Romeo The Mafia Casanova

Epilogue

Rebeka stood next to Dominic with his arm around her as the minister read a passage from the bible over her cousin’s grave.

She thought eventually she’d cry over his death, but at the moment, she felt numb.

The family stood around them, and she couldn’t have felt more loved. She finally had the family she’d always dreamed of and more.

Dominic pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Are you ready to go, baby?”

She looked around, stunned that it was over and the minister had left. Everyone else was making their way to their cars, and then they were all going to meet up at the Macleans’ for a meal.

Just being around the family made her feel better.

She smiled up at Dominic. “Yes, husband. I’d like to go.”

He pressed a kiss to her lips and then led her to their car.

She cuddled up with him in the back while one of his men drove them. She couldn’t think of a place she’d rather be than Dominic. She tilted her head up to see his face. “I love you, husband.”

He smiled down at her. “I love you more, wife.” Twilight Mafia Kings

In Chicago’s underworld, they are known as the four mafia kings.

Lethal. Beautiful. Corrupt.Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

To me, they are my enemies. The death stripped away my veil of innocence, leaving me vulnerable to the likes of criminals like them.

I’ve learned the hard way that monsters walk among us. Seduce us with their dark, forbidden fantasies then sink their fangs into us. Corrupting the innocent. And now death has placed me at their door Chicago’s most exclusive club where anything you seek is only a wish away.

I only have one and there’s only one way it can end. Prologue

The devil laughed in their faces and stood by watching, revealing the pain. Twisting their prayers into garbled curses so God could not hear their pleas for help.

Death could not hear his pitiful pleas either.

But God wanted nothing to do with the evil plague that fed off human fear.

What kind of twisted man wished for death?

Screams punched through the blackened wall of nothingness that clogged Mikhail’s brain.

Lacerated edges dug into the skin of his wrist the more he fought but he didn’t give a fuck how deep they cut. Nothing slashed at him more than her cries for help. Her cries for him to save her, to stop the agonizing torture.

Using what little strength he had, Mikhail fought for freedom. To go to her, but nothing could break the steel links. “You’ll die for this, you fucking bastard!” Clawing anger slurred Mikhail’s words as he fought against the swollen skin clamping his eyes shut, fought against the rage and agony winding through his ravaged body.

He jerked his wrists, this time welcoming the sharp twist of pain that bit into the slashed flesh. Death crawled closer; he could feel the leech of its freezing air seep into him. Smell the putrid stench of the bastard’s breath.

Mikhail welcomed the slithering shadow seconds ago, but not for him.

For her.

Death needed to take her.

He fought against its dark hold so she would not be alone in the viper pit when her eyes finally glassed over.

“Please take her,” he whispered into the darkness.

Heavy footsteps pounded against the unforgiving cement.

Mikhail couldn’t leave her. He refused to let the shadows steal him from her.

Not until her soul safely crossed to the other side. Then he could die.

Desperation to reach his wife burned with hell’s fury through his veins. His words drew a vicious, lifeless laugh that raised the hair on his neck.

“You fucking piece of shit bastard,” Mikhail slurred again, spitting a mouthful of blood at his enemy.

“Bastard?” The voice, devoid of life, sulked beyond the fringes of his sight. Ice cold and unfeeling.

Soulless.

But then again so was he.

Blood oozed from a deep gash over his eye, the coppery taste wetting his lips.

Through half-slitted eyes, he peered into the void before him. “You’ll meet your end and when the Reaper throws your soul into hell, I’ll be there to greet you in the darkest pits. I relish the day the devil gives me to inflict the same torture on you because know this, that demon bastard will do my bidding because I’m selling my soul right now for that privilege. And he’ll gladly take the deal.” Mikhail’s cracked lips peeled back in a bloody smile. “And you’ll be my little demon bitch.” Foamy spittle fell from his mouth, his words a promised slur.

A disconnected chuckle crept through the pitch black, just beyond the rim of light that pooled in the center of the room where he hung, his feet mere inches from the floor.

