The Pledge: Mafia Vows

by SR Jones

  I have nothing to lose, and that makes me dangerous.

  My leg throbs, and I ignore the pain; it’s fucking psychosomatic surely, after all these years. Where my father hit me so hard with a wooden bat he broke the bone in my leg, and it didn’t mend quite right. Now when it’s cold, or weirdly, too hot, it aches. On a perfect day like today, though, it’s only hurting because I’m back here.

  Worse than the beatings were the other touches. The way Mom would hold me close to her for hours, crying into my hair and cuddling me, stroking me, like I was some toy meant to soothe her, and not a child with feelings. A child who found her distress disturbing, and the inability to leave her clutches stifling.

  Oh, I tried. On a few occasions, I’d get up and walk away as she screamed for me, but then she’d tell Dad I’d been naughty, and he’d beat me, or sometimes her. I soon learned I had to be there for her, to be quiet and good and let her hold me close as she sniffed my hair and murmured how I was her good boy. It was one of the ways I kept the peace.

  Now, I miss my home. I also get itchy, too tight skin the moment I even think of it. Talk about cognitive dissonance.

  I once read that man’s existential struggle is having a limitless mind in a limited and decaying body, and that’s why people turn to distractions such as drinking or sex, or things greater than themselves such as God. My existential struggle is a war between the me I am now and the scared child who still sometimes wants to appear.

  To squash that child, I have ruthlessly trained my mind and body. I work out. Religiously. I eat clean. I meditate. I practice martial arts, and I pray. These things all help me keep the demons at bay. I still fear, though, that one day they’ll rise up and swallow me whole.

  The cab finally pulls up outside a gated driveaway. I whistle low between my teeth. Nice. Andrius has done very well for himself. Although, his place in the UK is way grander, so I don’t know why I’m surprised.

  I pay the driver and clamber out, dropping my bags by the gate as I call Alesso to tell him to get Andrius to let me in.

  Staring at the security in front of me, a rare smile tugs at my lips. The fucker has what looks like a facial recognition camera, but if I’m not wrong, it has a retina scan embodied in it too. There’s a pad for fingerprint recognition and a keypad for a code. To get in here you either have to be Andrius or Violet, or you’re shit out of luck.

  A huge beast comes barreling down the drive toward me, teeth bared, and a low growl emitting from its throat.

  I crouch down and observe it. The dog can’t get to me through the gate, and I’m not scared of it.

  “Well aren’t you handsome?” I tell it. The growling doesn’t stop, but it does lower in tone, and the snarl retracts.

  “Yeah, I bet you’re a big baby with your daddy and mommy, aren’t you? But if I hopped over this fence here, you’d rip me to shreds.”

  “Yes, he would.”

  I lift my gaze to see Andrius strolling down the drive toward me.

  I gesture to the gate and the cameras. “I don’t think you have enough security.”

  He laughs as he gives a command to the dog in what I think is German not Russian. The beast immediately sits, and its demeanor changes to one of friendliness as its tongue lolls and it pants in the sun. Andrius busies himself inputting a code.

  “Welcome, Markos.”

  The gate opens, and Andrius claps me on the shoulder before grabbing my bag and gesturing for me to follow him.

  “Your hair is long,” he says.

  It isn’t long, but it is longer than usual. Almost brushing my shoulders. It’s wavy, and I’ve just not bothered to go get it cut in a while. I should. I don’t think Stamatis wants one of his enforcers to start looking like a rock star … or God forbid, a hippie.

  “How are things?” he asks me.

  I shrug. “Okay.” I don’t know if he has any knowledge of my past. I didn’t ask Damen to keep it a secret, but I doubt he told anyone beyond Alesso.

  Andrius eyes me. “That good, huh?”

  “Corfu gives me the creeps a bit,” I say before I can engage my brain.

  At that, Andrius stops dead and gives me a puzzled look. “Corfu? Gives you the creeps? What? It’s like the least creepy place you can imagine.”

  I smile at him then. “Oh, but it isn’t. The vrykolakas haunt these hills, my friend.”

