Scandalous Prince

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “I’ll cheat,” I whispered against his mouth. “I’ll come back to you. I’ll never be his.”

  “Don’t.” He stopped kissing me and stepped away, his green eyes bright with rage. “Cheating gets you killed.”

  “Then…” I licked my lips. “Have me one last time. Give me at least that.”

  His eyes lowered to the tattoo on my left ring finger. “You were his the minute that tattoo was drawn on. Had I known this was going to happen tonight, I would have kicked out the driver, then driven in the opposite direction, maybe even off a cliff, but never toward your house, not with you in the SUV, not with my heart cracking with each breath I take.”

  “Breaker.” I sobbed against his chest. “Please, just one last time, please!”

  “You made a vow,” he said in a dead voice. “Besides, there’s someone else.”

  “Wh-what?” I jerked back. “You started dating someone in the last week? We’ve been in Seattle, you jackass! What do you mean there’s someone else?”

  His eyes were dead. “It was fun, Vi. But we both need to move on.”

  I reared back and slapped him so hard my palm stung. He didn’t react just let me hit him over and over again, and each time he squeezed his eyes shut like he deserved it.

  “Enough,” he finally said. “You know this is for the best. A clean cut always is; the knife hurts too bad when it’s dull, Vi. I don’t think I could bear it.”

  I stumbled away from him, my tears falling in rapid succession as he walked back to my dresser and continued pulling clothes out.

  And then, after a few minutes of silently crying, I went to my closet and did exactly as he said.

  Maybe it was good I didn’t have one last moment in his arms.

  Because one moment reminded me of the moments taken from me, a lifetime of smiles from Breaker, a lifetime of kisses.

  Stolen by a man I barely knew.

  One I hated.

  And one… I would try to kill.

  Because I wanted Breaker.

  And if he wouldn’t fight for us. I would.

  I’d crawl back to him, not the pure Violet Abandonato he was used to.

  I’d come back on my knees in my husband’s blood—let him be the sacrificial lamb.

  It was time for me to be the one holding the knife.

  It was time to be made.

  Chapter Six

  Was there even a cause too lost,

  Ever a cause that was lost too long,

  Or that showed with the lapse of time to vain

  For the generous tears of youth and song? —Robert Frost

  Breaker

  I was cheerfully drunk last night, everyone thought it was because of the goodbye party, but it was because I had to say goodbye to my soul.

  And now I was nursing the hangover from hell.

  Something kicked me… or someone.

  “Go away!” I shouted then realized I was literally spooning a bottle of gin in my right hand with a bottle of empty tonic in the other. The hell? Was I just mixing the drink in my mouth all at once?

  “Get up.” The dark voice of my nightmares wasn’t helping. I opened up one eye then two; Chase was towering over me, looking absolutely terrifying.

  I had a nightmare like this once.

  It ended with my death.

  Huh, how very prophetic of me.

  I let out a little laugh then winced as hammers went off in my temples like a friggin’ high school marching band drum-line.

  Good movie, solid drumming.

  “Are you seriously still drunk?” Chase asked in an irritated gruff voice that had me wanting to cover my ears with those cute earmuffs Violet wore to New Years two years ago, they were pink, and I remember thinking her cheeks matched the hue and made her look so damn cute I wanted to kiss her nose.

  Holy hell.

  Yeah, still drunk.

  I held up my fingers and made a small motion. “Bit.”

  He leaned down on his haunches, possibly wrinkling that expensive-looking three-piece suit. Damn… dude even had a pocket kerchief or whatever the hell those were called.

  I tugged at the silk kerchief. “Are those red polka dots?”

  “Father’s Day gift.” He gritted his teeth when I burst out laughing.

  And then I was getting jerked up by my T-shirt, a rip sounded. “Hey, that’s my favorite shirt!”

  “Oh, I’m sorry let me give you a minute to take it off before I shove you in the shower.”

