by V. F. Mason
Dad nodded and pointed at the third vehicle in line. “Take her there and then bring her to my house. Make sure she doesn't say anything she isn't supposed to.” With a nod, the man picked Juanita up and proceeded with his instructions.
Dad’s hand gently patted my head. “Don’t worry, honey. She’ll be fine.”
As sweet as what he did was, Juanita wasn't my main concern right now. “Dad, didn't you hear what I said? Call Damian!”
His lips thinned, and dread settled inside me. Why wasn't he willing to call for help? Damian, Connor, and Luke worked with him closely as they tried to catch horrible S and punish him for the evil he had inflicted on all those innocent and stolen lives.
“Dad.” I grabbed his arm, but he didn't even budge. “What’s going on?”
Sighing heavily, he gritted his teeth. “It’s part of the plan.”
“What plan?” My brows furrowed in confusion. So I was worried sick for nothing? All that shit that happened back at the playground was some kind of make-believe? Nice of Sapphire and Damian to put me through this!
“Connor is handling it.” The sound of his voice, and the way he winced a little, let me know this wasn't something good.
Connor was an FBI agent, and he and Damian didn't agree on a lot of stuff, more so after Connor fell for Honey.
If he was handling something, then it meant…
No!
“Dad, tell me he didn't go behind Damian’s back and set up some stupid plan.” Since my dad stayed silent, it was answer enough for me. “Do something then!”
He shook his head. “He has the help of the pakhan of the Bratva. They will handle it.”
“What? Uncle Vasya is here?” Growing up in the mob, you kind of had a family of criminals, called your dad’s various acquaintances uncles, and got presents from them. Not that anyone could enter our house, but the relationship between my dad and Uncle Vasya was friendly enough. I remembered him as a man who never took anyone’s bullshit, but also brought me expensive gifts and supported my dreams of making my own living. Usually, it ended with him arguing with my dad about my future.
“No, Vasya is dead.” My eyes watered. So many freaking dead people. “Oh, then who?” The Bratva had slightly different rules for appointing the next pakhan than the Cosa Nostra, but Vasya must have died a long time ago, if they’d already replaced him.
“Dominic.” Blinking a few times, I processed the information he gave me as I realized what it meant.
Shit.
What the hell did I get myself into?
His phone vibrated and he picked up. Whatever someone said on the other end of the line was bad enough for him to clench his fist and snarl in disgust. “We will be there in thirty minutes.” Hanging up, he wrapped his arm around me and started to move us in the direction of the car.
“What happened?” I swear, people needed to learn how to talk to me! Unless I asked, no one was willing to share anything.
“There is a fire. Dominic and Damian are still inside. Sapphire and Kristina are fine, on the way to the hospital in the ambulance.” My stomach flipped. “Connor wouldn't tell me more. Let’s go.”
Once we were seated in the car, I kept on nibbling on my thumb nervously. My dad’s voice penetrated my panicked mind, and everything inside me stilled.
“I won’t allow it, Rosa. Never.”
Confused, I asked, “What exactly?”
His fingers picked up the cross on my neck, the one Dominic gave me—I had completely forgotten about it—and raised it to my chin. “This thing between you two. Never,” he repeated, and the steel in his eyes and voice made it clear his word was absolute.
We held each other’s stare for a few moments, but then I rested my head on the window as I gazed at the busy streets of New York as Dad’s voice echoed in my mind.
Never. Never.
Man with the dragon tattoo
The Cosa Nostra’s princess was back in the arms of her daddy. I had to admit the kid grew up quite nicely, with her shapely legs, full tits, round ass, and beautiful face. Her lips would look good wrapped around my cock. Just the thought of her terrified eyes watching me as I stripped my clothes could get me off like nothing else, because the pleasure would be heightened by the knowledge of how much this would hurt her precious daddy.
Licking my lips, I ordered my cock to wait for the right time for taking payback on what was to come.
My eyes didn't miss the cross on her neck, the cross of the pakhan of the Bratva. He’d staked his claim on her, which meant she was important to him. That fucker crossed me many times too, and I lived for the day when I’d be able to get revenge for what they both did.
