by V. F. Mason
PAKHAN'S ROSE
PAKHAN BOOK ONE
V.F. MASON
Copyright © 2016 by V.F. MASON
All Rights Reserved
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Edited by Hot Tree Editing
Cover Design: Perfect Pear Creative Covers
Photographer: Lindee Robinson
Formatting and Design: L.J. Anderson, Mayhem Cover Creations
Cover Models: Diana Chokr & Andrew Kruczynski
To the power of hope.
Prologue
Introduction
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Acknowledgments
Contact Me
The blood dripped from my nose as pain rushed through me from the blow of the man’s fist, and I had to bite my lip hard so no sound would escape.
He would get no satisfaction from his actions.
“A Cosa Nostra’s princess and the pakhan’s woman,” the man proclaimed greedily. “Never thought I’d fuck one of those.” He licked his knuckles while groaning in pleasure, tasting my blood. I barely contained my gag reflex, my stomach flipping inside me. His constantly shifting eyes scanned my body and clothes, or rather, what was left of them. The glint in them at my nakedness couldn't be ignored. “I’ll enjoy tasting their little Rose.” Slowly, he started to take his clothes off, piece by piece, and his disgusting, toned skin covered in various scars, which looked like nail scratches, came to light. He had a huge dragon tattoo, located right in the middle of his chest. It was almost a crime putting such a magnificent animal on this fucker’s skin.
His two bodyguards chuckled, their guns pointed at me, but I could see the hint of lust in their gazes. They were aroused by everything the man did—fuckers. Normal people wouldn't have worked for this sick man.
“You will regret touching me,” I warned with a shaky voice, trying one more time to jerk the chains off my hands, but they wouldn't budge. The granite wall behind me scratched my back to the point of bleeding, and I couldn't remember the last time I had food or clean water in my mouth. My eyelids felt heavy, and for some reason, all I wanted was to sleep and forget ever being here, even though I knew I had to be 100 percent focused on the danger in front of me. My legs were numb from the guards kicking them a few hours ago. Fear rushed through me at the idea of never walking again. “Dominic will kill you for laying a hand on me.”
The man smirked, inhaled his cigarette one more time, and threw it on the floor. “Doubtful, but by the time the precious daddy and boyfriend come, you’ll already be acquainted with my dick a few times.” He palmed his appendage and moaned in pleasure. “Yes, it will be exquisite torture for both of them. Serves them right. I became collateral damage in their war for you. Now, I’ll get the spoils.” With those words, he darted after me, and my scream of terror echoed through the basement.
For the second time in my life, I was a victim of a man’s desire to inflict vengeance for something I had nothing to do with.
Unfortunately for me, this time I had no hope of surviving.
Sixteen years ago
Dominic
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick
The sound of water slowly dripping, drop by drop, from the nearby sink drove me crazy, and I barely restrained myself from pulling my hair and screaming in frustration, even knowing it was pointless.
My body trembled as the wind slowly touched my skin. I wrapped my arms around myself, hoping to hold some heat inside. The blanket draped over my shoulders was worn out and provided more of a sense of comfort than it gave actual warmth against the cold. My lucid mind still thought Damian’s scent was on it after all this time. I scratched my arm, wincing in pain as I touched the sensitive spot where Richard used his chains frequently.
I still smelled like that awful man, because John didn't allow me to shower anymore unless I was meeting a client. After Damian and the twins escaped, they wouldn’t let me do anything that might help me break out of my ‘prison.’ I suspected they did it out of spite too, to punish me for the sins my brother had committed.
Well, fuck you, assholes.
It had been almost a year since they escaped, and never once did I regret helping them. The knowledge that Damian was out there living a better life than I was, well… it brought me happiness and gave me a sense of peace. And I was so fucking glad he thought I died, because otherwise, his mind would never rest and he would’ve tried to save me.
I knew full well my days could be counted on fingers here, and soon they’d get rid of me. Richard liked chaining and fucking me once a week, but even his eyes didn’t light up with lust as they used to. After all, fifteen-year-old boys didn't resemble the small child of six who he used to love.
I closed my eyes and rested against the wall, ignoring the pain it provided. My imagination, the one I used rarely, took me to another place where it was hot and the sounds of waves crashing calmed my nerves.
The Gulf of Mexico.
My mind barely remembered it, but I could still inhale salty, fresh air and feel the warmth of the sand under my toes.
I would die soon.
I couldn't fucking wait for this nightmare to finally be over.
Two Months Ago
Rosa
“Would you like something to drink?” the stewardess asked, a tight smile on her face as she straightened her black uniform. She constantly threw disapproving glances toward Vitya and Michael, who snuggled on a nearby chair and whispered into each other’s ear. Clearly, the woman didn't like man-on-man action.
