Vicious Oath: A Dark Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance (Ivanov Crime Family Book 2)

by Zoe Blake

  I missed her. Even years later, it felt like a constant empty ache in my chest.

  I didn't think it would be so hard if I’d known that she was at least happy and content when she died. She wasn’t. Unbidden the memory creeped back.

  The smell of disinfectant.

  The constant squeak of the nurse’s shoes on the linoleum floor.

  The harsh glare of fluorescent lighting.

  Me sitting on a cold metal chair in the hallway, staring at my sneakers as my legs swung wildly but didn’t touch the floor. The sneakers had been my favorite. Pink with silvery glitter on the toes and in the shape of a heart on the sides.

  Now they were splattered with blood.

  My mother’s blood.

  In hushed tones, the two policemen stood nearby and whispered to one another. Talking about how my mother couldn’t have missed seeing the on-coming car and how there was no evidence of swerve or brake marks on the asphalt.

  On the other side of a partially closed hospital room door, I could hear her begging my stepfather. Saying she was sorry over and over again and pleading with him to take care of me and not treat me as badly as her. At the time, I hadn't known what she meant; I was too young. All I understood was the fear and desperation in her voice which, as a child, scared the hell out of me. It was only later, when he started to lash out and hit me too that I understood.

  Finally understood it all.

  How my mother would get nervous when he came into a room. The heavy eye make-up and long sleeves she would wear even in summer. I shook off the bad memory. It was in the past, best forgotten.

  He didn’t honor her wish, but I could honor her memory by escaping.

  Take a risk.

  Dream big.

  Chase the impossible.

  Samara broke into my morose thoughts. “Listen, I don’t even know how to say this, so I’m just going to blurt it out.”

  Her tone immediately alerted me that something was wrong. Very wrong. Grabbing the edges of my pillow, I shimmied closer to her along the floor. Then I leaned close and rubbed her upper arm reassuringly.

  Nadia started. “Oh my God, Samara, what’s wrong? Is it Peter?”

  I chimed in. “We’ve been besties since we could walk. You can tell us anything.”

  Samara turned pleading eyes on Nadia. “I don’t want you to get mad at me.”

  “Samara, I could never be mad at you. Tell me, what’s wrong,” reassured Nadia.

  Samara blurted everything out. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It was positively medieval! Her parents were cold unfeeling people, but never in a million years would I have thought they were capable of selling their only child to maintain their selfish lifestyle.

  Samara brushed away more tears. “I’m sorry, Nadia, but I don’t want to marry your brother.”

  Nadia hugged her. “I don’t want you to marry my brother either!”

  Samara’s mouth fell open. “What?”

  “I know you had this big crush on him when we were younger, and I know girls think he’s cute and stuff….”

  Cute and stuff?

  It was jarring to hear Nadia refer to her brothers as cute and stuff.

  I thought of the feel of Damien’s forceful embrace. The intense scrutiny of his dark sapphire eyes. The way he towered over me and demanded I submit to his fiery kisses. My arms crossed over my chest, to hide my now-hard nipples. Damn, that man was really in my head!

  With Samara’s insane revelations, now was not the time to tell Nadia about my encounter with her other brother.

  Especially since I hadn’t had a chance to process any of the crazy thoughts and emotions I was feeling.

  I mean Damien had kissed me — there.

  Damien.

  Nadia’s scary older brother, Damien.

  Demon Damien.

  No matter how many times I said his name in my head, it still didn’t seem real.

  Actually, he hadn’t just kissed me. If he hadn’t been the one to stop, I’m fairly certain I would have happily lost my virginity in the front seat of his car.

  Not exactly the romantic scene I had always pictured for the pivotal moment but still...

  Damien.

  Damien Ivanov.

  The passionate way he had embraced me, even his anger over my black eye, had taken me completely by surprise. I didn’t think the man knew I was alive. I mean, of course, he knew my name and that I was one of his little sister’s best friends. He knew my stepfather as one of his minions but that really should have been it.

  We’d really never spoken except for that time when he caught me stealing and bought me McDonald’s. I was so upset and nervous, I don’t think I'd spoken two words to him. I just remember wondering how someone so nice could be so terrifying at the same time.

  Years later, that still summed up my feelings about Damien.

  On one hand, it was hard not to be drawn to the whole protective vibe he was giving off. Even if it was in a rather arrogant and overbearing way.

  On the other hand, there was the terrifying way he took control. The way he didn’t ask for but demanded my obedience as if he had a right to it.

  Fuck. My mind was all over the place and now was not the time.

  Samara needed me.

  And fortunately for the both of us, I had plan.

  Chapter 8

  Yelena

  Giving myself a mental shake, I forced my brain to focus.

  We could only handle one troublesome Ivanov brother at a time and clearly Samara’s situation was far more pressing than my current predicament with Damien.

  Still, I couldn’t resist saying, “Uh… Nadia. Your brothers aren’t cute. They’re hot as fuck. Even though they’re both a pain in the ass, especially Damien.”

