Heartless Sinner, page 2
I refused to be any man’s possession. Ever.
My older brothers, Alexander and Dmitri, hadn’t helped matters by scaring all the decent men away. God forbid a man so much as glance in my direction. If they did, they’d be all over that poor unfortunate sucker’s ass.
My grandparents might have changed our last name when they’d come over on the boat, from Popov to Preston, but we were Russian through and through. My brothers especially, with their tempers and macho attitudes. It drove me up the damn wall.
“We just want you to be with a man who’s not afraid of us!” Dmitri would say. “If he’s scared of us, he’s got no balls. He won’t keep you safe. He’s not the man for you.”
Yeah, but if the guy did have the balls to stand up to my brothers, they’d consider him a threat. Enter Papa with his itchy trigger finger. There was no way to win in that fight.
If you asked me, that was a big part of the reason we hadn’t climbed further up the ranks in the mafia underworld. We were still just a middling family, not one of the big players like the Russo’s, but for-fucking-bid Papa ever listen to me when I tried to…
Shaking those thoughts from my head, I took a deep breath and ignored my mother as she continued to pace and rant. Papa would make his own decisions about how to run the family, and it didn’t matter what I thought, because I wasn’t going to be a part of this world much longer. I was going to get out, and I was going to have my own life separate from the family business, the mafia, and—
The door to the office was abruptly thrown wide open as Samuel, one of our trusted soldiers, staggered in. He looked alarmingly pale. There was only one reason he’d barge in without knocking and it wasn’t to make a social call.
“Ma’am. Miss Marla.” His eyes were wild, his broad chest rising and falling rapidly. “You need to come quickly.”
“What has happened?” Mom asked.
I stood immediately, the reports on my desk already forgotten as my stomach churned with dread. “Is it my father?”
Samuel shook his head. “No, Miss Marla. It’s your brother, and we don’t have time to waste.”
Mom let out a small cry and I took her arm, hustling her out of the room while trying to hold on to my own composure. Samuel led us outside to where a car waited for us, and we slipped inside. My heart raced wildly as a dozen question crowded my mind. Which brother? Was he injured? Had he gotten arrested? What the hell was going on?
The entire drive over, Mom murmured prayers under her breath while she stared out the car window. Her hand gripped mine like a vice so that by the time we arrived, my whole arm was numb. Mom had grown up in this world, and she’d married Papa, knowing the crime and violence and potential death this kind of business brought. But I supposed it was different when it was your child involved. You could never prepare yourself for that possibility, or get used to it.
This was exactly why I wanted to leave this world. I didn’t want to raise a family surrounded by brutality and bloodshed.
The car pulled up in front of an innocent-looking pharmacy and weed shop. Now that marijuana was legal it was even easier for us to use the stores as a front for our criminal activities. God bless capitalism.
My heart dropped when I realized where we were, though. A weed shop and a pharmacy? That was never good. We tended to use pharmacies as fronts for our doctors. Easily obtained and perfectly legal drugs would be on hand for medication and medical procedures.
Please, I silently prayed as we followed Samuel, and I helped lead my mother around to the back of the building. Whichever brother it is, please let him be okay.
Alexander was quiet but had a troubling violent streak, and Dmitri was a troublemaking pain in my ass. Growing up, I’d always been the closest to Dmitri, but I loved them both. They were my big brothers. They’d always looked out for me, even if sometimes that protectiveness was misguided. I couldn’t even begin to imagine losing one of them.
“In here, ma’am,” Samuel said, opening the door for my mother.
I locked gazes with him as I entered behind her and raised my eyebrows in a silent question. Samuel’s eyes were dark, and he shook his head solemnly.
An awful lump formed in my throat, and I tried to prepare myself for the worst.
We were shown into a room full of medical equipment. Our doctor—who we kept on retainer for unexpected emergencies like this—stood there in surgical gloves and gear that was smeared in blood, a grim, foreboding look on his face that openly stated, I’ve done all that I can, adding to the terrifying fear swirling in my stomach.
Several bodyguards were stationed around the room, and lying on the bed was my brother Dmitri, barely recognizable even to me, and God, there was so much blood all over him.
I stared in shock at his severely damaged upper torso, which had been stripped bare of his shirt so the doctor could work on him, revealing deep, horrific gashes from a knife—in his chest, his abdomen, and near his kidney and other vital organs. At least a dozen of those fatal looking wounds had incapacitated him. His skin looked battered and bruised from a vicious assault, including his normally handsome face. His nose appeared to be broken, his lip was cracked open and bleeding profusely, and one of his eyes was completely swollen shut.
Mom let out a horrible wail and dove for him. Papa, sitting by the bed and holding Dmitri’s hand, immediately shushed her. “Quiet, Alina. Do you think he needs to hear such loud noises?”
Mom ignored him, clutching Dmitri’s other hand. “My darling boy,” she said, speaking in Russian. “My sweet boy. What have they done to you?”
Behind Papa stood my other brother, Alexander. He looked at me and I saw the hateful fire burning in his gaze. I didn’t know which was worse—if their positions had been switched I knew that Dmitri would’ve become reckless and wild in his desire for revenge, not even thinking twice about putting himself in danger. But Alexander, with his penchant for violence, was the one who would stop at nothing for vengeance, carving a bloody swath through the families until he discovered who’d done this to our brother.
