Vicious Oath: A Dark Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance (Ivanov Crime Family Book 2)

by Zoe Blake

  Samara stiffened beside me. Looking at her, I followed her gaze.

  Gregor, Nadia’s older brother, was staring straight at her.

  I wondered what he could possibly want.

  Without a word, Samara pivoted and left the room.

  What the hell is with Nadia’s brothers tonight? Have they both gone mad?

  It was like Samara and I were both suddenly very much on their radar after years of being mostly ignored and treated simply as their little sister's nameless friends.

  I shook my head. Nothing made sense tonight. All three of us were finally eighteen - adults. Already, I felt ripped off. If this was what it was like being an adult, they could shove it.

  Realizing I was wasting precious time while everyone was distracted, I slipped between a few small groups of people and made my way through the kitchen to the side door. Flipping the latch, I turned the knob.

  “Going somewhere?” came a deep baritone voice behind me.

  Rolling my eyes at getting caught, I pasted a fake smile on my face and turned.

  “I was just looking for you,” I lied.

  Damien’s lips twisted into a smirk. “I bet you were.”

  He stepped close. So close I could make out the five o-clock shadow over the sharp angle of his jawline. I inhaled. Surely, he wouldn’t be bold enough to try and kiss me right here in the middle of his family’s kitchen?

  He raised his arms and stepped even closer.

  My eyes widened.

  I couldn’t move. Frozen to the spot, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to run or to let him take me into his arms.

  Before I could decide, he swung my black and pink fake chinchilla fur bolero jacket over my shoulders. I wasn’t even going to bother asking how he knew that was my coat. He must have been watching me from the moment I'd entered the party, not just on the dance floor like I had assumed.

  “Let’s go.”

  I protested as I pushed my arms through the jacket sleeves. “I need to say goodbye to Nadia!”

  “No. You don’t. March.”

  He placed the flat of his hand against my lower back and ushered me out the door.

  Bypassing the waiting valet hired for the party, Damien walked me across the driveway to where his car was parked off to the side, partially hidden by the trees. My mouth opened on a gasp which I quickly swallowed by pulling my lips between my teeth.

  Holy shit!

  His car was magnificent.

  It was a silver Mercedes-AMG GT.

  I wasn’t exactly a car person—in fact I knew nothing about them—but I did know my luxury sports cars, especially when they appeared in Jason Statham movies.

  Trying to keep the excitement from my voice, I asked, “Is this the same car that appeared in The Fast and the Furious Eight?”

  Damien chuckled. “As a matter of fact, yes, it is.”

  Guiding me to the passenger side, he opened the door for me. As I settled onto the soft leather seat, Damien reached down and picked up the trailing hem of my dress and tucked it inside before closing the door.

  My heart skipped a beat.

  So this was what it was like to be with an actual gentleman?

  Flashes of the last time I had been bored enough to go on a date ran through my mind. When Johnny Newston insisted on going Dutch at the movies and picked me up in his run-down Camry. Both the driver’s and front passenger side doors were broken, so he'd made me get in the back seat and climb over the seats to the front to let him in. I'd torn the mesh trim on my McQ sequined tank dress doing it. I had saved up all summer to buy that dress from Alexander McQueen’s ready-to-wear line. I’d sworn off males, asshole high school boys in particular, that night. I realized with a start that that was over a year ago. No wonder I was about to graduate high school an eighteen-year-old virgin.

  Damien slipped into the seat next to me and filled the car with masculine energy. Since it was only a two-seater sports car, his wide muscular shoulders took over the space. Self-consciously, I scooted as far as possible over to my side.

  Damien started the engine and adjusted the volume on the stereo as loud pounding piano music resonated around us.

  I couldn’t keep the shock from my voice. “Is that Rachmaninoff?”

  Putting the car into reverse, he placed his hand on the back of my seat as he looked over his shoulder through the back window. If I moved my head slightly, my cheek would brush his knuckles.

  “Yes. Piano Concerto Number Two. My favorite.”