  They both gave me a startled look. I waved them off. “We had words earlier.” That’s the understatement of a lifetime! “I… might be in a little trouble.”

  Samara swiped at her eyes. “Wait. What? Why?”

  I waved her off again. “It’s nothing. We’re talking about your problem right now.”

  Samara cocked her head to the side and gave me a probing look. “Yelena….”

  “I’ll tell you both later.”

  Nadia nervously played with the fringe on her pillow. “I love Gregor, but he can be really old-fashioned. I know what he wants in a wife, and Samara is not it. No offense!”

  “None taken!” Samara assured her.

  “It’s just. Look. It’s not like I wouldn’t love it if you were truly my sister and all that, but… you’re not the only one he scares. He terrifies me sometimes, too, and he’s my brother! The guy’s intense! I still don’t know why they sent him back to Russia. It’s a big family secret, but I know it was something bad… really bad.”

  Samara whispered dejectedly, “I’m in real trouble, aren’t I?”

  In that moment, I blurted out my plan. “You have to run.”

  I really wasn’t sure if I was talking to Samara or myself. Either way, the answer was the same. We had to run. Both of us. Together. There was no other option. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was a plan.

  They both trained startled looks on me.

  Samara’s brow furrowed as she shook her head. “What?”

  “You have to leave. It’s your only option. If you stay, your parents will force you to marry him.”

  “I don’t know anyone. I don’t have any money. Where would I go?”

  “I have money, and I’m coming with you.”

  Never in a million years would I have wished anything bad to happen to Samara, but this really was the perfect solution.

  Damien had made it clear my escapade at the track had been found out, although for the life of me I had no idea how. I'd used a fake driver’s license and social security card when picking up the winnings. I probably should have worn some kind of disguise, too. I’d known there were cameras all around the track, especially near the betting windows. Still, even good disguises are so conspicuous, and I d
idn’t want to give the teller the slightest doubt about cashing in my ticket. I was already conspicuous enough cashing in a Pick Six for the second then third time in a week as it was.

  Maybe someone had watched the security video and recognized me?

  Could it have been Damien?

  I gave myself a mental shake. No.

  He said I had pissed off factions with both the Italians and the Columbians with my betting scheme. There was no way, if he had somehow gotten his hands on the security tapes, that he would have told them who I was — and that’s assuming he recognized me. Despite being Nadia’s brother, I had barely seen him over the last eight years. Once or twice when he was still in college but after he graduated and joined his brother in running the family business, I’d never seen him again. Until tonight.

  We never talked about it, and I was sure both Nadia and Samara only had the barest idea of the dark dealings both of their families were involved in. Nadia especially had no idea her brothers ran one of the scariest Russian mafia families on both sides of the Atlantic. The Ivanovs were infamous, known for being ruthless and unbending of purpose.

  If they wanted something, they took it. No apology.

  And Samara’s family was little better.

  Nadia and Samara may be blissfully ignorant, but I didn’t have that luxury.

  My stepfather was a low-life, hanger-on to the Ivanovs. He had never made any attempt at hiding from me the various criminal dealings he was involved in.

  He used to get drunk and complain about how they only trusted him to fix the horses for the races and keep an eye on the activities of the Italians and Columbians at the track. Apparently, all three mafia had their fingers in the racetrack pie. It was an easy way to launder money fast. They each had an interest in keeping things balanced to make sure that none took too big of a piece. That would have attracted the attention of the Feds, something none of the three factions wanted.

  He would always grumble about how one day he would be in on the big deals. He was so low in the hierarchy, I didn't think even he’d known what the big deals really were, but from snatches of overheard cell phone conversations and his own drunken ramblings, I was pretty sure it involved some kind of gun smuggling.

  Which could only reaffirm what I had overheard in my stepfather’s drunken rants over the years. Gregor and Damien were two seriously dangerous criminals.

  Samara and I had to run.

  We had no choice.

  As their little sister, Nadia was safe.

  We had no such protection.

  Nadia leaned in. “What do you mean you have money? How much money?”

  My mouth quirked up. “Over a hundred grand.”

  Samara covered her mouth then asked from behind her palm, as if she was afraid to ask the question. “Yelena! How?”

  At the same time, Nadia exclaimed, “Seriously?”

  “That racetrack scheme my piece of shit stepfather was working on. I reworked the algorithm and hit big. Really big.” I turned to Nadia. “By the way, it’s why your brother Damien is pissed at me. Something about bringing the attention of the feds to some mob scheme.”

  “So, we’re really doing this? We’re running?”

  “All kidding aside. If Damien is right, I could be in some real trouble with some pretty nasty people because of what I did. I need to get out of town. Now.”

  I didn’t really have a plan other than to hop on a plane and never return. Now with Samara in tow and knowing I was being pursued, we would need to be more careful. We’d need fake IDs; all the ones I used to place my bets were obviously burned, but those were easy enough to come by. I’d just need two weeks to set it up.

  We both turned to Nadia.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks. She shook her head. “I can’t go,” she whispered.