  “The what now?”

  “The undead. Like the vampire maybe, but not truly. And then there are the ghosts. The ones who wander into rooms and drive the lonely mad.”

  “Okay.” Andrius stops and puts a hand on my arm. “One word about weird ghosts or fucking vampires in the hills to Violet, and I’ll break your legs. Understood?”

  I smirk. “Understood.”

  Of course I won’t go saying these things to Violet. I only do it now to shit with Andrius. He doesn’t need to threaten me, and his threats don’t really scare me.

  Everyone is afraid of Andrius to some degree. Even Damen, who generally fears no one. Not me, though. Not because I am brave, but because I. Don’t. Care.

  We reach the house, and I look around. It’s nice. Beautiful really. And Andrius has filled it with love. His beautiful wife, and soon-to-be beautiful child.

  He used to be the coldest, deadest person I knew. Probably the only person I believed as dead as me inside, but now he’s full of life.

  You can see it in those cold eyes of his. A spark of warmth. A hint of beauty and love, where before there was only death and vengeance.

  What must it be like to step through this layer of film that separates people like me and him from the rest of the world and join the living? How did it feel to him when he walked from this dead, empty life into one with connections and love?

  It makes him stronger, better. It also makes him so much weaker. When a man has something he cherishes above anything else, he becomes weakened by it.

  I can’t decide if I envy him or pity him.

  Markos has arrived, and he’s in the kitchen with Andrius and Alesso as they discuss things in English. Every now and again, Alesso and Markos forget themselves and descend into rapid-fire Greek, only to be told to, speak English, fuckers, by Andrius.

  He’s pretty damn good at Greek to say he’s not been here long, but not good enough it seems to follow those two when they revert back to their native language.

  I’ve never heard Markos speak so much. He is usually quiet. Morose even.

  He kind of scares me a little. Andrius scares me, but with him you know what you’re getting. He’s like a deadly spider whereby so long as you leave it be, it won’t hurt you. But go too near, and you’ll get a bite. He warned me—Don’t do anything that might bring harm to his family. That’s all I need to know.

  But Markos? He is … strange. Very strange. I can’t remotely figure him out.

  Maya seems to have formed almost a friendship with him. I can’t imagine how. His inability to smile most days would put me off from even trying.

  I enter the room, a little hesitant, not sure of my reception with Alesso after the previous evening.

  The mind-blowing, best-sex-of-my-entire-life, previous evening.

  I might not have much to compare it to, but something tells me I’ll never have the likes of Alesso in my bed again. If we split at some point, which is likely because we aren’t exactly a pairing made to last, I’ll be destined to a life of disappointing sex.

  Pain flares as I realize it will hurt more than simply losing a great shag. I like Alesso, a lot. I shouldn’t. He’s domineering. Bossy. He can be moody. And I honestly don’t know how much of a heart he has. He makes me feel safe, though. And he doesn’t belittle me in any way or put me down. Quite the opposite, in fact. He’s done nothing but try to build me up in the time he’s known me.

  When I fell asleep in his arms last night, I had the strangest sensation, as if I’d come home. I fit so perfectly as he held me close. With previous boyfriends, I’ve always had to turn away from them to be able to sleep. Wi
th Alesso, I fell asleep in his arms as soundly as a baby.

  One of the maids is serving the guys coffees, and as she goes to Alesso to give him his, she offers milk, and he shakes his head. I know he doesn’t take milk in his coffee. I know he’s a war veteran, and that he’s a man who killed a woman, but he did so to save a child. I don’t know what his favorite food is, or his political views, or his favorite place.

  I want to, though. I want to discover everything about him I can.

  He looks up, sees me, and smiles. It’s easy, warm, and my nerves dissipate a little as I enter the room.

  “Morning,” he says with a rueful grin. “Or should I say afternoon?”

  “What time is it?” I glance at the clock on the kitchen wall and am shocked. It’s past mid-day. I never sleep in like this.

  “You must have been really tired after all the exertion of yesterday.” His words make me flush, and then he winks.