  “Really? That’s actually super—”

  Chase shoved me into the guest room shower after dragging my ass a few feet down the hall of Nixon’s house. An icy deluge struck my face and quickly saturated my clothes.

  “Aghhhh, son of a bitch, that’s cold!”

  “Oh, is it? I couldn’t tell.” Chase held my body under the freezing spray until I started choking.

  “I’m sober, I’m sober!” I yelled, shoving him away from me and leaning my heavy body against the cool tile. “Why the hell are you torturing me?”

  “I’m bored.” He sighed in agitation.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me.” I slumped against the tile even more and blinked up at him. “You’re bored, so you want to kill me?”

  “Correction, if I wanted to kill you, I’d count to three, watch you run, then fire a few rounds.” He shrugged like it was normal to hunt humans and then tossed a towel at me. “Go pack.”

  I sobered. “Do you know something I don’t?”

  “She’s on a plane right now without your protection. Go pack your shit. I know you were sputtering something about Fall break early last night. Junior, Serena, and Ash are gonna take a later flight out tomorrow; God knows they need a break after everything. You’ll stay at one of my guest houses for a few days. Just make sure she’s safe, report to me, nobody else, got it?”

  “Have you… talked to Phoenix?”

  “Yeah, why?” Chase frowned.

  Shit on a stick.

  “No reason.” I sighed. “I’ll just be packing then…”

  “Glad we have an understanding.” He grabbed my shoulder and then whispered, “Hurt one hair on her head or make her cry, and I’m going to rip out your spleen through your tiny dick and feed it to the cows.”

  “The hell is wrong with everyone feeding things to cows?” I muttered. “You know pigs leave less of a mess, right?”

  Chase’s face freaking lit up like a Christmas tree. “What a wonderful idea, thanks for the suggestion. Looks like we’re buying pigs!”

  “We aren’t pig people.”

  “We aren’t cow people either,” he pointed out, then grabbed his cell and started dialing. “Yeah, Nixon, how do you feel about pigs?”

  I was clearly dismissed.

  I stumbled down the hall and made my way into the kitchen. Phoenix was sitting there, sipping coffee with Andrei.

  What the hell were they now?

  A mafia version of Supernatural gone horribly wrong?

  “Gentleman,” I rasped as I grabbed my keys then thought better of it. “Anyone feel generous enough to give me a ride to my house and sneak me in the back door, so my mom doesn’t beat me senseless?”

  Phoenix slowly took another sip, making a slurping noise that had me wanting to throw something while Andrei just grabbed a newspaper and opened it.

  I sighed. “Look, I’m slightly drunk from last night, and I’d rather not get hit by a road raged soccer mom in her minivan while she belts Post Malone like she too knows pain.”

  “Love that Post Malone,” Phoenix said and then slowly, literally slower than an old man getting out of his seat for Bingo night, he rose to his feet, stretched his arms over his head, and said, “I’ll take you. We need to talk anyway.”

  “Figured that’s why you were here in the first place,” I grumbled.

  “We just like Nixon’s coffee best.” Andrei shrugged. “Hey, since you’re taking him can I have the—”

  “Here you go.” Phoenix read his mind like a good 1950’s
wife and handed him the business section. “I’ll be back soon.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  “So fucking weird.” I shook my head at them. “I don’t like you two being friends.”

  “We aren’t friends,” they said in unison.

  And holy shit! I squinted and scrunched up my nose. Were they wearing the same shirt in different colors?

  Before I could comment on it, I was getting shoved—again—toward the door and outside.

  My poor shirt wouldn’t survive the day if the bosses kept grabbing the top of it and pulling.

  Somehow, I made it into the SUV without falling on my face.

  And somehow, I didn’t puke all over Phoenix’s shoes when he started the car and said, “This is what you’re going to do…”

  Chapter Seven

  …Has given my heart

  A change of mood

  And saved some part

  Of a day I had rued. —Robert Frost

  Violet

  The plane ride was a blur, as was the weirdly boring experience of watching arms dealers unload the plane and shake Nikolai’s hand like it was just a Tuesday.