Truth be told, I was surprised with their display of affection, considering gays had no place in the mafias and usually were punished for it, if they couldn't be discreet. However, it was evident to everyone how much they loved each other, and the romantic in me even envied them for it.
“No, thank you,” I replied, and rested my head on the window, dismissing her. She muttered something under her breath, and by the click of her heels, I could tell she headed to the front of the cabin.
Gazing at the bright blue sky with soft-as-cotton white clouds, I tried to focus my mind on anything but the sexy Russian Mafia boss who sat opposite me, and even without looking at him, I was sure his whole attention was on me.
My hands, bound tightly, lay on my lap, so I didn't have anywhere to go, even if I wanted.
And I didn't want to, because it made no sense.
The man kidnapped me and believed I belonged to him. No amount of reasoning would change his mind, so why waste the energy?
“This time, for sure, you started a war.” I spoke softly, finally locking my eyes with his as my breath hitched. Amber pools were filled with desire and longing, and his fists were clenched, probably from the inability to touch me.
>
Dominic shrugged, not caring in the least for the consequences of his decision.
Arrogant jerk.
Sexy, smoking hot, delicious, arrogant jerk.
The man exuded an aura of dominance and danger, and everything inside me wanted to submit to him, to let him have his way with me.
His shoulder-length, dark hair emphasized his amber eyes with long lashes and his tanned skin. His bulky figure was completely covered with tattoos. I wanted to trace them with my tongue. Looking at the man filled me with images of our sweat-covered bodies entwined on white satin sheets.
Control, Rosa. Control.
My shifting uncomfortably on the seat didn't escape his notice, and a frown marred his face. “Are you all right?”
I wondered if he regretted the promise he had given me. Raising my hands, I wiggled my fingers, and asked, “Is that really necessary? I don’t know about you, but I wouldn't jump out of the plane. Even if it meant escaping your company.” His eyes narrowed, but he ignored my words and continued to sip his coffee. However, I was so freaking tired of him, my dad, and their war that I poked the bear when I probably shouldn't have. “I wish I were back in Italy though. Lorenzo sure is a much more interesting man to talk to than you.” Sighing heavily, I added dramatically, “Too bad you snatched me right before our engagement.” The last part was a lie, because although Dad kept on pushing me toward him, he never mentioned a wedding as a sure thing. Not to mention, the guy in question was scared shitless of the pakhan of the Bratva. He wouldn't dare touch me.
“Oh, shit,” Michael murmured, as Vitya shook his head at me. I didn't have much time to study their reaction though, because in a second, the sound of a glass breaking exploded throughout the small space. I shifted my focus back to Dominic and noticed the broken glass in his hand, his eyes filled with fury.
“Enough.” In one swift move, he stood up, freed my hands, unfastened my seatbelt, picked me up, and darted to the secluded cabin at the back of the plane.
With all my might, I started to hit his back. “Let me go, you crazy man.” He slapped my ass, and I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning in pleasure. Because any touch from the man stirred deep desire inside me.
Finally, he reached the room. He opened the door, closed it with his foot, and immediately pressed me against the wall. We both breathed heavily as my legs circled around his waist and my fingers laced through his hair. “You had to go and make me crazy.”
Leaning forward, I licked the seam of his lips, and he growled, opening his mouth and capturing mine with his. The kiss curled my toes as our passion collided in a soul-searching duel. With tongues entwining and his erection pressing against my core, I whimpered. Then he let go of me.
“You allowed another man to touch what’s mine.” The steel didn't leave his eyes as he ripped open my dress, giving him a perfect view of the lacy push-up bra showcasing my breasts quite nicely.
“I need to get you out of the clothes you wore for him,” he growled, and his words snapped me out of my frenzy.
As I tugged on his hair painfully, he finally raised his eyes to look at me. “I wore them for you.” The amber of his eyes became almost black from the possessiveness that shadowed them.
His hands hiked my dress up, pushing my panties to the side, and then three of his fingers entered me as his lips latched onto my nipple. My head hit the door as pleasure and pain overpowered me.
How I missed my man and his caveman tendencies to mark what was his.
But I should probably start from the beginning and the events that led us here.
Five years ago
Rosa
“Rosa, sit down,” Sister Wanda chastised, to the snickers of the other girls, and I listened, even though I couldn't wait for the bell to ring to finally get away from this stupid class.
The Catholic school for girls that Dad had put me in sucked big time, but no matter how much I begged, he wouldn't listen.
Well, I was damn tired of this and decided to take matters into my own hands.
“Next time, do your homework,” she added, as though the humiliation she just made me experience at the board wasn't enough. “How would you be able to go to medical school if you can’t even read English literature properly?” Her eyes lovingly settled on another student. “You should take some tips from Marisa. Her speech and pace are excellent.” My teeth grated at her words. Hell would freeze over before I’d do anything to be more like Marisa, the bitch.
