Killer Love
Tabatha Drake
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Books by Tabatha Drake
About the Author
Copyright
Prologue
Sofia
This is my fault.
Four little words echo through the back of my mind, barely audible over the sharp ringing in my ears.
The explosion was small and controlled, immediately following three familiar beeps. The last time I heard them, they signified freedom from the inescapable walls of my former life, and I began anew with a man I would come to love more than I ever thought possible.
Now, they signify death.
The other girls lie nearby, their white dresses torn and spotted with dirt and blood. Dani struggles beneath the edge of a toppled casino table and my gut lurches with guilt as a man in black marches forward and threatens her with his rifle. Another does the same to Lucy, barking orders at her to stand down as she locks into a fighter’s stance. I marvel at her bravery as my eyes swell with tears. There’s no escaping this time.
This is my fault.
If I had only done as I was told. If I had submitted rather than defied. If I had been the good bride I was raised to be, we wouldn’t be here now.
I roll over onto my back, ignoring the pain firing up my side with each new breath I take. More men in black tactical gear pile in through the hole in the wall. I cringe beneath the sounds of screaming as they drag the girls away.
My tears flow. My heart breaks. Forgive me…
Luka.
I gaze into the chaos around me until I find his face. He lies on his back a meter away, his body heavy and unmoving. The edges of his suit are singed and torn. Blood drips down his closed eyes.
“Luka?” I cry out louder, my ears still ringing. “Luka!”
He doesn’t move. Two men approach, each grabbing one of his arms and hoisting him up off the floor.
“Wait!” I twist onto my knees. “Stop.”
They drag him away toward the front card table.
“Luka!”
Gloved hands descend on me, too. I kick and scream for mercy, but it doesn’t do any good.
I’m sorry, lyubov’ moya.
I’m sorry, Fox and Dante and all of you.
This is my fault.
Chapter 1
Luka
It’s autumn in Italy and the air has just begun to turn cold. Other children playing in the streets outside of our car wear long trousers and jackets but for me and my big brother, it feels like any other summer day.
We come from Russia.
My mother grips my shirt and straightens the collar once more. “Yuri, Luka — you are representing the Lutrova family here today,” she says, giving her voice a hard edge. “Be nice to the Zappia boys and Luka…” She points a thin, but stern, finger at my face. “For Heaven’s sake, boy, don’t start any fights.”
I open my mouth to argue but my brother talks over me. “I’ll watch him, Ma. He won’t start any trouble.”
“That goes for both of you,” our father says. “The truce created today will last for generations, meaning that someday, the two of you will inherit this from me and the Zappia boys will inherit it from their father. The sooner we all get along, the better off it’ll be. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” we say.
Our driver stops the car and I look outside the window. I instantly blink with delight, amazed by the colors surrounding me. In Russia, you see white, you see black, and — as a member of the Lutrova crime family — various shades of red, but you rarely ever see colors like these. The grass is bright green and the sky is a vivid blue. Flowers line the driveway in pinks and purples and oranges. I smile, wanting so badly to touch them but then I remember my mother’s words of warning to keep my hands in my pockets.
The front door opens as we step out of the car and the Zappia family lines up in front of us; father, mother, and the three boys.
“Nikolai!” the man greets my father, throwing up his hand in welcome.
“Antony,” my father says, stepping closer to take his hug. I flinch as the man kisses my father’s cheek. My mother pinches my ear and I stand up straight. “Thank you for welcoming us to your home.”
“I believe it’s long overdue,” Antony says. “The foolish pride of our fathers impeded much progress between our families…”
“I could not have said it better myself.” My father shifts on his heel and sighs at the woman’s face. “And this must be the beautiful Beatrix.”
She lowers her head and says nothing.
Antony waves a finger. “Careful now, Nikolai. A Zappia woman may not engage in conversation with a man who is not her family.”
My father steps back. “My sincerest apologies, Antony.”
Antony grins and waves a hand. “It’s all right. You had no idea. Our traditions run deep, but they are not unforgiving… to an extent.”
My mother steps forward. “I don’t suppose there’s a rule against her talking to me because I must know more about this wonderful landscape. I’d guess she’d be the one to talk to about that, yes?”
Antony blinks twice. Obviously, our family doesn’t have rules against talkative women, and I can’t imagine my mother being okay with being told who she can or can’t speak to. “Of course not, Madam Lutrova. I’m sure Beatrix would be happy to give you a tour of the grounds.”
My father clears his throat at my mother. “Antony, my wife, Nina.”
My mother shakes Antony’s hand and her quick, strong jerk nearly knocks him off his feet. I struggle to hold in my laugh as Yuri nudges my ribs.
