Darkest Deeds: Cavalieri Della Morte

by Kenborn, Cora

  “I know, but it’s not like you don’t have things keeping you busy.” Tightening my hold on her chin, I tilt it up until there’s only a breath between us. “I’m proud of you, Ava. You’ve turned this Bratva around and made it your own. You’re ruthless but fair, and loyal to those who are loyal to you.”

  “Well, Seven will never be legal, but as long as I’m alive, no girl will ever be prostituted, sold, or raped here. That shit is over.” Her face darkens, memories of the past playing in her eyes. “Blade watches over those girls like a hawk.”

  “He watches over you too.”

  “He acts like he’s my dad,” she groans, rolling her eyes.

  “Yeah, one you deserved.”

  My words hang in silence, and I wonder if I crossed a line I shouldn’t have. In twelve months, neither of us have spoken Sergei’s name. It’s not allowed in our house or in our presence. I clench my teeth, and wait for her to completely shut down on me. Thankfully, she just bows her head.

  It’s a start. I’ll take it.

  I decide to change the subject. “Do you remember the last time we were in this room?” I say, cradling her head in my hands. “I wanted you so much that night.”

  She chuckles and looks up at me. “You could’ve fooled me. I thought you were going to kill me.”

  “Well, we’ve always pushed the line between pleasure and pain, haven’t we, pchelka? What’s reward without risk? What’s need without knives?” Leaning in, I press against her, my body molding to her curves. Brushing my lips across hers, I first taste, then sink my teeth into the plump flesh.

  Fuck, the things I want to do to this woman.

  Ava moans, running her hands down my chest. “We could make up for lost time.”

  Dropping a hand from her face, I catch her fingers before they reach my zipper. “Not like that, pchelka. Not for another eight months.”

  “Niko, I’m pregnant, not porcelain.” Frustrated, she mirrors my own movement and cups my face in her hands. “You can’t treat me like I’m made of glass. That’s not us. We’re not like other people. We don’t go to our boring nine to five jobs and come home to a quiet family dinner then make love in a tastefully decorated bedroom of our suburban home. We take lives for a living. Sometimes we don’t see each other for weeks at a time. We never get through a full meal because we usually end up fucking on top of the table.” Tilting my face down, she flashes those golden cat eyes, holding me prisoner to her words. “When we’re together, it’s hard. It’s rough. It’s full of punishment, guilt, hate, and love. We’re all those things. We don’t pretend to be anything but exactly who we are. We’re as real as real gets and that’s what I want, baby. I want real. I want every ugly and beautiful thing between us. I want you.”

  I’ve already forgotten half of what she said, but one line blasts over and over in my head.

  “I want every ugly and beautiful thing between us. I want you.”

  I grab her around the waist, the dormant monster in me waking up. Reaching for the shackles hanging from the wall, I cuff both her wrists until she’s completely at my mercy. “Are you very attached to this dress?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Good.” Pulling my knife out of my jacket, I pop the blade and slice a clean line down the front of her dress. Impatiently, I slip the knife under her strapless bra and with a flick of the wrist, slit it in two. Finally satisfied, I see my artwork. Lifting a finger, I trace the beautiful scars on her breasts that bear my name. “Mine,” I whisper.

  She nods. “Always has been.”

  Sliding down her body, I lay a soft kiss on her stomach. “Ya nikogda ne podvedu tebya, moya prekrasnaya devushka.”

  Ava’s breath hitches. “You won’t fail our baby, Niko. Besides, I’m only ten weeks. You have no idea if it’s a girl or not.”

  “Yes, I do. I’m getting a second chance. I won’t fuck this one up.”

  Ava starts to argue again, but whatever she was going to say gets lost in a garbled mix of my name and pleas to a higher deity as I hook her leg over my shoulder. Just as I’m about to taste the most powerful woman in Florida, my phone rings. Both of us still, knowing exactly who it is.

  Ava sighs, her leg slipping. “Go ahead. Answer it.”

  Catching her ankle, I place it right back. Ava’s mouth drops open as I reach in my pocket, turn my phone off, and throw it across the room.

  “Isn’t Arthur going to be pissed?” My beautiful wife stares down at me, her long red hair framing her worried face. I won’t lie and say it doesn’t do something to me knowing the only thing that can bring this powerful woman to her knees is a threat to my safety.

  But she’s not on her knees. I am, and I’ll stay here until I get my fill. Flashing her my most salacious grin, I kiss her inner thigh and tell her the same thing I told the head of the Tabella Della Morte a year ago when he tried to stop me from getting exactly what I wanted.

  “I’ve waited eight years for this, Mrs. Gaheris, and I’ll put a bullet in anyone who gets in my way.”

