Morally Ambiguous: A Dark Mafia Romance (Morally Questionable Book 4)

by Veronica Lancet

  And so I go to one of the locations I'd pulled from his cell phone—a suburban bar—and then I just carefully lay out the trap, making sure he's drugged up before I take him back to the house.

  Michael doesn't seem like such a bright chap, although he's been evading the feds for a while now. But then again, I shouldn't be too surprised that state organizations are floundering. After all, I am the one benefitting from their incompetence.

  Once his body is loaded in the car and I'm on my way back home, I have to be extra careful so that the surprise isn't ruined for Sisi.

  Going to the basement, I access a part that's separated from the rest. I hadn't wanted for Sisi to see it and get scared of me—again.

  And so when I reach my blood room, I lay Michael on a table, quickly getting to work.

  The easy part is cutting him open and getting the heart out. In fact, it takes me less than half an hour to cut through skin, open up his thoracic cavity and get the heart out. And because it's not my first rodeo, I even manage to do it without making a mess.

  As soon as I have the heart out, I drain it of blood and cauterize the arteries so they don't leak even more liquid later on.

  Then, I take a scalpel and get to work, carving a special dedication to Sisi.

  Compared to the harvesting part, getting my strokes right is much harder, since the muscle has striations and is overall uneven.

  It takes me a few hours of concentration to make sure everything is perfect. When I'm done, it's already close to dawn, so I know I can't waste any time.

  Getting a silver platter and scattering some rose petals around, I'm finally pleased with the overall appearance.

  If I can't give her my own heart, I'll just give her the next best thing.

  But what if she asks for mine?

  What if she's not satisfied with a substitute? I mean, I'm sure I could get a heart transplant... Yes, that would work. I'd be alive to see her reaction, and she'd still get my heart.

  Win-win.

  Just to make sure I have everything covered, I call Maxim and ask him to book me up for a heart consultation.

  Maybe then she'll see just how honest my intentions are.

  Still, I hope this will be enough since a transplant would put me out of commission for a while, and there's too much to be done to waste any time.

  I already missed a day of gifts, so right before she opens her door, I'm there, waiting.

  "What's this?" she asks as I come face to face with her.

  "I made you a little something," I say, trying to sound confident even though I'm already scared I'll offend her yet again.

  "Again?" she raises an eyebrow, arms crossed over her chest as she waits for me to remove the lid off the platter.

  "Well, I put more work into this. I didn't just buy it," I give her my signature smile, my fingers on the lid as I lift it, carefully watching for her expression.

  She squints her eyes at the heart, and for a few seconds she's quiet.

  And then she laughs.

  "Vlad," she starts, barely able to speak in between spurts of laughter, "what is this?"

  "A heart." I answer, a little unsure of myself.

  Damn, but I thought she'd like it.

  "You brought me a heart?" she raises her gaze to meet mine and I nod.

  "It's in place for my heart since I couldn't bring that and, you know, actually bring it." I try to explain, but she just keeps laughing.

  "Vlad," she forces herself to keep a straight expression, "you carved a heart on a heart?" she bursts into laughter again.

  I turn the heart towards me, trying to see what's so funny. I'd carved her name with an arrowhead and a three next to it since that's what people use to indicate love online.

  "I don't understand," I speak slowly, frowning in confusion.

  "This," she points at the arrow head and the three, "is a heart. Carved on a heart," she giggles.

  "You're not mad?" I ask, just to be sure. "I thought you'd like it." I put on a smile again, hoping to charm her.

  "It's rather unusual," she replies, pursing her lips. "But I do like it," she notes, and I finally sigh in relief.

  "Good, good. I thought you'd have wanted me to give you my own heart, but that would have been a little harder," I say and her eyebrows knit together in consternation, "not impossible," I amend, "just harder."

  "You would have given me your heart?" she asks, blinking as if surprised.

  "Of course. I can still do it, just not immediately. I asked Maxim to book me in for a transplant consult, and after that you can have it," my lips pull up in a grin.

  "Why?" her question throws me off.

  "Why why? To make you see I am not playing any games," I take a deep breath, "I'm really trying," I confess.

  "Where did you get a heart, though?" she changes the subject, not really acknowledging my statement.

  "It wasn't an innocent person, I swear," I'm quick to defend myself, "it was a known pedophile, and I just got to him before the police." I say, quickly removing my new phone from my pocket and showing her his name on the FBI list.

  "I see," she replies thoughtfully. "Is it clean?"

  "Clean?" I repeat, confused. But then it dawns on me what she means. "Yes, it's very clean," I answer with a smile.

  "Then come on, lover boy. I am famished and you caught breakfast. You should cook it." She winks at me, taking my hand and leading me to the kitchen.

  Fuck, she's touching me! It worked!

  I end up grilling the heart well while Sisi makes a sauce to go with it, and in no time we're both at the table, trying out the food. I also open a bottle of red wine on the side.

  "You know," she starts, her mouth full, "I never thought I'd say this, but a pedophile's heart doesn't taste half bad," she comments, a mischievous grin on her face.

  "Indeed," is all I can say as I watch her give me a smile for the first time in forever. And just like that, I feel my own heart do some weird somersault in my chest.