I look at the Zappia boys and my smile drops. Each one of them glares at my mother with disgust and my hands roll into fists in my pockets.
Beatrix silently leads my mother inside, but I hear her familiar voice from the other side of the door, purposefully loud and confident.
Antony gestures to his sons. “And these are my boys: Lorenzo, Giovani, and Martino.”
I stare at them, each one trying desperately to emulate their father’s stiff posture. Italian features stand out on their faces. Thick, brown hair, even browner eyes, and that hard upper lip. Lorenzo, the oldest, looks to be about twelve, the same age as my brother. Giovani is my age, maybe a little younger than nine. And Marty’s small, possibly about five.
My father beams at them and fires off a few compliments about how strong they look but I can tell what he’s really thinking because I’m thinking the same thing.
What a bunch of wimps.
He turns to us, still grinning. “And these are my sons: Yuri and Luka.”
Antony regards us with the same respect he gives my father but if I knew him better, then I’m sure I’d see that same, disdainful twinkle in his eyes. The feud between the Zappias and the Lutrovas goes back generations and ingrained beliefs aren’t going to go away after a few handshakes.
“Boys, how about you and the Lutrovas run off and play?
” Antony says. “Nikolai and I have much to discuss.”
Martino takes off first, happy to move his tiny, impatient legs while the rest of us stare each other down.
Finally, Lorenzo steps forward and leads all of us around the house to the backyard. I look around with wide eyes, once again amazed by my new surroundings. Bushes cover the grounds in rows, spread from end to end within the tall, stone wall that encircles the grounds. It seems to go on forever and my imagination soars with it.
“Let’s play a game, Enzo…”
I look over to find Giovani wringing his hands. He winks at his big brother and Lorenzo smirks.
“Sure, Gio,” he says. “Let’s play hide and seek.”
It’s an obvious setup. Make the dumb Lutrova boys wander around lost while they snatch up the best hiding places. I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same to them back home on our estate.
“Sure.” Yuri plays nice with them. “Who’s It?”
Everyone falls silent with shifting eyes, none of us willing to volunteer. There are plenty of fair ways to figure out who It will be, but I’d rather get this day over with.
I raise my hand. “I’ll do it.”
Enzo and Gio snicker, jutting their elbows into each other while Martino picks his nose.
“Cover your eyes and count to twenty,” Gio shouts at me. “No cheating!”
I turn around and place my forehead against the nearest tree. “One… two…”
I listen to their feet trample through the leaves and grass, splitting off in four different directions around me while I count out loud.
“Stay with me, Marty!” Enzo shouts, beckoning to his baby brother. “Don’t get lost…”
“Twelve… thirteen…”
Finally, their voices disappear into the wild.
“Nineteen…. twenty!”
I raise my head and turn around, breathing a quick sigh of relief. Now, I can explore this place on my own without the damn Zappia boys hanging around. I’m sure they’ll think me an idiot for not finding them, but I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about what a damn Zappia thinks.
My feet take me deeper into the garden. I follow the stones along the path, my imagination clicking on as deep, deadly lakes of quicksand surround me. I balance with fast feet, hopping along while I listen to the soothing wind tossing the tree branches around above my head.
Quick movement rushes in front of me and I look up to find nothing and no one on the path but a color catches my eye. It waves at me from a bush a few meters away, flapping up and down as if to beckon me closer. I pause, enticed by the deep, red shade, and step off the path to find a ribbon twitching in the wind.
As I grab it, a face appears out of the shrub. I jolt backward, my breath catching in my throat, but I quickly realize that there’s no danger here.
It’s just a little girl.
“Hello…” I say, staring into her small, round face. She’s definitely Italian with her frail features and long, brown hair but her eyes sparkle in ways the others don’t.
She spins around and takes off through the grass, weaving between the trees with experience as if she planted them all herself.
I pause, unsure whether to chase her down or ignore her.
My feet answer for me and I follow the sound of her through the bushes, all the way to the other side of the estate itself.
I lose track of her quickly, but I keep moving deeper into the garden. Finally, I find a shed lodged between two tall trees against the back wall. The door creaks as I shove it open to peek inside. It’s silent and dark. Various pots and equipment line the walls, most of which are heavily used. I squint, trying to make out the shape of her, but no little girl would ever go in a place like this.
I hear the shuffling of feet and I pause, my senses drawn toward the table in the corner. There’s a tablecloth hanging down to the floor, slightly skewed along the edge. I step closer to it, expecting to find one of the idiot Zappia boys hidden beneath it.
I raise it up and the girl flinches. She cowers a little more, pressing her back against the dirty, wooden wall.
“Hello.” I wait for her to reply but she keeps her mouth closed. “I’m Luka. What’s your name?”