  They didn’t even spare me a glance.

  Probably because they had no desire to purchase a girl who looked like she’d cried herself to sleep and forgot how to brush her own hair.

  I was a mess.

  And of course, Seattle decided that rain would only make my misery better. The minute I heard the thunder, I wanted to crawl under the SUV and let it run me over.

  I checked my phone again.

  Breaker had been a miserable bastard yesterday. He’d broken me in a way only he could—by claiming to love someone else when we both knew it was a lie.

  To push me away?

  Protect me?

  Make this easier on me when we both knew I needed my best friend more than ever?

  I swallowed, wishing I could get past the knot of emotion in my throat, and then I sent another text.

  Me: I’m in Seattle. Safe. Also, I saw an arms deal go down and lived to tell about it, figured you’d be proud.

  He messaged back right away.

  Breaker of Hearts: Um, Nikolai let you watch? IS HE CRAZY?

  “Yes, he is,” Nikolai said after looking over at my screen with a grin before going back to whoever he was texting.

  Me: We both know the answer to that question.

  I almost typed, I miss you.

  But I was too afraid of what he would say back if he even responded.

  Breaker of Hearts: I miss you.

  Tears filled my eyes.

  Me: I miss you too. You know I’ll be back soon…

  Breaker of Hearts: With a ring on your left hand.

  Me: It means nothing.

  Breaker of Hearts: It will mean everything.

  I shook my head.

  Me: I’ll never love him.

  Breaker of Hearts: What if he needs your love more than I do? What would you say to that?

  My hands shook.

  Me: Impossible. He’ll have to find it elsewhere.

  Breaker of Hearts: Promise me you’ll try. We both know deep, deep, deep, deep, so deep down in the smallest crevice of your soul that you care about things that are broken.

  I sighed. He wasn’t wrong, but still, this guy was the guy that had taken everything from me and clearly didn’t know how to stop taking.

  Me: I’ll slit his throat before I let him hurt me.

  Breaker of Hearts: Killing is harder than you think, Vi, especially your own husband. Maybe watch some Dateline first, yeah?

  Me: You could always do it for me?

  Breaker of Hearts: You have no idea how much I want to.

  I stared down at my phone as the little dots popped up, and then, like a knife getting shoved into my chest only to end with a twist, he typed.

  Breaker of Hearts: My blood for yours.

  With shaking hands, I typed back.

  Breaker of Hearts: My blood for yours.

  Why did it feel like the end? I swiped the tears from my cheeks and adjusted my sunglasses.

  The SUV pulled up to a gorgeous black iron gate; it opened up toward a sprawling property in front of a huge lake.

  The house itself was three stories and reminded me of something that might be seen in a fairy tale book, with moss and ivy intertwined around white pillars that framed the entrance.

  The door was black with iron gated windows.

  It was both fairy tale.

  And prison.

  Two men stood at the entrance, both of them in black suits, both of them wearing nearly identical sunglasses. It was a look I knew well with my dad and his minions.

  At least that was familiar.

  “Sancto will show you to your room; he takes care of the house and is Valerian’s personal assistant.”

  My mouth dried as an attractive man in his forties skipped down the cement stairs and opened the SUV door.

  “Sancto.” Nikolai greeted him with a grin. “We were just talking about you.”

  “All good things, I hope.” His smile was wide, white, and he had a small dimple in his chin. His hair was a dark brown and a bit wild, his eyes matched, but they seemed to have flecks of gold in them.

  For some reason, I felt immediately safe.

  “Ignore him. He’s a terrible flirt.” Nikolai cleared his throat. “This is Violet Abandonato, soon to be Petrov.”

  I held out my hand.

  He took it and flipped it over, kissing the back side with a warm caress that had me staring at him a bit too long. “I’m your humble servant. It’s not every day we meet mafia royalty.”

  “Oh, no, I’m not—”

  “You are,” they said in unison.