  "I'm sorry." I tell her sincerely, taking advantage of the one time she's not mad at me.

  She frowns, placing her fork down to focus her attention on me.

  "I never told you, but I'm sorry for what I did to you," I swallow, the images of that night still haunting me, "and for what I said. I want you to know I never meant any of it, I just needed you as far away from me."

  "Why?" She regards me solemnly, her head tilted to the side.

  "I didn't want to hurt you more than I already did. I..." I trail off, words failing me. Not that I've ever been great with them, as Sisi can attest.

  "Why now? Why are you doing this now, Vlad? We had a clean break. Three months I didn't hear from you, and now you're suddenly here, in front of me, telling me that you're sorry?"

  "I wasn't going to come into your life ever again, Sisi. I really thought that was it," my fists clench under the table, and I try my best to stay in control.

  "Then what changed?" She frowns.

  "I did." Her mouth parts slightly. "I realized that I couldn't do it. I couldn't exist without you. So I tried to get better. I am better."

  "I don't understand," she replies, and I see this as my chance before she withdraws within herself again.

  Pushing back my chair, I unbutton my shirt, taking it off and discarding it on the floor. Coming to her side, I take her hand and place it on my chest, right at the sharp angle of the triangle.

  "This isn't just a triangle, Sisi," I tell her, using her own hands to trace its true shape. "It's an A."

  "A..." a frown mars her features as she leans closer to study the ink on my skin.

  "The A that holds the monsters at bay," I continue, my hand on her hair as I lightly caress it. "I lied that night, Sisi. Fuck, I lied about everything. But the one thing you need to know is that you're not ordinary to me. You're one of a kind," I take a deep breath, pushing her chin up so she can see the sincerity in my eyes, "my one of a kind."

  "Vlad," she starts, and I can see tears glistening in her eyes.


  "No, you don't have to say anything," I press one finger to her lips, using my other hand to wipe some of the moisture in her lashes. "I'll wait for you. No matter how long it takes, I will wait for you. But I'm not letting you go. Not this time."

  My plan is slowly starting to work. For a few days now Sisi and I have developed a pleasant companionship and she no longer closes the door in my face. In fact, she even acknowledges my presence now, which is more than I would have hoped for.

  But since it's not the best progress, so I need to step up my game more. After perusing several articles, I've decided to heed their advice since they all seem to recommend the same thing—play hard to get.

  I'm not entirely sure how this is the best approach since I just got her to talk to me, but if this is the key to making her more interested in me, then so be it.

  As I look across multiple sites, I see that I need to be the one ignoring her now. All, of course, to make her reach out first.

  "Damn it," I mutter to myself, a little reluctant to switch attitudes.

  But if they say it will work...

  For the next two days, I do just that. When I see her, I barely say a few words, more often than not showing myself unavailable to her.

  I can see she's bothered by my sudden change in attitude, and it takes everything in me not to stop it immediately and apologize to her. But the more I look at the advice on the internet, the more they recommend the opposite.

  On the third day, I don't even have to try, as I'm called away for the entire day. Maxim suddenly called me to ask for help in dealing with the police in the case of some missing prisoners. And since Maxim is not the best at diplomacy, I'd rather deal with it myself.

  After an entire day of interviews, I come home ready to go to bed. Opening the door to my room, I don't even pay attention to my surroundings as I take off my blazer and my tie before loosening the buttons on my shirt.

  "Fuck, you scared me," I jump up when the light goes on and I see Sisi sitting at my desk, hands on the table as she looks at me suspiciously.

  "We need to talk," she says, getting up and plopping herself in front of me.

  "We do?" I raise my eyebrows, a little confused.

  "Yes," she nods, crossing her arms over her chest in a pose that tells me she means business.

  Damn, I think I'm screwed.

  Now I just have to see what I did wrong.

  Again.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  How does one go from promising to never let me go one day, to completely ignoring me the next?

  I'm so frustrated I'm ready to throw my hands in the air. I'd prided myself on being able to read Vlad pretty well, and I'd even found myself believing his apology and his assurances about waiting for me.

  But now? It's like he's done a one eighty.

  A few days ago he was offering me his heart on a platter—literally. Admittedly, it was a very sweet gesture that had made me melt just the tiniest bit. But now he barely acknowledges my presence.

  Truthfully, after his many displays of opulent gifts and surprises, I'd started to become a bit curious about what he'd do next. Well, consider me completely surprised when I'd opened my door to nothing.

  Is that it?

  Did he think that because we had one civil conversation he's already forgiven? Or that he doesn't have to make an effort anymore? If that is the case, then he is in for a surprise.

  I might be softening towards him just a little, but that doesn't mean that all is forgiven. In fact, if he ever wants me to believe a word he says again, then he better put in the work to prove that he is trustworthy.

  Granted, there's a special place in my soul just for him, and I can't deny the way he keeps on making my heart skip a beat just by being closer. Couple that with his sweet gestures and he'd managed to impress me. I certainly would not have pegged him as the romantic type, but he's gone above and beyond to show me that he can be.

