Page 46 of Promised to the Killer

I look back and wait.

He takes a long puff and stares at me through a wreath of smoke.

“You can do better than a pimp’s daughter.”

I look into his eyes and I hope he can see the loathing that flows from my core. I say nothing as I turn and leave the room. If I open my mouth now, it’ll only damn me and ruin Siena.

But I’m livid as I reach my rooms. Siena’s not there and it makes me nervous, but I trust Emiliya and Galina. They wouldn’t do anything to hurt her, even if they do think she’s not a good match for me. I pour myself a vodka and stand by the window, staring out over the city, fuming. I keep seeing my father and his cigar, the cherry end glowing bright, his eyes hooded.You can do better.He doesn’t know a goddamn thing.

I can’t do better. To him, I’m never good enough. Siena’s just one more shovel of dirt over my grave.

The door opens. I’m halfway finished my drink when she steps inside. I turn and she smiles at me, her cheeks flushed. She looks so beautiful I could strip her down and drink her instead. She’d get me drunk—she already did. I’m intoxicated and stupid enough to try to make this work.

It never will. My father will never let me marry her. And six weeks from now, my life will explode as Don Bastone tells my father the truth about our deal.

“Your sisters are nice,” she says tentatively. “I’m not so sure about your brothers.”

“Feliks is an asshole. Jasha is okay.”

She smiles and chews her lip. God, I love that. I want to nibble that lip and pull her hair.

I want the girl from that night again. I see glimpses of her, hiding.

She wraps her arms around herself and starts blinking back tears.

It’s so sudden, and I don’t understand it. I want to go to her, but her body language is all closed off, like she wants to get away and hide.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, head tilted.

“Are you really going to make me say it?”

I nod and approach slowly. I don’t want to scare her off. “Say what’s on your mind, princess.”

“I don’t want to marry you. I don’t want to marry anybody, much less some bratva asshole. And your father’s never going to approve of us even if I did.”

I ball my right hand into a fist and picture pulling her thick, dark hair. I picture the gasp she’d make. Her moan as my lips smother hers.

“You’d think you’d be a little more grateful considering I saved you from being whored out.”

“I was only in that position because of you. Because you couldn’t leave me alone, even though I begged you not to come again. You saved me from a problem you created.”

I close the distance between us. She sucks in a shocked breath and backs up, bumping into the wall. She blinks quickly, dazed slightly, as I reach up and touch her cheek with my palm. I slide it back, wiping the tears, and grip her hair like I’ve been needing.

She glares at me, and beneath her anger simmers a hot desire. I feel it pulsing back and forth. Magnetic and irresistible.

“You were abandoned in a whorehouse.” I say the words slow. I want her to understand.

“I had friends. I was surviving. Now I don’t know what’ll happen to Mira and the others without me there to help them.”

“I said you can visit. What more do you want?”

“I don’t know,” she says, glaring now. “Maybe I want you to leave me the hell alone.”

“Too late for that, princess.” I breathe hard, staring into her eyes. “You keep acting like you don’t want this. But as soon as I get close, you can’t help yourself.”

“Fuck you.”

I shove her back harder. She gasps, but my hand takes the brunt of the force. I slip my fingers roughly down the front of her jeans and cup her pussy. Her panties are soaked through already—just like I knew they would be.

---