  “Mine too,” I blurted before thinking. I really didn’t tell people about my love of classical music. It wasn’t considered particularly cool at my age. When I was a little girl, I'd desperately wanted to take piano lessons, but my stepfather had refused to pay for them.

  “This is from a live concert of Anna Fedorova’s I attended a few years ago.”

  I didn’t know who Anna Fedorova was but nodded sagely and pretended I did.

  Meanwhile, I was secretly jealous he had heard Rachmaninoff performed live, probably with an entire symphony accompaniment. He would have been dressed in a tuxedo for the occasion. Looking sexy as hell. With all those tattoos, he’d look like a hotter David Beckham in a suit. I could just imagine him with some tall, professional model on his arm. She probably only spoke French and had a silly name like Mimi or Fifi. I bet she wore a vintage couture Dior gown to match the diamond necklace and earrings he had probably given her earlier.

  I looked down at my lap. The pink velvet of my Miu Miu gown was slightly crushed near the right thigh. Miu Miu was Prada’s cheaper ready-to-wear line. So far it and my McQ gown were the closest I had gotten to owning something by a true designer, and now they were both ruined.

  The overture of the piano concerto filled the car with dramatically intense music as the violins began. It gave our winding drive through the dark woods on Rock Creek Parkway a gothic feel, which felt right since I was basically sitting next to the perfect villain duke from a romance novel.

  Demon Damien.

  That was what they called him.

  I wasn’t supposed to know that.

  Apparently, it was because he had the charm of the devil and a temper to match. While Gregor had a reputation for exhibiting a deadly calm when angered, Damien did not. He was known to lash out violently and without warning.

  Something I was also not supposed to know.

  For all his gentlemanly manners, it would be wise for me to not forget that behind his designer clothes, fancy car, and elegant musical tastes, Damien was a dangerous criminal and second in command of an even more dangerous Russian mafia family.

  No one messed with the Ivanovs.

  No one.

  It reminded me of what Damien had said earlier about me being in real trouble. My racetrack scheme had pissed off a lot of powerful people, apparently the Ivanovs included.

  I swallowed.

  What if he isn’t taking me to a hotel?

  What if this is all a ruse?

  What if he’s really just driving me out into the middle of nowhere to kill me?

  How could I have been so stupid as to blindly follow him just because he was Nadia’s brother?

  How could I have thought being his little sister’s friend would somehow protect me?

  The Ivanovs were about family honor and making money. Lots of money.

  Me and my racetrack scheme had disrespected both of those things.

  Oh my God.

  Oh my God!

  He is going to kill me.

  He is going to fucking kill me!

  I shivered.

  Damien noticed and turned my heated seat on.

  I rambled as my hand slid along the door panel searching for the handle in the dark. “Did you know the song All By Myself from the Clueless soundtrack sampled a large portion of this concerto?”

  We were getting closer to the city, but just because he wasn’t taking me deep into the woods didn’t mean he wasn’t still planning on killing me. He probably had some super creepy warehouse s
omewhere on the Southside. Someplace in a basement with a drain in the center and the walls stained with rust-colored blood splatter. A torture room.

  Fuck! This was bad.

  My mind raced out of control with all the ways he could kill me. I turned to stare at his profile. He had the strong nose and jaw that people usually called Roman, like those marble busts of cruel despotic dictators from history. They also were said to have strong noses and profiles.

  Yep. This was really bad.

  Damien smiled as he adjusted his grip on the leather steering wheel. Glancing in my direction before returning his gaze to the road, he replied, “Can’t say that I did.”

  Pretending to adjust my skirt, I slipped the leather ankle strap over my heel and placed it to the side. “Did I remember to grab my purse?” I reached down to my other side pretending to fumble for it. I pulled the other strap free, kicking that shoe to the side as well. “Oh, here it is!” I held my purse up then placed it on my lap.

  Tense, I waited for my moment.