  It’s so devastatingly hot that I can’t reply. My brain has lost the power to form words.

  Can you fall in love at first fuck?

  I don’t believe in love at first sight, but every time I think of Alesso now, since he imprinted himself so masterfully on my body, my heart flutters, my stomach flips, and I get stupid in the head.

  “Coffee?” the maid asks. It’s weird that we all know she’s really a trained assassin, but Violet doesn’t.

  The idea sits badly with me. I get Andrius wanting to protect his wife, and at the same time not wanting her to freak out if he goes overboard with ostentatious protective measures. But hell, the man already has the house secured like Fort Knox, and he has three armed men living in an outhouse that patrol the grounds. Why would telling her the maids are trained be a deal breaker? I think it’s wrong he’s keeping such a big thing from her.

  Then again, it’s not really any of my business.

  I nod. “Yes please. With cream please if you have it.”

  “Of course.” She goes about making me the drink, and I move my weight from one foot to the other.

  I’ll take my coffee and go sit in the living room.

  “Come sit, Stella.” Andrius indicates the seat opposite him, and I can’t really refuse without appearing rude. I go and sit, and Alesso smiles at me. Something nudges my ankle under the table, and I realize it’s him. I nudge back, and his smile widens.

  What is this? What are we doing? I have no clue, and it scares me. I want this all to mean something, but it might be nothing more to him than some good sex and some fun while he’s guarding me.

  He said all those things to me, but surely he can’t mean them? He can’t have decided out of the blue that he wants to … keep me.

  “Stella?” Andrius is giving me an odd look, and I realize the maid is speaking to me, and I’ve ignored her.

  She repeats her question. “What would you like to eat? There is fruit, or yoghurt and honey, or a Full English breakfast.”

  “An English breakfast?”

  Andrius nods. “Fucking love it. Sausage, bacon, eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes. None of those weird beans they eat over there, though, Greek beans instead. It’s amazing. You won’t want to eat anything until your evening meal.”

  I’m too worked up about last night to remotely think about shoveling so much food down me. With a shake of my head, I demure the English breakfast and ask instead for yoghurt and honey.

  There’s a small tightening of Alesso’s lips as if he doesn’t approve, but he doesn’t say anything. He orders an English breakfast. Markos goes for the yoghurt and honey like me, but with fruit.

  “What’s your favorite food?” I ask Andrius because if I ask him, then I can ask Alesso without it looking like I’m pumping him for info.

  “Borscht. It has to be good, though. Steak.”

  “Steak is so good,” Alesso agrees. “But so is a great fish. Fresh-caught swordfish.” He makes a deep satisfied moaning sound at the thought, and it goes straight to my core.

  “Thai food is the best,” Markos says.

  “Nah, it’s good, but it’s not the best; classic Greek food is the best.” Alesso states this as if it is a fact, not his opinion.

  “You cannot beat real, hearty Russian and Ukrainian food,” Andrius mutters.

  “What about you, Stella? What food do you like best?” Markos surprises me by directly engaging me in conversation.

  His dark eyes flash, and I realize in this bright light that they aren’t brown as I had thought, but such a dark, muddy blue-green, they look almost black much of the time.

  I shrug. “Not sure really. I like a lot of foods, but I suppose I prefer Mediterranean style foods the most. My father lived in Jerusalem for two years when he was younger, and he often makes falafel and baba ghanoush and other delicious things. I love it all.”

  This is going well, so I decide to make it a bit of a game. “Okay … favorite movie genre?” I say to no one in particular.

  “Action, of course,” Andrius says with a smirk.

  “Not me, I like proper historical war films.” Markos sips at his coffee after he speaks.

  I glance at Alesso to see him watching me right back, a shrewd look in his blue eyes. Crap. Has he figured me out? “Spy movies and stories. Love them. What about you?”

  “I like period dramas. I love the costumes and the locations. They’re beautiful to watch.”

  “Like watching paint dry,” Andrius huffs.

  “What’s like watching paint dry?” Violet shuffles into the room, yawning and looking tired.