The girl lowers her head, just like Beatrix Zappia did when my father spoke to her before.
“You’re not allowed to speak to me, are you?”
She shakes her head.
I extend my hand to her and her little eyes drop to my fingers. “Come on out. I won’t hurt you.”
Her fingers fidget against her knees.
“Sofia!”
A woman shouts the name and it echoes throughout the grounds, traveling on the wind outside. The girl winces and I smile, recognizing that expression as I’ve made it many times before myself. She knows she’s in trouble.
“Sofia?” I say her name and she perks up. “Your name is Sofia.”
She nods.
I push my hand in further. “Come on out. You don’t want to keep them waiting.” Still, she refuses to move. “Well, if you won’t come out, then I’ll come in and get you.”
Her eyes grow wide with fear, and I instantly regret causing it. I lower my hand, thinking to leave her alone, but I linger instead.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the red ribbon. “Is this yours?” I ask her.
She stares at it, hesitating to answer. Finally, she nods, and I hold my hand a little closer.
“Here. Take it.”
She chews on her lips, wanting so badly to reach for it, but I still see that little bit of fear in her eyes.
“Sofia…” I grin. “That’s a very pretty name.”
A smile spreads across her face.
The door pushes open behind me. I spin around as Gio barges into the shed.
“Hey!” He shouts at me, his voice full of rage. “Stay away from her!”
He grabs me and pulls me off the floor. “Let go of me!” I say.
Gio keeps his grip on my shirt. “She’s mine!” he says. “Mine! You can’t have her!”
I shove him away as he punches at me. “I didn’t do anything, you shit!”
He stomps his feet. “Sofia is mine! Daddy said she was mine, so you can’t have her!”
I blink, just as shocked by his words as his pathetic tantrum.
Our mothers finally rush into the shed. Beatrix grabs Gio by the scruff of his shirt and pulls him away from me.
“Let him go!” She scolds him, keeping a firm grip on his arm. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Luka, what did you do?” my mother snaps at me.
“I didn’t do anything!” I say. “I was talking to the girl, and he jumped me.”
“What girl?”
I point at the table and they turn around.
Beatrix sighs and leans down to peek beneath the tablecloth. “Sofia. Get out of there. Now.”
She snaps her fingers twice. Sofia slowly crawls out from her hiding place. Beatrix snatches her little chin, and I flinch as she forces the girl to make eye contact.
“Did you speak to this boy?” she asks.
Sofia shakes her head, trembling with fear.
“She didn’t!” I shout.
My mother rests a hand on my shoulder. “Silence, Luka.”
“Sofia…” Beatrix says through clenched teeth. “Do not lie. You know what happens to little girls who lie.”
“I saw her!” Gio stomps his feet again, and I hold back the urge to strike him. “She was talking to him!”
“No, she wasn’t!” I look to my mother, begging for her to believe me. “She never said a word. I swear!”
Beatrix tugs on Sofia’s arm and pulls her toward the door. “Get inside the house, Sofia.”
“Wait—!”
I lurch forward, but my mother wraps her arm around me.
Sofia whips her head back, casting one final glance at me, before she disappears outside.
Gio fires a hard stare in my direction and follows them out, slamming the door behind him.
&n
bsp; “Luka, dammit.” My mother sighs. “You couldn’t go an hour without picking a damn fight?”
“I didn’t, Ma,” I say, my eyes locked on the door. “He jumped me…”
She stands up tall and crosses her arms. “I know. I believe you.”
“You do?”
“My son only lies to me when he’s protecting himself.” She nudges my chin and smiles. “Not little girls.”
“What did he mean?” I ask. “He said Sofia was his, that his father told him so.”
“Oh…” She nods. “They must be betrothed.”
I furrow my brow. “Betrothed?”
She waves a hand. “Old custom. Our family doesn’t do it anymore, but some still do.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means Giovani and Sofia are promised to each other,” she explains. “When they grow up, they’ll be married.”
I cringe. “Doesn’t she have a choice?”
“Usually, no.”
“That’s stupid.”
She laughs. “Well, that’s the Zappia way.”
I look at the door again. “Will she be punished?”
“Hopefully not, but…” She shakes her head. “That’s not our business, Luka.”
“But she didn’t—”
“I know…” She leans down and cups my face. “That’s the Zappia way. We have our own. There’s no need to get involved in what you can’t control. Do you hear me?”
I nod, forcing the lump in my throat down.
My mother stands up and points at my hand. “What do you have there?”
I open my palm, and Sofia’s red ribbon curls between my fingers. “Nothing,” I say as I shove it back into my pocket.
Killer Love Page 1