Page 7 of Hateful Vows
“Thank you for saying it,bella,” I kiss the back of her hand, relishing the dark look Lisandru sends me. What can I say? I like to live dangerously.
We converse politely about their drug trade, and I offer expansion in my territory in London. They move on to other guests, leaving me at the bar to savour fresh oysters and French creations I can barely pronounce. The crisp rosé I chose hits my tongue like the most delicious ambrosia, warming me up from the inside out. The people of this island truly know their wines.
I take the opportunity of a moment alone to peruse the crowd, while Tino scans the crowd for danger like a guard dog.
Everyone is dressed to the nines in delicate designer clothing that would look better on my bedroom floor. I’m not picky with my partners as long as they let me use them, cherish them for a few hours and forget I even exist when we’re done.
“Someone’s coming,” my best friend says under his breath when he approaches me again, but his tone betrays the unwelcome nature of the visitor. After all, a few people here tonight are some I have personal feuds with, or decades of rivalry.
I look to my left and a wide grin spreads across my face.
“Aleksei Dobrev,” I greet. “Came here to find yourself a wife? You’re a little old but I’m sure some unwitting virgin girl will make do with her eyes closed.” My tone is jovial but I throw a glance at Tino, who signals with his hands that Dobrev’s carrying knives at his ankles. Guns were prohibited by our gracious hosts. I file the knowledge for later that Dobrev doesn’t mind bending the rules.
He ignores my man and I look around, searching for his little shadow, not seeing her anywhere.
“I’m the same age as you, Ventura.”
What a boring retort. I was hoping to spar. Then I remember that rumour has it Aleksei Dobrev doesn’t even have a tongue.Which he just proved wrong. I could win a few bets with that knowledge. Petty ones but I never pretended to be noble.
I take him in. I might have an inch or two on the bastard but he’s athletic enough under his tailored anthracite suit. His spider throat tattoo—said to be the last thing his enemies see before he slashes their throat and lets them die in a pool of their own blood—is enough to evoke violence and retribution. The brutal scars at the corner of his mouth and eye tell the stories of this life, one where it’s killed or be killed. I wonder how he got them. He doesn’t even try to hide anything he is with how cropped his brown hair is. He could totally be my type if I didn’t want to throttle him with my bare hands.
“Came here to fuck your way into new deals, then?”
“I have no interest in wasting time or energy to do such an untoward thing, Ventura. I’m not like you.”
“So proper,” I snort. “You’re missing out.”
Silence descends in between us. Soft jazz music from the live band drifts from the front of the mansion, the slowly setting sun throwing shadows on his face until he could be mistaken for a demon from hell. The look works for him.
Dobrev makes no movement. No discomfort shows on his angular features.
I roll my eyes. “Let’s get this over with,cazzo. What do you want?”
He glances at Tino and I nod for him to leave us alone. He doesn’t go far but the distance allows us privacy. I’d be lying if I said I’m not hanging on to Dobrev’s mouth. Curiosity is a sin, my father used to say, but I’ve been a sinner all my life.
“I need your help,” Dobrev says.
My eyes round, shock spreading through my system, before I narrow them at him.
“I’d never fucking help the likes of you. Or do you forget that your father killed my aunt and uncle and would have continuedto murder my entire family if it wasn’t for the peace the Cosa Nostra agreed to with him.”
“A peace that benefitted both parties.”
“A peace you didn’t fucking deserve,” I seethe. “Get the fuck out of my face before you lose a limb.”
My threat doesn’t register and Dobrev takes a few steps forward. In my periphery, Tino’s muscles lock up, ready to strike. It wouldn’t be very polite while this event is supposed to be about peace. I give him a shake of my head, curious about Dobrev’s issue. I’m not gonna let the opportunity to own him go.
This close, Aleksei’s mismatched eyes shimmer with specks of gold. But what’s really striking is how pale he looks and how sunken his eyes truly are. Like he hasn’t slept in days. Even his white crisp shirt is a little dishevelled, which I know for a fact is not like him. He’s always put together at the gala and fundraisers we frequent. Unfortunately for us, the London underworld is small and we’re always gravitating towards the same deals, though his family prefers weapons and drugs, and mine deals in real estate, fame and power.
“War is coming,” he says.
“For fuck’s sake, don’t be so cryptic. Speak plain English, motherfucker, or I swear the next word out of your mouth will be begging for me to stop punching you.”
His nose wrinkles, but he obeys. And fuck if that doesn’t send warmth all over my insides.
“Our Pakhan has a new…venture.” He says the word like it’s an insult. “One I want no part of.”
“What could be worse than the drugs you almost inject yourself into the arms of thousands of people?”