  Soon, I knew there would be a loud crescendo of music with a dramatic ending that included cymbals and then hopefully thunderous applause. That would cover the sound of my opening the door. It would give just a half second advantage but that coupled with the element of surprise would hopefully be all I’d need.

  He pulled off the parkway as the music began to rise in pitch.

  I leaned forward. Ready.

  On Virginia Avenue he slowed the car as we neared a traffic light. I could see the bright glow of the Kennedy Center to my right. It was Saturday night. At this time, there was surely a concert or some event letting out.

  The car came to a complete stop.

  It was now or never.

  I wrapped my fingers around the car door handle.

  The violins screamed and strained as the deep notes of the piano reached a fevered pitch.

  My heartbeat pounded in frenetic time with the music.

  Taking a deep breath, I threw the car door open… and ran.

  Chapter 6

  Damien

  “Dammit! Yelena!”

  Her slim form bolted straight into the path of an oncoming car. Her body bowed to the left as she placed her right hand on the hood, only narrowly avoiding a fatal accident. The car’s horn blared in protest. She ran on, her pink velvet gown occasionally shimmering as she passed under a streetlamp.

  Throwing the car into gear, I veered right. The force of my turn swung her passenger door shut as I crossed two lanes of traffic and raced down the nearest side street after her. I could tell she was heading straight for the Kennedy Center. I passed her running on my right. Before I could stop, she sprinted across the street. Jumping the curb, I abandoned the car on the outskirts of a small park nearby and took off after her on foot.

  I caught up to her just as she approached an elderly couple.

  The woman, who was dressed head to toe in a musty old fur with some yellowing pearls, greeted her kindly. “Hello, dear! Were you at the performance too? Wasn’t that dance troop marvelous, the way they jumped in the air and banged on those trash can lids?”

  Placing her hand to her side as she struggled to catch her breath, Yelena blurted out, “Please, I need your hel—“

  “There you are, sweetheart,” I intoned directly behind her.

  Yelena swung around.

  Her body tensed to bolt again. I wrapped an arm around her waist and snatched her close to my side. “Darling, I told you I would find us a cab. No need to bother these nice people.”

  Her bright blue eyes were wild with fear. The sudden run had sent a dark pink flush over her high cheekbones, giving her face a primal, animated look like a rabbit caught in a trap.

  The elderly gentleman gestured toward the nearest traffic intersection. “Don’t go back to the Center. The taxi line is too long. If you want a cab, you need to do like us and walk a few blocks.”

  The elderly woman chimed in. “It’s such a nice night for a walk. The slight chill feels wonderful. Those concert halls can be so stuffy.”

  Yelena shook her head. “No! You don’t understand, I —“

  Placing a firm grip under her jaw, my head swooped down and claimed her lips. Her mouth opened on a shocked gasp. I took advantage, sweeping my tongue inside. Her fingers clawed at my chest as her body tried to twist out of my grasp. Shifting my hand lower, I palmed her ass and pulled her in closer.

  The older man sighed. “Young love! Come on, Doris. Let’s leave them alone.”

  The elderly couple shuffled away none the wiser.

  Still, Yelena fought back, clipping my lower lip with her sharp teeth. The copper tang of blood mixed with the sweet taste of her. Driving a hand through her now-tangled curls, I forced her head back as I took complete possession. I didn’t stop till her body went slack as she submitted to the inevitable force of my assault.

  Breaking free of our kiss, I growled, “How dare you endanger yourself by running like that! You could have been killed.”

  “What do you care? You’re going to kill me anyway!” she shouted.

  “Dammit woman! I’m not trying to kill you. I’m trying to save you!”

  How many times would I have to explain to her that I was on her side in this mess?

  I should’ve just laid it out for her. Tell her what the men who were after her were capable of in order to get what they wanted. That they would snatch her off the street with no warning. Lock her in some godforsaken hole where no one would hear her scream. They’d pump her veins full of drugs and deprive her of food and water. They would beat her and probably even rape her for days, weeks, till she became no more than a feral animal willing to do anything to make the pain stop.