Yeah, I said bitch in Catholic school and felt damn good about it, even if it was only in my head.
Sister Wanda’s opinion of me meant nothing to me. She didn't understand the problem of dyslexia, and I didn't bother to point it out. I excelled in the main classes and had already gotten into medical school, with all the prerequisites met.
So both of them could suck it. I barely restrained myself from waving the acceptance letter in their faces, but in the final months of school, the last thing I needed was more problems with Marisa.
Finally, the bell rang, and I quickly grabbed my things and exited through the door, on a mission to get to my room before the other girls decided to make fun of me or my nerd tendencies. Or my chubby buddies, as though I could control my oversized breasts and ass.
“Rosalinda,” a voice called behind me, and I wished the floor would swallow me, as the dragon was apparently out.
Sighing heavily, I turned around and came face-to-face with Principal Monica’s cold and distasteful stare. “Come to my office, please. Now.” As though I’d dare disobey, my feet dragged while I followed her. My mind chaotically searched the reasons for this ‘conversation.’ I used the term loosely, because it always meant she found new shit to scorn me about.
Sister Monica hated the Cosa Nostra and everything it stood for, but she didn't mind the money my dad so generously gave them. I think it was the only reason she still tolerated my ass in this place, considering how much trouble I caused.
We entered her office, and she pointed at the bare, wooden, un-freaking-comfortable chair as she sat on hers just opposite it. Her office had white walls, a black floor, and a heavy, black, wooden desk and two chairs. A giant cross rested behind and above her head as she pinned me with those icy blue eyes. The design of the room was so boring and uninteresting I had no freaking clue how anyone could sit here for hours. The depressing mood would have killed me.
Seriously, because of her, I started to detest the color black—I shit you not. She wore the nuns’ standard black habit. Her chin was raised so high her pointed nose was emphasized even more. Her wrinkled hands were clasped atop the table, while her fingers knocked on the wood several times as though she considered how to proceed with this conversation. Overall, the office’s owner was dull, uninteresting, and as scary as the rest of this establishment.
“As you know, you received an acceptance letter to Columbia University in New York.”
I almost laughed out loud, but managed to hold it in. Know? It was a dream come true. My days were spent googling New York, the universities there, and imagining what life could be like for me there. My notebook was already full of places I planned to visit, and different maps I printed during my vacation at home.
One would think the idea of living in a huge metropolis excited me, but the truth was pathetic as it went. I was born and raised in New York but denied the freedom to enjoy it because of my dad, who happened to be the don of the Cosa Nostra.
Well, now he wouldn't have a choice.
“Yes,” I replied quietly, and she nodded, continuing.
“Your dad was contacted about it, and we had a long chat. We came to the conclusion it would be better if you attended a community college with strong ties to Christianity.” I blinked a few times, letting the information she shared settle inside me. Then she added, “Thankfully, a Catholic university is located an hour from here, and most of your class will attend it too.” Was this information supposed to make me feel better? Because it only fed the desperation running through me
.
My dad did what now?
He never let me do anything I wanted, and he tried to push me into the little cocoon where he could protect me.
I got it, I really did. He couldn't protect Mom, a pain I still felt anytime I thought about the beautiful woman who never got the chance to fully enjoy a life with her family, but today it just infuriated me. I was sick and tired of living in the shadow of my father’s fear. “That’s nice and all, but I’m still going to Columbia.”
Her lips thinned and she shook her head in displeasure. “It’s already decided, Rosa. The letter has already been sent.” Cold seeped into every bone in my body.
“What?” I whispered, as my eyes watered. She must be wrong, right?
Right?
An unpleasant smile graced her face. “Yes, and you have been accepted at the university here. So everything has worked out well. After your graduation in May, you will relocate there.” This was a nightmare, and I would wake up soon. She lied.
But by the pleasure her unkind eyes held, I understood with a sinking stomach she told me the truth.
My dad would never do this to me. He knew how much going to medical school meant to me, the way I worked my ass off for this scholarship.
But maybe the principal had been contacted by Uncle Allegro, who didn't believe in women having a higher education and preached Christian values to anyone who’d listen.
With that hope in my mind, without another word, I went outside, took the cell phone from my bag, and dialed my dad’s phone angrily.
He answered on the second ring, and his soft and loving voice calmed some of my anger. He probably didn't know. “How is my princess doing?”
With a trembling sigh, I answered, “Not good.”
Immediately, his mood shifted, as he growled into the phone, “What’s going on? Do you need me to come to you, Rosa?”
Clearing my throat, I asked the most important question for me at that moment, the one that would determine the direction for the rest of the conversation. “Dad, is it true? You pulled out my application from Columbia University?”