“Be careful what you wish for.”

The shadow moved within the darkness and for a brief second, a hint of the monster who spoke could be glimpsed from a single bulb that cast an eerie light over the horror show.

Metal grated against cement and served as the only warning of what his outburst would get him.

Let them.

“All you have to do is tell me where my shipment and money are and all this stops. And your pretty wife won’t become my whore.”

The rattling of chain links rent the air before his ribs absorbed the blow when he refused to relinquish information. Mikhail sagged against another set of chains binding his wrists as the linked metal cracked for the second time against his shattered ribs.

Blackness seeped into the edges of his vision and threatened to overcome him, but he couldn’t give in. Not when she needed him.

“Mikhail!” His wife screamed for him and his heart tore from his bloodied, bruised body. Nothing they did to him could hurt more than hearing the cold fear in her precious voice.

“Let her go. She has nothing to do with this.”

The sickening thud of fists pounding flesh cut into his plea. Soft whimpers followed by silence cut him deeper than any blade.

God, let her be dead. Please let her be rid of this cold, despicable place.

He yanked at the chains and screamed a savage curse.

“Mikhail, no,” whispered his wife. “Don’t fight. Please, don’t fight.”

Why did God not take her already?

“Don’t fight them.”

“Don’t cry, love. Be brave.” From down here no one would hear her cries for help. They might as well be on another planet with how the dank walls of the basement concealed her cries.

Flesh met flesh again and the tangy smell of fresh blood hit his senses as she cried out.

His words were broken and slurred through split lips, but he pushed through the pain for her. But she didn’t hear his winded plea. How could she when her cries overpowered the entire space?

“I love it when they scream for me. I’ll have fun breaking her in. My dick wants to taste her pretty pink pussy and she’ll look so nice wearing my collar and leash. Like a good bitch. Da.”

That voice, roughened by smoke and weighed down with a deep Russian accent. He would recognize it anywhere. A man he considered a friend.

“You call me twisted. Sadistic. Da. Maybe. Remember, I’ve seen your wicked side. Seen the way you bind and torture in name of pleasure. We are much alike you and me. Da moy droog. My friend. Very much.”

“That was an accident. She wasn’t meant to die.” Unrelenting guilt weighed on his chest for the girl who died at his hand. That night weighed heavier than the chains binding him now. “Wasn’t meant to die,” he repeated as salty tears burned his battered eyes. “We are nothing alike. Nothing!” he bellowed through the sharp, serrated pain tearing through his chest. “You could have saved her.” He fought for air. “But instead you laughed and only watched as she died. You could have saved her from me, you bastard!”

“Mikhail, what is he talking about?”

Such sweet innocence. He’d been weak taking a wife. A monster. He’d been arrogant in thinking he could keep her safe from the dark world he walked in. Defeat set into his shoulders and he gave over to fatigue.

“Ahh, lover’s quarrel. Should you answer, or should I?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Mikhail hissed.

“Maybe the story I’ll share after I burn your bones. Toya smart budget sladkoy.”

Mikhail yanked on the chains to the sadistic laugh of the other man. “My death might be sweet, but you’ll still burn in hell alongside me.”

“It doesn’t matter. Now you plead for your life and it’s my face you see staring back. Almost poetic.” With his eyes now fully swelled shut he could only gauge the man’s position by his voice. He drew closer as he spoke but chains held his feet to the cold cement flooring.

“Let’s get you and your pretty wife on the table, may droog. Let’s see if I can find some truth under that skin.” Cold steel raked across his abdomen.

Death loomed close, but not close enough. He knew the man about to take his life, but who pulled his chains? Who was the real puppet master here?

The shadows swallowed the truth and those within lay in wait, poised to strike with their venomous bite.

“I’ll look for you in hell, may droog,” Mikhail spat, seething with fury and regret.

Every betrayal began with trust. A lesson that would cost him his blackened soul.

Lightning tore through the sky and thunder boomed, the rumble reaching into his soul.

Nights like these were for making deals with the devil.