Morally Ambiguous: A Dark Mafia Romance (Morally Questionable Book 4)

by Veronica Lancet

  Marcello's brother, Valentino, had been leading a team inquiring into a human trafficking ring led by some dangerous people when they'd found us—or rather a dead Vanya and her half-dead brother. Even he hadn't been able to offer me more insight, citing pure luck behind their sudden discovery of the location.

  We'd both been found in a cage. The details are even now, hard to stomach. Vanya had been well on her way to putrefaction, and me? Starved to the extreme, I'd already had one foot in the grave.

  Because of the circumstances of Vanya's death, as well as my own rather morbid state, a doctor had told me it's normal for the brain to block some memories—particularly traumatic ones. He'd also said that Vanya's presence in my mind might be explained by the residual trauma of living with her corpse for days on end.

  Well, certainly that's one way of looking at it.

  But there's also my way. Vanya is here with me to ensure I find her killer and I punish him or her accordingly.

  An eye for an eye.

  Even now, as if knowing the direction of my thoughts, she preens, her lips spreading into a languid smile.

  I shake my head at her, returning my attention to Bianca.

  "Maybe I could have gotten some information out of him," I mumble, "eventually."

  Looking down at all the stripes of flesh I'd taken from his thighs and his back, I'm suddenly bummed that I didn't get to do the entire body. It had been going great too, since the bleeding had been minimal and my mental state never better.

  "Sure," she mocks, raising an eyebrow at me.

  "Now where's the fun in taking the rest of the skin if he's dead?" I sigh, returning to task and continuing with his chest.

  "Wait," B says, her fingers going to her temples. "Let me get this straight. You're going to continue skinning him? He's dead!"

  "Of course he's dead," I add drily, "you killed him."

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes at her. But seeing that I'm in such a good mood, I refuse to engage further.

  "You'll thank me when you get your Christmas present. I'll make you a shiny new leather holster. One hundred percent man made too," I wink at her.

  When she gets my meaning, she backs away, her hands up, her eyes half-shut in disgust.

  "Ew, no thank you. You can keep it for yourself." she waves me off, going to an empty chair and opening her laptop.

  "Stalking again?" I ask, amused.

  Her face immediately lights up and she turns the screen around to show me the latest pictures of the subject of her obsession.

  "I don't get it," I shake my head, turning back to my work. Might as well finish this now.

  "Of course you don't get it," Bianca mutters, "we've established you don't know what love is," she says on a dreamy sigh, staring at the computer and no doubt imagining herself with that suit of hers.

  I don't even deign a reply, because she's not too far off the mark. I don't know what love is. At least not the type of love she's implying. I know loyalty and family ties. I know my connection with Vanya, the type that not even death can sever.

  But the type of love she's talking about? The butterflies mixed with bodily fluids and eternal devotion? I mentally groan at the picture, firmly depositing it out of my mind.

  That type of love isn't for me, and likely won't ever be. After all, I have but one purpose.

  Find my sister's killer and return the favor. When that's done... I'll have to see if I'll stick around.

  After the confrontation with Misha, things get progressively worse at home. My father sends me on mission after mission just to ensure Misha and I are not in the same location at the same time. At any other point, I would have been thrilled to perform sanctioned killings twenty-four seven. After a while, though, even the prospect of blood fails to rouse my interest.

  My mind, my biggest enemy, won't leave me alone. And it's not only in the form of little Vanya hanging around me at all times. No, this time I'm getting increasingly paranoid about Misha and his intentions.

  He'd had a doctor see to his eye and put it back in place, so the damage had not been too bad. But his behavior afterwards had been deeply concerning. He'd been... nice. Or as nice as Misha can be. Still, it had been entirely too disturbing to be on the receiving end of such non-assholery.

  He'd even apologized to Elena.

  Extremely unlike Misha.

  The more I became suspicious about my brother, the more I started doing unnecessary things. Like hacking into the live feed of our compound. Or the mainframe. Or everyone associated with Misha.

  When you're as antisocial as I am, you tend to develop hobbies that don't involve... socialization. Or humans. Or anything that lives, breathes and talks back. Except for Vanya, but she's not really alive, anyway. Computers are heavenly manna for someone like me. Not only are they extremely interesting, but they also provide constant challenges for me, since my impatience might be my winning quality.

  My time is split between a computer screen and corpses, so you could say I've become an expert. In both.

  "Are you going to keep on doing that?" Bianca asks, yawning and stretching back.

  We'd been assigned to supervise an out-of-state shipment of drugs. A little unusual since our missions in the past always finished with someone dead, but still within normal parameters, considering my father's plan to keep Misha and me separated.

  I shrug, closing the laptop and placing it aside. I might have been doing it ad nauseam, since my curiosity won't let me until I get to the bottom of everything that's happening, but I'm not about to let Bianca know about my suspicions. Not when there's little evidence to support my theory. I only have my intuition, and my not so stellar people reading skills — which no self-respecting scientist would take as anything but bogus.

