Page 1 of Scorned Beauty
Chapter
One
Sloane
An older brotherwas supposed to be a protector. He was supposed to shield his younger siblings from the world’s evil. He wasn’t supposed to be the one to put them in danger.
I must have been the unlucky one.
William “Billy” Scott was three years older than my twenty-seven years. He was the reason I was in Brooklyn, parking my van a street away from a building. A building that housed the bratva’s many illegal gambling operations.
I made good money as a mob cleaner, but not when my clients were the Russians.
Billy liked to brag in underworld circles that he was a friend of the New York bratva. He couldn’t brag to me because he frequently went into debt with them, and it was I who bailed him out. And how did I bail him out? By working for the Russians for free.
Last year, I had a windfall cleaning for the Italians, and that was why I could resume nursing school, which I had to put onhold several times. Since our deadbeat dad left us, Billy had been to rehab twice. I paid for his stays both times.
Every time I was catching up financially, the Russians came calling because Billy had fucked up again.
Like tonight.
Saying no wasn’t an option because my brother was the whipping boy of Grigori Petrov—one of the brigadiers who made up the bratva’s Triumvirate leadership under their pakhan. From what I gathered, he was the most ruthless and usually did the dirty work for their organization to give the other two plausible deniability.
I’d become so pissed that Grigori was the one contacting me directly now instead of going through Billy. I couldn’t say no without repercussions to my brother. The last time I balked, Billy came home barely breathing.
In the van, I changed into coveralls and made sure I patted concealer on my lips to make it blend with the rest of my face. The problem when you were pretty and poor was that men like Grigori thought you were good for only one thing. He’d already asked me once if I could be a server in one of his clubs, but I knew if I said yes, it wouldn’t stop at simply waiting tables. I turned him down with no backlash to Billy, but I sensed the clock ticking and my luck was about to run out.
I discussed leaving New York with Billy, but my brother was doubtful that Grigori wouldn’t find and kill us. I’d debated asking for help from the Rossi crime family, but I didn’t want them ending up owing Grigori favors.
I just wanted to graduate from nursing school, dammit.
After I’d put on my work face and uniform, I slid back into the driver’s seat and headed to the building.
A soldier waved me through the cargo bay. I preferred it when a job didn’t have a cargo bay like this. When I could park a street away, hauling my cleaning supplies in a cart, looking likea bag lady pushing her belongings down the street. I didn’t care if it was more work. Because each time they shut the gate behind me, a claustrophobic itch crawled over my skin. But I didn’t have a choice here. The Russians always wanted me to park inside their building.
Anton appeared at the driver's side. His hair was shaved close to his skull and his brawny tattooed arms strained against his muscle tee. As if I wasn’t on guard enough. Because of his six-six frame, he had to duck his head a bit. “What took you so long?”
“Traffic.” I returned his glare.
His scowl deepened before saying, “Hurry up.” Anton was Grigori’s top soldier who led the rest of his crew.
The desire to shove open the van door and hit this fucker’s face was overwhelming, but self-preservation won out. The first time I had to work for free, I could barely contain my rage, and Billy took the brunt for my fury of words. Anton delivered that beating, and it set the tone for our mutual contempt.
I exited the van and headed to its rear, unfolded the utility cart, and loaded it up with what I needed.
Anton waited for me at the crisscross elevators, his mouth in a flat line. It was an awkward and painstaking ride to the top floor—the high-stakes floor. According to Billy, it wasn’t unusual for oligarchs, businessmen, and kleptocrats to bet their properties or even companies.
When the elevators jarred open, the floor was relatively empty, save for a few people.
“Sis.” Billy met me at the door. My brother was more pretty than handsome. He had an oval face with high cheekbones. Unlike my red hair, his was black. His eyes were more hazel than my green ones.
I glared at him. “What did you do this time?”
He had the gall to grin. “Explain later.” Which meant never. My brother ran errands for the bratva. He usually did their collections and also managed a few of their poker games. It baffled me because Billy had a gambling problem, yet Grigori gave him those jobs. Although I wondered if they were toying with us because I always ended up paying for Billy’s debts and it was a way to keep me on the hook.
“Gotta go.” He waved at a distinguished gentleman sitting at one table shuffling cards. To his right sat another more sinister character I knew was the enforcer of the bratva.
Both men observed my approach with soulless eyes.