Rosalinda Giovanni seemed like the answer to all my prayers.
Let the game begin.
For the second time in a row, I woke up with a groggy head and in pain. Only this time, it happened in a warm bed, and my body wasn't restrained by anything. The soft breeze came from the open window as the white curtain flew through the metallic bars.
Glancing down, my brows furrowed as I noticed that someone changed me into a lacy nightgown. Wrapping my arms around my middle, I closed my eyes and hoped everything that happened was just a bad dream.
But if it was a nightmare, why didn’t I recognize my surroundings?
“You’re finally awake,” mused the man, who rested his arms on his knees as he sat in the chair in the corner lit only by a lamp. The same man who was in my nightmare. “Good.” He stood up, and with two quick steps, he reached my side and sat on the corner of the bed. I moved my hands to cover my exposed body, and in return, he chuckled, sending shivers down my spine. “No need to hide your beauty on my account.” The light allowed me to study his features. He had blond hair and green eyes with rather pale skin. His lean body could be considered good enough wrapped in a suit. It was probably supposed to give him an aura of authority or a more sophisticated appearance, but it seemed out of place on him. I was sure he had a few years, if not more, on me as well.
“Who are you?” I asked, and to my surprise, the action was painful to my throat, which felt like thousands of cats had scratched it from the inside. He rose a little and grabbed the bottle of water on the nightstand, poured it into a glass, and placed it in my hand. “Drink.” Since he just opened the bottle, I wasn't scared to try it, and my dehydrated body welcomed the cooling sensations as the dryness in my mouth disappeared. The pain was still there, but even breathing was less of a chore. His finger traced the corner of my lips, so I shifted my head back, not liking his touch or the way his eyes lit up in pleasure at my disobedience.
I had attended Catholic school as long as I could remember, but it didn't mean I didn't have access to the internet or romance books, which maybe weren’t age appropriate for me, but who cared? I spent hours reading them under the bedcovers, and well, there was a lot of helpful information.
A lot.
That knowledge was the reason this man’s eyes worried me.
“Back to your question. I’m your future husband.”
Clenching the glass in my hands tightly, I asked, “What?”
His mouth lifted in a sinister smile. “You heard right.” The glass fell to the carpet, and I clenched the bedcovers tightly, raising them up so he’d stop looking at me. “I’m only seventeen years old.”
Somehow, the idea of me not being legal for the ceremony had him laughing. “It won’t stop me.” Something flashed in his eyes. “In fact, your age is icing on the cake.”
Scooting back when he wanted to run his sleazy hand over my cheek, I shouted despite the pain, “My dad will never allow it. Ever.”
Again, that disgusting laughter. “He won’t have a choice. Once you are no longer a virgin, like a good Italian father with Catholic views, he’ll marry you off to me to hide the shame. And then he’d have to agree to my father’s terms. He wasn’t willing to listen before, but his love for you is legendary.”
My mouth hung open at those absurd words, because this whole situation
was ridiculous. The only reason Dad put me in that school was because it was the safest way, in his eyes, and attending church on Sundays was a tradition. He’d never even brought up the talk about my virginity.
Certainly, he wouldn't want me to be married to this crazy man. “He won’t stand for it.”
He stood up, removed his jacket, and slowly started to unbutton his shirt. “By the time I’m done with you, he won’t have a choice.” I had a minute before he lunged after me, pinning my tiny body with his huge one. One hand covered my mouth while another grabbed my hair painfully. “I’ll love fucking you.” His nose ran over my neck as fear paralyzed me. I couldn't move any muscle in my body. “Taking your virginity painfully should be the greatest sexual experience of my life.” He grabbed my chin brutally, pressing on my mouth and smashing my lips. “I promise not to be gentle.” Then his lips covered mine as his tongue tried to push inside. His action shattered the haze around me.
