging me gently. “It’s over.”

  I still didn’t believe it, even as I began to sway as he carried me out of the study, into the hallway, and out of this cursed house. I didn’t accept the beautiful truth, even as the smell of flowers and the feel of fresh night air against my skin urged me to open my eyes and see the truth.

  It wasn’t until he set me down against the cool grass and I heard other voices nearby that I blinked slowly, inviting moonlight and starlight into my eyes.

  Alexander was stood very close to me, talking with his father and half a dozen other men. Decatur, the sight of him sending a thrill of fear through me, came to stand next to Alexander and add his own voice to the conversation.

  I caught snippets of what they were saying.

  “He was never going to honor the deal…” Alexander.

  “I have recordings made tonight that prove…” Decatur.

  “Clean it up, we’ll deal with the rest at home.” Eduard Vasiliev.

  I closed my eyes, sinking into the ground beneath me, and I let exhaustion take me as the adrenaline bled away.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Alexander

  Marisha was still sleeping. Her face was nestled against the soft goose down feathers in my pillow, her red hair splayed across the white material like a fan. I hadn’t stopped staring at her since she’d fallen asleep; how could I? She was finally mine. God, she was an angel.

  She stirred, her bruised mouth pursing as she remembered the night in her dreams, and I reached out to stroke her cheek. A sad attempt to soothe the nightmares away.

  When she stilled, I breathed a heavy sigh and climbed off the bed. I had a meeting with my father soon and needed to get ready. Despite what had happened with Ivan, I still needed to fight for Marisha with him. Her family's treachery wasn’t so easily forgiven, unfortunately, but I wasn’t too concerned that I couldn’t win his approval. Especially with my mother on my side. She had spurned me onward, to bring Marisha ‘home’. I would have saved her, with or without her urging, but her acceptance would go a long way in softening my father’s heart.