  “Now…” Sancto helped me out of the car. I turned around to see Nikolai staying inside. “Let’s get you settled. Don’t worry, he’ll be back for the ceremony. By the way, your dress is absolutely stunning. We had it flown in from Russia last night.”

  “My dress?” Tears burned the back of my eyes when I realized I wouldn’t even get to do that, go dress shopping with my mom, invite my friends, not that I really had any outside of the Family, but still. “Th-thank you for doing that.”

  He snapped his fingers, and one of the men in suits came running, grabbing my bags from the back before I could even say please or thank you.

  “Shall we?” Sancto held out his arm.

  I looped mine in his and let him walk me toward my future, all thoughts of my past burning in my brain.

  Remember Breaker.

  Remember him.

  Not this new man.

  Not this house.

  Remember.

  The doors opened.

  And with dread, I watched as Sancto held his arms out wide and said, “Welcome home.”

  I nearly passed out when a staff of twenty servants bowed in unison.

  And when I looked up, a huge family portrait that had to be decades old was draped in gold in the main room.

  It looked familiar.

  The man in the picture.

  Beneath it, in plated gold, it read, “The Petrov Dynasty.”

  “You will continue that dynasty,” Sancto said with pride. “You will bear children under this name, and we’ll once again be proud to be Petrov.”

  “You aren’t proud now?”

  His eyes died a bit as he looked down, a muscle twitched in his jaw as he clenched his teeth. “We have much to atone for.”

  “Like what?”

  A clock chimed.

  “No time.” His easy smile was back as he grabbed my arm again. “Let me show you your room; the stylists are already on their way!”

  “Stylists?”

  “Of course! Your ceremony is in four hours! Let’s go!”

  He didn’t see the tear that escaped and dripped onto the first stair as he led me up, and he didn’t hear my heart scream for Breaker with each step I took away from him.

  Nobody heard me.

  Not even God.

/>   The only thing I could do was put one foot in front of the other as I nodded when I was supposed to and smiled when it was expected.

  I spent my whole life faking that smile.

  I just never thought that I would have to use my dad’s political training on my wedding day—without him.

  Without my cousins.

  Without my dad walking me down the aisle, kissing me on the cheek, and threatening the man who put a ring on my finger within an inch of his life.

  Missing all of these things didn’t just make my stomach hurt, it made me want to hurt whoever was causing this hurt.

  But you can’t hurt destiny, can you?

  Wrong place, wrong time.

  That was what had gotten me here, counting each step to my bedroom as Sancto went on and on about the ball.

  Wait, the ball?

  “Sancto, back up. You said ball?”

  He stopped and grinned down at me, all white teeth oozing confidence. “Of course, it’s tradition. At least we wanted to start one without so much bloodshed, and Valerian is appreciative of his Russian history. He wants to do an old-fashioned, traditional masquerade ball. It also helps that… well…” He looked away. “It’s not my story to tell but, know that it helps.”

  “What does?”

  He was silent and then. “A mask… sometimes a mask hides more on the inside than it does on the outside.” He cleared his throat. “And here we are!”

  Finally.

  “Finally!” He echoed my mental sentiment as he rubbed his tanned hands together. “Now, if you need me, I’ll be downstairs. I’m sending up champagne—” The doorbell rang so loud I almost covered my ears. “Oh, that’s them! Let’s get the bride ready!”

  He left me standing in an ornate room with a full fireplace on one side, my own deck overlooking whatever lake we were next to, and a bed that could fit a harem.

  I gripped my phone in my hand and squeezed. Maybe if I texted Breaker and squeezed hard enough, it would be like holding his hand, maybe if I closed my eyes and imagined his face, it would be his mouth that held mine.

  “You broke me first,” I whispered into the crisp Seattle air.

  Because he had.

  And for some strange reason, I wanted the universe to know it.

  I would have fought for us.

  I would have clawed toward him, covered in my own blood, broken bones protruding from my body, voice gone because it had been screaming for him unceasingly until he came.