  The Cavalieri Della Morte Series

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  Ivy’s Poison - India R Adams

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  A Cruel Love - S.M. Soto

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  Darkest Deeds - Cora Kenborn

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  A Sneak Peek at Scarlet Mark

  Prologue

  Nikolai leaned one leather-clad elbow against the bar top, angled his body toward me, and cocked a dark brow. “So, you want to tell me how you convinced Calthorpe to help Ava?”

  I knocked back my scotch and set the glass down. “Did I do that?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Why don’t you ask Ava?” I suggested casually, ignoring his penetrating stare. Nikolai exuded a lethal air, one that caused everyone around us to keep a wide berth. But he didn’t scare me. Never had. That was what made us such good friends. From that first night in this very bar, we’d been bonded over a mutual respect for the other’s deadly talents.

  “I did,” he replied, his voice flat. “She won’t tell me shit. Claims she doesn’t know anyone named Dagger.”

  My lips twitched. “Yeah? Fancy that.”

  “Come on, man. Tell me what happened.”

  I shook my head. “Sorry, Nik. You know I don’t kiss and tell.”

  He snorted and snatched up his glass to down the contents. “You’re an ass.”

&n
bsp; “I am,” I agreed, signaling the bartender for another round with a flick of my wrist. “But I’ll admit, your Ava is slowly winning me over.”

  “I thought you didn’t know each other?”

  “We don’t,” I replied, not missing a beat. “But you’ve certainly told me all about her.” The woman had caused him quite a bit of trouble over the years. Hence the reason I didn’t like her. At least not until recently. Still… “I’m surprised you forgave her.”

  He sighed. “Yeah, it’s quite a story, actually.”

  “Color me intrigued.” My phone vibrated in my pocket while I spoke, forcing me to pause before I could request an explanation. “Ah, damn.” The contents on the screen had me sighing and shaking my head. “Seems our reunion is being cut short.” Arthur had me on a midnight flight out of Miami, giving me—I glanced at my watch—ninety minutes to get to the airport.

  “Mission?” he guessed as I signaled the bartender again.

  “Yeah.” A missing-person case. Pretty cut and dried, apart from the client’s name. One glance at it confirmed why I’d been assigned. Mingling with the world’s elite was my specialty, thanks to my family name. “Can we close our tab?” I asked as the bartender approached. Fortunately, she’d not yet poured our next round.

  “Sure, babe,” she replied, sounding disappointed.

  I didn’t bother considering why, just focused on my best friend. “This reunion isn’t over. I still want the details.”

  “How about I give you the abridged version while I drive you to Miami International?”

  Handing the bartender a few large bills that more than covered our tab, I nodded. “A solid plan.” Especially as he had the car, not me. “I want to hear all about how Ava brought you to your knees.”

  He chuckled. “Just wait, man. You’ll have your day.”

  “Not fucking likely.” I enjoyed my single life. No one to report to other than myself. It made me the boss in every way that mattered.

  “We’ll see.” He clapped me on the back. “Let’s go.”

  Killian

  Three weeks.

  Three. God. Damn. Weeks.

  That was how long it took me to track down Amara fucking Rose. The woman had disappeared without a trace, something I usually would have admired if it hadn’t been my task to find her.

  And to end up here, of all places.

  Diavolo Rojo.

  My lips curled, amused by her employment choice. She’d been right under my nose this entire time. Clever female.

  A string of these exclusive clubs existed across the world, designed for men and women with wealth and status who desired discretion in their sexual exploits. The Diavolo Rojo circuit only hired females with specific backgrounds. Most were young, early twenties, still in school, and looking to socialize with the elite of the world. It served as a fucked-up mentorship of sorts, but it worked.

  The establishment was essentially a swinger’s paradise, a way to mingle and indulge in certain proclivities in a safe space with desirable partners. Although, not all of the staff played with the clients. Some tended the bar area only, enjoying the admiration of society’s rich and famous while rubbing elbows with future business partners.

  The women who preferred only social activities wore a special collar.

  Amara Rose, my target, wasn’t wearing such a collar.

  Which meant I could proposition her. In any way I desired.

  Such a devious woman. She’d used the funds she’d stolen from her jilted fiancé to finance this little venture—to provide herself with a new background. To qualify for employment.

  That was how I finally found her.

  By following the money.

  “Your drink, Mr. Bedivere,” a sultry voice murmured, handing me the top-shelf scotch I’d ordered. The brunette’s tits practically poured out of her translucent top, leaving everything on display for my perusal.

  Yet it was the auburn-haired woman tending to tables across the room who held my interest.

  I’d been watching her all night, captivated by her confidence and poise. The female had conned a US senator, one many dubbed to be the future president of the United States. And she clearly did not give a flying fuck.