The only thing left was my desire to survive, to stay alive. Using all my strength, I kicked him harshly as my hands pushed him away, and since he didn't expect it, he fell down on the side of the bed. Although it gave me the perfect opportunity to rise up, he gathered himself quickly. If anything, his eyes shone with excitement.
“Yes, fight me for this.” He ripped open his shirt, pulled out his belt, and wrapped it around his hand. “Come here, honey.” A repulsive voice and man. On my hands and knees, I made it almost to the end of the huge bed, when he circled his hand around my ankle, and with a victory cry, he flipped me on my back and once again pinned me to the bed. He pressed the belt across my neck on each side of my head, making it hard for me to breathe. His laughter washed over me, dread filling me with anticipation of his next move.
Then out of nowhere, the door burst open, and an angry voice shouted, “What the fuck are you doing, Erik?”
Erik.
At last, I had his name. No fucker would be left alive once my dad heard about it.
Erik huffed, annoyed, glanced over his shoulder, and snarled, “You interrupted my playtime.”
The man at the threshold, who wasn’t visible to me, replied coldly, “Don’t give a fuck, boy. Your father wants to see you. Leave the bitch here and fucking look decent.” The door shut loudly, the only indication we were once again alone.
My heart beat so rapidly I thought it would fly out of my ribcage. He licked my lips, and I barely contained the gagging sounds that threatened to spill from my mouth. “Later then.” Finally, he let me go, picked up his jacket, and with an evil smile he exited through the door.
The sound of the lock clicking echoed in the room. Only then, my mind registered my naked state as the shredded nightgown lay on the floor and trembles assaulted me. I covered my face with my hands and cried.
“Daddy,” I whispered. “Please, help me.” But even as I prayed for those words to come true, part of me understood it was a hopeless dream.
Rosa
“So nothing is wrong with them?”
The female doctor adjusted her eyeglasses and nodded. “Well, they both suffered from smoke inhalation. Damian Scott also has a broken leg, so we put a cast on that, and he has some minor burns. As for Dominic Konstantinov…” She sighed. “His hands are burned. We are treating them. They should be fine with the help of a plastic surgeon.” My fingers reflexively touched my cheek, remembering the cruelty of the wounds inflicted on me by Erik.
Wounds that still held nightmares, despite the plastic surgeon permanently removing them from my face.
“But other than that, there is nothing to worry about?” I pressed, and she pursed her lips, clearly annoyed with my questions. “I already said yes. They just need to rest.” Then she frowned. “Who are you exactly? The nurse said you introduced yourself as his fiancée?” My cheeks heated, but I tried to keep a cool face. Well, what else was I supposed to do? They wouldn't give me information otherwise, so I had to tell them Dom and I were engaged. I could’ve used Damian’s name, but then Sapphire probably would’ve cut my head off for it. The girl still felt bitter over the time I spent with Damian, bringing him back to life, and she held a grudge.
It was a lie I regretted, judging by the stormy expression on my dad’s face. “Yes, that’s me. Well, thank you for your information,” I said too cheerily, hoping she’d drop the subject. Her gaze lingered on my dad, who seemed oblivious to attention. Although, I damn well knew he hadn't stayed a saint since Mom’s death.
The minute she left our side, he opened his mouth, probably to scold me or something, but I raised my hand and he stopped to listen. “First, I’ll go check on Sapphire and the rest. Next, you can give me a lecture about never, ever being with Dom, okay?”
He lifted his eyebrow. “Don’t think I like this cocky attitude.”
Rolling my eyes, I gave him a quick peck on the cheek and winked. “Get used to it.” Without waiting for his reply, because he would have plenty to say, I darted to Damian’s room, which thankfully was on the same floor at the far end of the hospital.
The picture I saw there made my heart melt. Leaning on the doorjamb, I allowed myself a few moments to enjoy it.
Damian lay on the bed, various wires attached to his body and a mask over his mouth. His leg had a cast. The machine beeped with each thump of his heart. The growly man seemed so out of place in the hospital gown, but somehow, he managed to make even it look manly. Sapphire rested against his shoulder, hiding her face in the crook between his shoulder and neck while his hand subconsciously hugged her. Kristina occupied the blue chair in the corner with a blanket spread over her body as she slept soundly, her chest rising and falling in even breathing.