  While I was sad we would be separating, deep down I was relieved. If Nadia wanted to go, we never would have told her no, but it would have made an already complicated situation impossible. Gregor and Damien would have torn the world apart searching for their baby sister.

  Samara made a weak attempt to reassure her. “We won’t be separated forever. All this will blow over. Gregor will marry someone else, and whatever Yelena did will be forgotten. And then we’ll come back, okay, Nadia?”

  Samara might come back, but I never would.

  We hugged one last time.

  I warned them both that I would be reaching out from a different cell phone number in the upcoming days and that I wouldn’t be in school. I couldn’t go back there. If what Damien said was true then, Monday morning, that would be the first place everyone would be looking for me. We were only two weeks from graduation. For all intents and purposes, I already had my diploma.

  Not that it would do me much good with the life I was about to lead.

  I watched them both descend down the worn plank ladder. After they were gone, I crawled over to the corner and tossed our old dolls to the side and dragged out the heavy black canvas bag hidden there. To reassure myself, I unzipped it and stared at the stacks of one-hundred-dollar bills. No wonder the bag weighed close to twenty-five pounds. It was a lot of cash.

  I had a lot of research to do in the next few days. I had to figure out where the best place was for us to hide out for a few months. Probably Mexico. I also had to figure out how I was going to hide all this cash. If the suitcase got searched at the airport there would be questions. I could risk shipping it ahead of me to some PO box. Worst case scenario was if it got stolen, I would just pull off the same scheme at some other racetrack.

  It would be risky. For starters, the men after me were probably watching for Pick Six wins around the primary tracks. They were uncommon enough to monitor. Plus, with my current scheme, I knew in advance what the fixed races were because my stepfather was one of the ones who fixed them. This time, I would just have to rely on the favorite to win, but it could still work.

  All of this could wait. For now, I needed to find a place to hide out until Samara was ready to leave. I obviously couldn’t go back to the hotel or my house.

  My mind raced with everything that needed to be done.

  Then all my thoughts came to a screeching halt.

  Damien.

  What was I going to do about Damien?

  Nothing.

  That was the only answer.

  I was nothing to him.

  He'd probably only said all that super sexy protective shit about making my stepfather pay for hitting me to get me in bed. The racetrack thing was obviously an annoyance to him and whatever operation he had going on at the track, but since I was skipping town, I wouldn’t be pulling off any more Pick Sixes at Colonial Downs.

  There, problem solved.

  Damien could go back to taking long-legged, beautiful models named Fifi to live symphony concerts and not spare me another thought.

  Never in my life had I underestimated a man before.

  Never in a million years would I have thought I would become his one driving obsession.

  Demon Damien Ivanov went on the hunt that night — and I was his unwitting prey.

  Chapter 9

  Damien

  I stretched out the fingers of my right hand and hissed as fresh blood oozed from the cuts on my knuckles. Usually, I preferred to punch my victims in the kidneys or break their ribs, making it difficult for them to breathe and keep fighting, but this time I had to go for the face. It’s not that I had any problems with hitting anyone in the face, I just found it annoying how their teeth tore up my knuckles.

  The purpose of this beating was to put on a show of force, in order to truly terrify Yelena’s stepfather into talking when he arrived, and for that I needed visible signs of damage, which meant the face.

  Mikhail, my head of security, sauntered in.

  He kicked at the bloody mess of a man lying prone on the cement floor. The pile of skin, broken bones, and blood groaned but did little else.

  Reaching into his suit jacket, Mikhail pulled free the slim, bl
ack and gold packaging of Sobranie Black Russian cigarettes. They were barred from import in the United States but prized among us elite Russians for whom smoking was a pleasurable esthetic not a nasty habit like some Americans considered it.

  “Strelyat' sigaret,” I said, using the Russian slang for him to shoot me one.

  Mikhail nodded and opened the flap, offering me one of the black paper and gold-foil tipped cigarettes. He lit his own before tossing me his Zippo. I did the same and took a long drag.

  The body on the floor moaned, capturing our attention.

  “I see you started the fun without me,” quipped Mikhail as he took a drag then lowered his arm.

  Turning, I reached into my wool overcoat pocket and pulled out my silver flask. It was dented and scratched but still a prized possession. It had been my father’s. He would be rolling in his grave if he knew I was filling his favorite flask with scotch not vodka, which was precisely the point.

  The entire man’s life was the motherland and family honor. The happiness and wishes of his sons and only daughter were nothing to him. Even dead, he still ruled over our lives. Gregor consented to an arranged marriage with Samara Federova because our father wished it. We were both in this violent bullshit business because of our father.

  I lifted the flask in mock salute.

  Fuck you, Father.

  I took a sip then offered it to Mikhail with a nod.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Vodka or that shit you like to drink?”

  “That shit is Macallan Rare single-malt scotch. It’s aged close to twenty years.”

  He shook his head again. “I’ve got my own.”

  The flask he retrieved from his pocket shone like polished sterling.

  “Pretty. Does it come with matching earrings?” I taunted.

  He laughed. “Fuck you.”

  I took another swig. “I noticed you talking with Nadia earlier.”