There was no doubt in my mind that the echoes of this heinous deed were going to ring far and wide.
Mom sobbed, stroking and kissing my brother’s hand, while my father, Andrei, sat silent, his face ashen. I quietly walked over and sat on the side of the bed and gently pushed Dmitri’s dark hair out of his face.
He stirred slightly, his one good eye opening just a crack. “Is… is that… you… Marla?” he asked, gasping each word as he struggled to talk.
I blinked back the hot tears trying to form, trying not to let my own emotions overwhelm me. Not here. Not now. Not when my brother needed me to be present for him.
“I’m here, Dmitri.” I leaned closer, so that my lips were near his ear. “Do you know who did this to you?” I whispered.
“No,” he croaked. “You have to… handle this… get vengeance. . .for our family. . . you were always the smartest…”
I felt a rush of terrible pride, despite the devastating circumstances. Dmitri had a strong, passionate brother and a smart, wily father. Both were experienced in mafia business and retaliation. He should have asked one or both of them to avenge him.
Instead, he was trusting me to find out who’d crossed him, and our family.
“Don’t worry,” I promised as I stroked his hair while a fierce rage—a kind like I’d never felt before—started to boil in the pit of my stomach. “I’ll take care of it. All of it.”
I silently vowed I wouldn’t stop searching until I’d destroyed whoever had brutalized my brother.
Dmitri gave me a ghost of a smile. “Knew you… would… always so smart… so capable…”
He drew a small, gasping breath, then another. Something fearful crept into his eyes, and he turned his head towards our mother.
“…Mama?” he whispered, like he was a little boy again, scared of the dark.
Before she had the chance to respond, his eyes glossed over and his chest stilled.
My mother screamed, but I barely heard her. An odd ringing sounded in my ears, and the blistering, searing anger began to rise through my body, all the way up until it sat inside my throat and tried to strangle me.
Someone had killed my brother.
And no matter what I had to do, I was going to make them pay with their own life.
CHAPTER 3
Vincent
* * *
“No,” I said, tossing aside the latest file I’d been given, along with the glossy photo of a woman and complete dossier inside.
Paulie and Toby—my bodyguard and right hand—stood on the opposite side of my office desk and exchanged exasperated looks.
“With all due respect, Vincent,” Paulie said, shifting on his feet as he scrubbed a hand over his close cropped hair. “We’re running out of girls for you to consider. There has to be someone in these files that you like. They’re all real pretty and easy on the eyes.”
I rubbed at my throbbing temples. “I don’t want just pretty,” I snapped. “Do I look like Marco to you?”
I knew I was being irritable, but the search for a woman to pick as my wife was proving harder and more tedious than I’d expected. None of them had the fire and confidence that I was searching for. They were all dutiful daughters in the mafia, most of them prim and proper, overindulged princesses (and the majority confirmed virgins) ready to be used as political pawns to secure alliances, and nothing more.
Jesus, I’d never survive marrying someone pampered and spoiled and docile, and I didn’t give a shit about their hymen being intact. At my age, I wanted a real woman, not an innocent, chaste girl who’d feel obligated to have sex with me because it was their duty as my spouse, but was too inexperienced, or nervous, to enjoy the pleasure of dirty, filthy foreplay and the raunchier side to fucking.
If I had to take a wife, I wanted her at least sophisticated enough to appreciate my more dominant side in the bedroom—a woman who’d go breathless with anticipation when I ordered her to get on her knees to suck my cock, and swallowed my dick with enthusiasm. A woman with lush, mature curves who could handle a hard fucking, and would beg me for more.
In private, I wanted a bad girl with no inhibitions, and in public, I expected a refined lady to stand beside me as my equal—a self-assured, fearless queen to sit on her own throne beside mine.
Yeah, good luck with finding that anomaly, Vince.
“How about we take a break?” Toby suggested wisely. “We’ll be back tomorrow. In the meantime you can have a nice evening, sir, and look over the files again at your leisure. I can order that Chinese takeout you like so you don’t have to go out.”
I sighed and leaned back in my desk chair. “Yeah, yeah. That’s a good idea,” I said, burying my own frustration over the vetting process. “And I appreciate the hard work. These files and reports are very thorough. Thank you.”
Always make your men feel appreciated. I’d learned that early on. We fought too many outside enemies to have to deal with inside ones, too.
“Get some dinner for yourselves too, on my dime,” I added as they exited.
I walked into the kitchen to get myself a beer. I needed to think. Paulie and Toby had narrowed down the list of possibilities to about thirty, and I hadn’t gone through all the files yet—the rest were waiting for me out on the coffee table in the living room. Somewhere in that list there had to be a woman that would make me a good wife, both politically and in personality.
Only ten minutes later there was a knock at my apartment door. Huh. The food had gotten here fast.
I walked over, my fingers ghosting over the piece I kept on me at all times. “Toby?”
“Yes, sir.”
I opened the door—but Toby wasn’t alone.