Watching them in that moment, jealousy stirred inside me despite how bad it sounded. Who wouldn't want to have a man who loved you as much as Damian loved her?
Damian Scott, aka Sociopath, was one of the most notorious and ruthless killers in the States. He’d sent an email to his victims with one word, Sociopath, and they’d know the end was coming. No one knew where he kidnapped them or what he did to them, but it wasn't hard to guess by the remains they’d found. No one could catch him or figure out who he was, and more importantly, no one understood his sick desires. He killed respectable men of society, family men who adored their children, and who were perfect husbands.
On the surface, that was the truth, but deep down… He punished all those who were involved in child prostitution, avenging his dead twin, Dominic, in the process. His main goal was to destroy the organization Sapphire’s father ran, and he succeeded until he met her. According to what she told me, their connection was instant, and he became obsessed with her. However, her dad supposedly killed him on the edge of the cliff, and to the world, that was the end of it. Sapphire moved into the WPP, gave birth to their daughter, and learned to live again.
What she hadn’t known was that I saved Damian, and he was alive.
“Your man is in the other room, honey.” A gentle voice interrupted my thoughts. I shifted my eyes to the nurse, who patted me on the back. “You’re probably worried about him. Come on.” Without giving me a chance to explain, and really, what could I say? I didn't want this nice woman to think I was a liar. She took me a few steps away, and we ended up in another room almost identical to Damian’s, except the bed was occupied by only one man with his hands bandaged.
My breath hitched as I studied his rugged features, his silky, black hair under the hospital cap, and the five o'clock shadow my hands itched to touch.
“You both have handsome men.” She winked at me and then pointed at the clock on the wall. “Take your time, sweetie. I’ll be back in an hour.” With one last pat on the back, she left me standing alone in the middle of the room, feeling like a fool.
He seemed so freaking alone in this world, and I knew some of the things he had endured with Damian, but not all of them. I suspected Damian shared all of it with Sapphire, but she was his woman. He hated going back in time, down memory lane, and I couldn't blame him.
Did Dominic have nightmares too?
Did he sometimes zone out?
Did he have a raging inferno inside his heart that demanded justice for himself and his twin?
And more importantly, how did he manage to escape when everyone thought he was dead and become the pakhan of the Russian Bratva.
Taking a few tentative steps to him, my hand almost touched his chest when his eyes snapped open, and for a second, our gazes clashed, his fiercely possessive and mine surprised. He mumbled something, but then he was out again.
It was enough, however, to wake me up and to understand I was stepping on a dangerous line.
Dominic Konstantinov was not the man for me.
Never. Never.
Dominic
I sprang awake with a loud gasp as paralyzing pain pinned me on the bed. My nose filled with antiseptic smells as I noticed my left arm was strapped to an IV drip. Motherfucker! Holy fucking shit, my hands hurt like hell.
What the ever-loving fuck was going on?
My eyes adjusted to the bright light, allowing me to see my surroundings. I was in a private room in the hospital, with one chair in the corner and a TV on the wall. It was a rather modest room, if you asked me, but then again, when I did end up in hospitals, they usually had VIP rooms ready for me in advance.
What the fuck happened to me? The last thing I remembered was getting us out of the fire and passing out on some grass that tickled my nose.
Ignoring the pain this time, I pushed up and noticed my hands were covered in bandages. I furrowed my brows in confusion. I wasn't injured, so why would I even be in the room?
"You have second-degree burns on both of them. Some of it was painful to look at, really. You'll have scars, man, not to mention the smoke you inhaled," Vitya said from the doorway, as he stood there with Michael, both of them holding coffee mugs in their hands and wearing grim expressions. "Maybe those will teach you to actually include your family in your business next time you have a death wish." His voice was harsh and full of anger. S was an unpredictable killer and a sociopath, so endangering more people than necessary was out of the question. We both knew he would get no comment from me, so I focused on the information he had given me first.