  So damn intriguing.

  And colorful. Those tattoos dancing up her left arm were the kinds of patterns meant to entice a man’s tongue.

  Maybe later.

  I accepted my glass with a smile for the flirty waitress, saying nothing in reply. Her round eyes crinkled at the sides, her anticipation tangible as she slowly turned to present me with her delectable backside.

  Cute, but not really my type.

  My interests ran darker, more sinister in nature. An urge I rarely satisfied because so few met my requirements.

  Although, my gorgeous mark might fit the bill.

  It really was a shame that I had to kidnap her or kill her.

  I sipped my scotch, enjoying the view of Amara’s shapely ass as she bent to hand someone a drink in one of the corner booths.

  The main area of the club resembled a standard bar, with a few opulent enhancements—crystal glassware, imported leather seating, and high-tech tabletops. The lighting offered a sexy vibe as well, casting the room in purples and shadows that set the mood.

  Yet, it was the upstairs and downstairs levels that were special, each equipped with a variety of rooms and spaces set up to handle an array of kink and deviant preferences.

  Amara seemed to be avoiding those, electing to serve in the safe zone, where couples chose to warm up rather than play.

  I traced the device in the center of my table with my thumb, considering my mark. Several patrons had submitted bids for Amara’s services throughout the evening, something I knew because each one caused the bracelet around her wrist to light up. Her staying on this floor meant she’d turned down every single one. That was part of the club’s rules—the female assets controlled their fates. Hence, my brunette waitress’s eagerness. She wanted me to make her an offer.

  Alas, no.

  My proposal would be to the alluring redhead wearing the sexy-as-fuck lace stockings and silky black teddy.

  And it would be one she couldn’t refuse.

  I pulled out my phone to review all the other bids Amara had received tonight, thankful for my contact who had provided me with backdoor access to the club’s systems. It served as potential blackmail against enemies, and in this case, access into Amara’s thought process.

  She had a few hard limits—something her profile indicated.

  What wasn’t listed was her desired price. But I had an idea of what she needed, given how much she stole from Senator Jenkins, how much she spent on this new identity of Scarlet Rosalind.

  I flicked through the proposals she’d acquired over the last several nights. She’d declined all of them.

  Difficult and confident, I mused, grinning. My kind of woman. Let’s play.

  I keyed in an amount ten times as much as her highest submission, requesting only a dance in one of the exclusive rooms downstairs. Then I checked the box for Additional Service Negotiations Accepted. Which meant, if things went well, we could discuss prolonging our time together and doing other, more expensive activities. In private.

  My name—my real name—was displayed on the sender line, the terms all laid out.

  She’d be able to see my history from other Diavolo Rojo clubs, including the ratings her overseas colleagues had left for me. All excellent scores because they were my informants, not my conquests.

  I avoided mixing business with pleasure because I was one of the villains who used those interludes to my advantage. Powerful people had a tendency to discuss private matters when in the company of beautiful women, and my contacts were brilliant at exploiting those moments. I also paid them handsomely for it. Attending the club was just a cover, an easy way to hold a covert meeting with some trusted informants.

  Not that Amara would be able to review that part of the equation. She would only see I typically reques
ted dances and rarely anything more. And I always behaved. At least on the surface.

  Selecting Send, I set the device on the table and lifted my scotch.

  Her wrist lit up seconds later, indicating she’d just received another request—my request.

  Amara’s slender shoulders tightened just enough to show her discomfort, but when she read through the offer on the wristwatch face of her bracelet, her lips actually parted.

  Such a beautiful, fuckable mouth.

  I could see why the senator actually desired her alive. Putting this woman in the ground would be a crime against humanity. Not that she didn’t deserve it. She’d ditched the man at the altar and ran off with half of his bank account. A con woman with expert skill.

  Mmm, perfection, really. How I adored vindictive women.

  She nibbled her plump lower lip, her gaze scanning the room. As if I would make this easy on her. Someone like Amara required the mystery to accept such a fate.

  All she could see of me was a silhouette—my all-black suit blending into the dark edges surrounding me. I’d chosen this spot because it provided me with me a full view of the room and placed a solid wall to my back.

  And it shadowed my face from most of the room.

  The ideal vantage point for an assassin.

  Me.

  Indecision warred across her features, her confidence finally wavering. Fascinating. It seemed my little vixen didn’t want to be alone with male customers. Did she prefer women? Was that why she left the senator so easily?

  Hmm, no, because she’d also received several offers from couples looking to add a third.

  She clearly had trust issues. Something I could hardly fault her for, given her chosen profession as a scam artist.

  I swirled the contents in my glass, waiting.