There was a woman with him. A woman that I recognized all too well: Marla Preston.
The Preston’s were a small, lower-level Russian family that’d changed their name from Popov when the grandparents had come over to the states years ago. We were on good terms with them. They were one of our… well, allies was putting it strongly. We let them control a small amount of turf and in exchange, they owed us their allegiance during any possible flare-up between families. Basically, my father was the king, and the Preston family was one of his feudal lords.
Marla Preston was the youngest of the three kids, her brothers close to my age, and I’d decided a few years ago that she was nothing but trouble. Not the problematic kind of trouble—she wasn’t the type who’d turn traitor with the feds, or be stupid enough to ruin your bank accounts and be a weak spot for the family. No, I thought of her more of the you’d better use two hands to handle her kind of trouble—a headstrong, cultivated woman who wasn’t about to accept anything less than the best.
For a wild second as she stood in my doorway with her thick brunette hair curling around her shoulders to frame her deceptively delicate features, and in her tight dress that showcased her curves and showed off her legs for days, I thought Toby had taken matters into his own hands and simply brought me a woman to marry. One I had to admit had always intrigued me.
Then I realized that there was no way Marla Preston would have let a man just drag her to someone’s doorstep. Not without causing some major injuries to the idiot who tried it. Which meant she was here of her own accord.
Interesting.
“Ms. Preston,” I said, greeting her as I glanced at Toby, who shrugged in confusion, which told me he had no clue what she was doing here, either. “This is a pleasant surprise. Come in.”
I opened the door wider, and Marla entered as if she owned the place, passing by me and leaving the lingering scent of something floral in the air. After a nod of assurance, Toby left to give us privacy, and I shut and locked the door, then joined her in the living room, where her gaze unabashedly took in the apartment and furnishings.
“This is a lot nicer than I expected,” she said, turning back around to face me, her direct gaze meeting mine.
Wow, she was blunt. More so than I was used to from a woman. The fact that she felt no need to impress me was both shocking and strangely arousing. “What did you expect?”
“A mess,” she replied shortly.
I swallowed back an unexpected laugh at yet another unfiltered reply.
I took pride in my apartment. Picked it out myself and worked with a professional interior designer to keep things modern and simplified, but with understated touches of wealth. If I was going to be top dog of the underworld someday, I wanted to feel the part in every aspect of my life.
“How a man behaves in private is how he’ll behave in public,” I replied in regard to my clean, organized apartment. “If you have low standards for yourself, you’ll have low standards for others.”
Marla cocked an eyebrow at me, and I could have sworn I saw a smirk twitch her lips. “If that were possible, nobody would have any secrets.”
“Oh, I never said that.” I let my gaze drift down her body, a slow and deliberate perusal she couldn’t miss, as I walked past her. “What can I get you to drink, Miss Preston?”
She was stunningly gorgeous. If I was trying to think of a woman to marry for her looks alone, I’d pick Marla, hands down. Just staring at the curve of her breasts, that perfect ass I’d like to spank with my bare hand, and the rest of her body that was created for sex and sin, made my mouth water and my dick sit up and take notice.
“It’s Marla,” she said, clearly wanting to dispense with formalities, which was more than okay with me. “And water is fine, thank you.”
I gestured to one of the stools at my island counter as I went to the refrigerator to retrieve her drink. “Please, sit.”
She did so, sliding into the seat and folding her hands on top of the granite surface. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”
“No. Not really,” I said, deadpan.
My impassive reply was worth it, just to watch the way Marla glared at me, her bright blue eyes flickering with annoyance. She sat up a bit straighter, which only served to make her breasts push out more prominently. God, that spark of fire, along with her bold and brazen attitude considering my authority over her and her family, made me want to haul her off to the bed and show her who was really in charge here.
“If you’re not going to take this seriously then I’ll go and find someone else to help me.” She lifted her chin a bit haughtily. “But I was under the impression you were the best of your brothers.”
“Best is a relative term,” I replied, passing her the water. “But if this is mafia business then Dante won’t touch it with a ten foot pole.”
She hesitated for a moment. “Oh?”
“He’s making a go of legitimate work as a lawyer.”
Marla snorted. “Good luck to him, then.” Her tone was bitter.
I leaned back against the kitchen counter and watched Marla as she sipped the water. Her earrings were Cartier and so was her watch. The dress, a deep blue, was designer, as were her red soled heels. Her nails were professionally and recently manicured.
This was a woman who was used to the good life—pampered but definitely not spoiled—and would expect any man who dated her to keep providing that affluent life for her. I could respect that. What was the point of being involved in financial crimes if you couldn’t enjoy the finer things in life?
“So what brings you to my door, Marla Preston?” I murmured.
She looked up at me and her cheeks went pink. I couldn’t quite keep the smirk off my face. So she liked it when a man talked to her in that tone of voice. Good to know.
I imagined murmuring to her in the same way, low and husky, but in her ear as I pressed her down into my bed while sliding my dick deep inside her body. I imagined she’d probably feel exquisite around my cock.
Marla’s gaze was even as she met mine. More than even—it was daring, a challenge. “My brother was murdered this afternoon, Mr. Russo.”