  Andrius gets up and crosses to her, pulling her to a chair and pushing her gently down. “You look tired, Zaika, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, just haven’t slept so good is all.”

  The maid places a coffee in front of Violet.

  “Decaf,” she says.

  “Thank you.” Violet yawns again. “If you’ll all excuse me, I’m going to take this back to my room and try to rest for another hour or so.”

  Andrius nods, but he watches her with concern as she pads out of the room.

  “Fuck, I wish I knew what was normal or not for pregnancy,” he says as he runs a hand over his jaw.

  “It’s probably normal to be tired,” I supply. “It can’t be comfortable sleeping with a bump, and I’ve read pregnant women get acid and other things at night.”

  He takes his phone out and starts to mess around on it. A few minutes later, he looks up at me and gives me a genuine, warm smile.

  “Thank you, Stella. It says here I can raise the head of the bed, and this will help.”

  I don’t reply for a moment, so stunned by the beauty of his smile. My God, if the man went around smiling like that all the time, he’d be deadly to every woman on earth.

  “It’s fine. Glad it helped.”

  “So,” Alesso cuts in, “this fucker trading women on the island. The auction is in two days’ time. What are we going to do?”

  Not sure if I should stay or go, I put my head down and pretend to be studiously interested in my coffee cup. I don’t want them to send me out of the room because I’m interested in their plans. After all, this man means me harm. I want to know how they’re going to deal with him.

  “We go to the auction. Buy the girl. Take out Stuart after the auction, bring the girl back here, and find out where the fuck she’s come from.” Markos looks between the two men as he speaks.

  “So, auction. Buy girl. Kill bad man. Come home. Find out where girl is from. Go kill other bad men. Got it.” Andrius sits back and sips at his coffee.

  Markos pulls his phone out of his pocket and swipes the screen. “These are pictures of the auction that Stuart has. He photographs everyone who goes while they are there, proof I suppose, in case of anyone trying to talk about it. Damen got hold of these photos from the last one when he hacked into Stuart’s info. Okay, so this is weird as fuck, but most of the people there are couples.”

  “What?” I speak before I can think and stop myself. I lean forward and look at the pictures Mark
os is holding up on his phone. “How could any woman go along with her husband to enable him to buy another human being?” I am shocked to my core.

  Andrius shrugs. “You would be amazed what some people will do for money and an easy life. Let us say, maybe these women are married to these men and loathe them, but the marriages are too wealthy for either party to want a break-up. They do something like this instead. He gets a sex slave; she gets left alone to live her nice life. Then of course, some of the women might be into it too. Yet others might be abused and controlled and have no choice in what their husband does. Who knows? These things are small, only held twice a year, and extremely expensive. We’re only talking about forty people each time, and some of them are amongst the richest or most powerful people in the world. You would be amazed at how fucked up some of these people are.”

  He laughs then, but it’s hard, cold. “Once, when in Special Forces, I had to be a glorified bodyguard for a high-ranking European state minister as he visited Moscow. He paid a huge amount of money to have a woman have sex with a man dressed as a dog. I do not lie. He paid thousands for this … weirdness.”

  “Who was it?” Markos asks, but Andrius only gives him the finger.

  “So some rich and powerful people like weird sex, but it’s not the same as buying a human.” I still can’t believe any woman would do something like this.

  “No, but they think they can buy anything, some of them. They are bored, spoiled, and disgusting. They are fawned over by people wherever they go. They have the red carpet rolled out for them. They have power, and you know what they say about power and corruption.”

  His words depress me. “That’s a very jaded view of the world.”

  Andrius leans forward, he’s wearing a t-shirt, and his big arms bunch as he does so, while his eyes take on a steely gleam as he narrows them at me. “It’s not a view, it’s facts—things I have seen. Not all powerful and wealthy people are corrupt or evil. Not all corrupt or evil people become wealthy and powerful, but if you drew a Venn diagram, there would be a massive overlap between the two.”

  “High functioning sociopaths,” Markos mutters. “Bit like you, Andrius.”