  And that’s when the real torture would begin.

  It wasn't her name or just her stash of cash that they were after. They needed her math skills. They needed to know how she was able to beat the odds and win big without risking detection by messing with the horses. They needed to get inside of her head. They would keep her prisoner until they had drained everything that made her human, and then they would kill her and discard her like trash.

  I knew all this, because I was one of them. I knew how they thought and operated.

  I might draw the line at women, but I wasn’t above violence to get what I wanted.

  I knew what it felt like to crush a man’s bones and spirit.

  To watch the will to live drain from his eyes.

  In my world, there was no such thing as a line I wouldn’t cross.

  The Ivanovs were all about the Machiavellian end game.

  Fear and power.

  It was the only way.

  I should have told her all of this, but something held me back.

  At least for one more night, I wanted to still be the man she thought I was.

  Nadia’s protective older brother. The man who bought her a funny McDonald’s toy.

  For just one more night, I wanted to not see fear and disgust in her beautiful blue eyes when she looked at me. I wanted to be that knight in shining armor, even if my armor was a little tarnished.

  Still, I had to get through to her.

  Perhaps violence really was the only way to make her see reason.

  It was, after all, the only way I knew.

  Cursing low in Russian, I swung my head to the right and observed another group of people making their way down the wide sidewalk. They too must have given up on the taxi line. Not willing to risk any more public encounters, I kept my grip on her hair and marched her back to the car. Without her heels, she once more barely reached the top of my shoulders, making her seem slight and vulnerable in my grasp. I would have to keep reminding myself of that as I ruthlessly tried to keep my anger in check.

  She could have been killed.

  Her sprinting out of the car into traffic was foolish and extreme and just another example of how undisciplined and wild she had become without any proper supervision over these last few years.

  Well, that was all about to c
hange.

  My abandoned car was slightly hidden from view on the street by a small copse of high bushes and young trees. Dragging her over to the car, I prevented her from reaching for the passenger door as I pushed her past the front.

  “What are you doing?”

  Using my grip on her hair, I forced her to bend over the hood of the car.

  “Damien! Let go!”

  Ignoring her shout, I reached for her dress. Fisting the thin velvet, I dragged it up over her hip, exposing her ivory skin to the moonlight.

  “Stop! No!”

  She had the most amazing ass. Just curvy and luscious enough to fill a man’s hand. I raised an eyebrow. I wasn’t sure how I felt about her wearing thongs, as much as I was thoroughly enjoying the view of that tiny scrap of white lace. The scalloped edge highlighted the cleft between her cheeks before slipping between.

  “Let me go!” she cried as she tried to reach and pull her dress back down.

  I pulled sharply on her hair which immediately quieted her protests.

  “It’s very simple, Yelena. You misbehave. You get punished.”

  “What?”

  I smoothed a palm over her left ass cheek. “I warned you earlier what would happen if you defied me.”

  Her body stiffened. “You wouldn’t dare,” she spurted out as she tried to push herself off the hood. My grip held her in place.

  Leaning down, I whispered into her ear, “Try me.”

  Raising to my full height, I lifted my arm and brought the flat of my hand down on the soft curve of her ass. Her shocked scream was cut off by my other hand, which I quickly wrapped around her mouth. She was such a little thing, it was easy to restrain her. Keeping my hand over her mouth, I spanked her ass over and over again. I watched her flesh blossom into bursts of pink and red with each strike. Her cute bare toes dug into the grass as she raised up on them and occasionally tried to kick out.

  My cock swelled to painful proportions as I pictured all the illicit things I wanted to do to her lush body. It was wrong. Completely wrong. She was far too young for me. Naive and innocent despite her bravado.

  They may call me Demon Damien in certain circles, but that didn’t mean I had to live up to the reputation as far as Yelena was concerned. To take advantage of her now would make me the worst kind of a monster. I knew deep in my soul such an act would push me past any redemption.