  But the issue is not whether he can impress me with out-of-this-world gestures—though the heart had been a nice touch—but whether I can really trust his actions.

  And seeing how quickly he's given up, I don't know if that is the case.

  I've had enough time to ponder his behavior and his Jekyll and Hyde personality, and I've only come up with more questions.

  Why now?

  Was it his pride that took a hit at the thought of me marrying another man? Since we've long established that he cannot feel anything, then what is his motivation?

  And that's my entire issue. If he could feel even a glimmer of the love I have for him, then I would not hesitate in giving him a second chance. But because I know him incapable of any type of feeling, I cannot risk my heart again. Not when his fickle mind might tell him to drop me again at any moment.

  A couple of days of his bipolar behavior and I'm already sick of it. And so I find myself marching for his room, ready to demand an answer from him.

  "Vlad," I call him when I see him exit his room in a hurry. He looks at me for a second before blinking and shaking his head.

  "I'll see you later," is all he says as he flies past me.

  What?

  And just like that he's gone, leaving me alone once again.

  I'm speechless for a full minute as I stare at the space he's just vacated, unable to come up with an explanation for his confusing behavior.

  "Damn you," I mutter, ready to turn back and waste even more time in my room by myself. By chance, though, I notice that he didn't lock his door, and the curiosity is already killing me as I catch a few glimpses of it.

  I'd seen it before, but it had been rather bare. Now, in comparison, I can see it's teeming with stuff.

  I don't even think twice as I enter the room, my gaze quickly appraising its contents.

  There's his bed, and I avoid looking more than necessary lest I start imagining him sleeping there at night... no clothes... the sheets sliding over...

  Damn!

  I force myself to ignore the way my heart pounds in my chest at the thought.

  Why is it that only he can make me feel like this?

  In the last three months I'd had more freedom, thanks to Marcello's perpetual absence from home and Raf's companionship. We'd gone out a number of times, and I saw plenty of conventionally attractive men on the streets or at restaurants. Not once did I feel anything but boredom.

  I'm convinced that there's something not quite ordinary about Vlad that calls to me like this—it's simply unnatural, the way my body simply sings in his presence, my entire being soaring, bathed in an unprecedented type of lightness. For all the heartache he's caused me, he should not make me feel like this—like I'm only whole when he is around.

  It's like I was made for him, and him alone.

  Shaking myself from my musings, I peruse the other contents of his room. There's a desk with a computer, a few black bags filled to the brim with things, and then there's his closet.

  So many options.

  Of course, knowing him, my first inclination is to go look at his computer, even while doubting it would be unlocked.

  I pull the chair, making myself comfortable at the desk and I move my finger a little on the touch pad, bringing the screen back to life.

  My eyes widen.

  Unlocked.

  Damn, but he'd been in such a hurry he'd even left his computer unlocked. It makes me wonder where he needed to go, and to whom.

  Fists clenched, I take a deep breath as I make myself focus on the treasure in front of me. Maybe it's not entirely right for me to snoop, but since I'm technically his prisoner, I think we're past moral dilemmas at this point.

  I look around his desktop, noting a multitude of apps all haphazardly scattered around.

  Of course he would be messy.

  Not recognizing any, I just pull up his browser. Immediately, tens of tabs appear on the screen.

  "What?" I narrow my eyes at the various titles.

  Women 101.

  Ten ideas to court a woman.


  Get her heart and keep it.

  I keep on clicking on tab after tab, all having somewhat the same content.

  How to impress your crush.

  The man's guide to women.

  I can't even keep a straight face as I read through the articles, some of the ideas absolutely ludicrous. Like play hard to get.

  Wait...

  "Surely not," the corners of my mouth pull up as I realize exactly what Vlad's been doing. There are quite a few articles that suggest ignoring one's love interest to make them react and chase back. The more I read—including highlighted passages—the more I start chuckling, the irony superb.

  "Damn Vlad," I shake my head at the monitor.

  I should have realized that someone with his limited social skills and nonexistent emotional intelligence would not be able to come up with courting strategies on his own. Why, he's been reading up guides on how to impress me.

  "Why is this so cute?" I mutter, unable to wipe the grin off my face.

  He's been seriously researching this topic, and when I look further into his history, I see he's even gotten books on the subject.

  Just out of curiosity, I open his eBook library, not surprised to find it full of books on dating and women psychology. Even more surprising, though, is how thorough he's been. There are notes to go with each book, and hundreds if not thousands of passages highlighted.

  Including the so-called playing hard to get.

  Suddenly, everything makes sense. He's been putting a lot of effort in this, misguided as it might be. And I can't help but be impressed and a little flattered.

  My mood brightens, and I quickly close the computer, curious to see what else he's hiding in his room.

  First, I check the big bags stashed in the corner of his room. Opening one, I note a multitude of boxes, one on top of the other.

  Going through some of them, I realize it's gifts he never gave me—shoes and handbags.

  Another black bag and I note more fashion items, from clothes, to perfume to everything you could possibly imagine.

  "Does he really think these things can buy my forgiveness?" I mutter, shaking my head. While I don't really care for most of the things he's bought, I can't help but melt a little—just a little—at the effort he's put in.