  "I'm bored," I reply.

  She sighs, almost exasperated.

  "You've been bored for the last three missions," she continues, and I stifle the urge to roll my eyes at her.

  We may be a team, but we still get on each other's nerves... most times.

  To pass the time, I switch to reading at some point, exchanging more jabs with Bianca in between.

  It's not until the truck carrying our asses and the merchandise comes to a sudden stop, throwing off our balance, that we realize something may be off.

  Both Bianca and I react to the potential threat — her hands on her guns, my fingers wrapped around my shashkas.

  It didn't take long for us to realize we'd been sent into an ambush, with people coming at us from all directions.

  But they hadn't banked on one thing. For all our bickering, Bianca and I are top-class assassins, and forced proximity has only enhanced our work compatibility. We killed fast, and in sync. Whoever sent these guys clearly hadn't done their homework.

  When all the corpses abounded on the ground, it became clear this wasn't just a simple attack.

  "Bratva," I grimace as I note their tattoos.

  Suddenly my previous concerns become urgent, and I can barely contain my ire, getting behind the wheel and yelling for Bianca to get in the car.

  "It's a coup," I add, eventually, my eyes fixed on the road as I break all speed limits.

  "A coup? But who?" She frowns.

  "My stupid ass of a brother, that's who. Fuck! I should have seen it coming. Misha's always been power hungry, but I didn't think he had it in him," the words pour out of me.

  I should have trusted my instincts.

  "But..."

  "No one else could have ordered those Bratva soldiers to come after us. Think about it, B," I say when she seems unconvinced.

  Misha must have promised them something in return for helping him overthrow my father. He's always been dissatisfied with his role within the organization, mostly because he knew father didn't trust him as much as he should have, being the first born and the heir.

  Our ongoing conflicts, though, must have only strengthened his resolve to take matters into his own hands.

  I should have known that someone like him wou
ld never be satisfied with not being important. But regardless of what he's doing to take over the Bratva, my utmost worry is for Elena and Katya.

  Fuck!

  If he's gotten rid of father and his loyal soldiers, then there's nothing standing between him and doing whatever he wants to them.

  The thought of that, coupled with Vanya's cries in my ears, only serve to make me hit the accelerator harder, speeding down the highway in hopes I might make it in time.

  "He'll kill them." Vanya keeps chanting next to me, her words not helping my already tense head space.

  I barely take my eyes off the road for a moment to get Bianca to load the camera feed from the compound.

  The moment the screens flare to life, I'm not surprised when I see blood everywhere, my father slain by his own son, his body lying in the middle of the great hall.

  Misha has his men move father's corpse to the exhibition area—the place reserved for traitors and enemies of the Bratva.

  "Fuck," I mutter, realizing I may have underestimated Misha. He's not as dumb as he's led me to believe.

  And the fact that he's displaying father's body in such a manner in the great hall is a warning for everyone thinking to go against him.

  We reach the compound in record time, and Bianca offers to use her skills as a sniper to have my back and get Misha.

  Once we split, her heading towards a good vantage point and me heading towards the hall, I turn to Vanya.

  "See, it won't be by my hand." I joke, and she gives me a brilliant smile. Knowing that I won't be the one to put the bastard out of his misery seems to be doing wonders to Vanya's mood.

  A few guards get in my way, but I'm quick to split them in half, my blades running smoothly across their stomachs.

  The alarm goes off, and I know it's only a matter of time before I'm surrounded. Smiling to myself, I just wait.

  Sure enough, quite a few soldiers come out of the great hall, all surrounding me. I let myself be caught, because I know Bianca should be almost at the south tower now, which should give me a few uninterrupted minutes of conversation with my dear brother.

  A couple of kicks and the men think I'm down, holding me by my arms and dragging me inside the room.

  Misha is standing in the middle of the hall, his hands behind his back as he gazes at father's corpse.

  A quick glance around the room and I don't see anyone else here - not mother and not my sisters either.

  "Brother," he spits at me when the guards stop in front of him.

  "Such a welcome," I drawl.

  "You should have been dead already," he continues, clearly put off by my sudden presence.

  "And you should have learned by now that I'm not that easy to kill," I retort.

  "Ah, but don't worry. This time you will, and by my hand too," he says, pacing around in front of me.

  Jittery. A little too jittery.

  "Where are the women?"

  He stops, raising his eyes to find me. He holds my gaze for a moment before he starts laughing.

  "The women?" He asks, his arms wide open in wonder. "No more women," he replies sneakily, and I narrow my eyes at him.

  "What did you do, Misha?"

  "What did I do?" He repeats, looking unhinged as he continues to pace around. "I'm finally where I belong. At the top."

  From the corner of my eye I see Vanya plant herself in front of father, an inscrutable expression on her face. Her eyes are downcast, the corners of her mouth sloped downwards. She's... sad.

  Turning back to Misha, I'm surprised to see him blabbering off about how he's going to turn the Bratva around and the deal he's already made on father's behalf.

  "You should have stayed gone, freak. Then father wouldn't have been so against human trafficking. Drugs don't bring in the money they used to but humans..." he whistles.

  Ah, so this was his aim.

  "Really? And how are you going to do that?" I keep track of his movements so that his form is lined up with the opening in the window. "You know Agosti has monopoly on that," I add, curious to see who he's been talking to.

  "My contact is even more powerful," he snorts, "and once we join forces, we'll take the city by storm." He continues to prattle on about his grand plan, but there are no details about this mysterious partner of his.

  "I doubt anyone would ally themselves with you." I start, trying to rile him up into disclosing who he's working with. "Doesn't he know you've got a track record of making dumb decisions?"

  He stops for a second, coming closer to me.

  "They trust me, brother. Unlike others, they see my potential."

  They... Interesting.

  I'm about to open my mouth to ask more when I hear a sharp sound and a circle appears on Misha's forehead. Blood leaks out of it, his eyes rolling in the back of his head. And then he falls.

  I take advantage of the slight disorientation of the men holding me and I pry my hands loose, immediately going for the blades hidden in my boots.

  The men stand no chance as I throw the knives. They lodge deep in their throats, hitting the perfect spot.

  And they're down.

  I turn towards the window where Bianca is likely still looking at me through her rifle, and I wink at her.

  Now...

  Vanya is hopping around with glee, looking at Misha's dead body with a delight I hadn't seen in a while.

  Shaking my head, I go back to the main living quarters, needing to make sure Katya and Elena are safe.

  The hallway is empty, and as I make my way towards the second floor, I get increasingly worried.

  I can't hear anything...

  I barge inside the girls' room and I blink twice, before averting my eyes. Vanya runs from my side, and I close the door softly.

  Elena's naked body is on the floor, an angry cut at her neck. The entire carpet is soaked in her blood.

  I take another step, and my worst suspicion is confirmed.

  Bruising around her thighs and blood between her legs tells me exactly what happened here. Or who.

  I sigh deeply, disappointed at this turn of events. I'd hoped they would be fine...

  Vanya, on the other hand, is on her knees in front of Elena. She's bawling her eyes out, her hands touching her face, her hair. She's crying for the sister that met the same fate she had.

  Taking a blanket from the bed, I cover Elena's body, hoping to offer her some modesty, at least in death.

  Vanya is inconsolable as she keeps trying to rouse her sister. Everything to no avail.

  Shaking my head, I look around for Katya, confused that she's not here.

  A small hope flares inside of me as I think that she might have been spared. I search every single room of the house, finding mother's dead body and that of those loyal to my father.

  No Katya...

  By chance, I stumble upon someone who moans in pain. Realizing he still lives, I crouch next to him, thinking I might get some answers.

  He's face down on the carpet, and as I turn him around, I note it's the family doctor—Sasha.

  "Sasha," I say, slapping his face to get his attention.

  His eyes are unfocused, but eventually he finds his words.

  "Vlad..."

  "Where is Katya?" I ask, getting straight to the topic.

  "Katya..." he croaks, grimacing in pain, "he gave her to him," he finally says.

  "Him? Who?"

  Sasha shakes his head.

  "Misha's partner," is all he says before his eyes close.

  Still feeling a pulse, I put him over my shoulder and I meet up with Bianca back in the great hall. Vanya is sluggishly trailing behind, her face one of desolation at losing both her sisters.

  Placing Sasha on a table, I realize I'm the one in charge now. So I just shoot orders, taking out my phone and dialing contact after contact, knowing that the entire place is due for a cleaning.

  "Your sisters?" Bianca eventually asks, and I just shake my head.

  Elena may be dead, but Katya isn't.

&nbs
p; I just have to find the man who took her.

  "You'll make them pay, brother. Promise me," Vanya comes around me, her eyes misted with tears.

  I look down at her and I feel my heart jerk a little in my chest.

  "Promise," I say, taking her small hand in mine.

  It seems I have my work cut out for me.

  Two sisters. Two faceless enemies.

  A smile pulls at my lips.

  "Shh, it's starting," Vanya shushes me, directing her gaze towards the stage, her big eyes full of curiosity.

  Somehow, her bad eye doesn't hang out of its socket as much today.

  Leaning back into my seat, I chug some champagne, knowing it's going to take a while until they get to the interesting part.

  With a bored expression on my face, I watch as a man in a dog mask saunters on the stage, calling out a number and inviting a man and a woman on the stage.

  The man in the mask commands them both on their knees before lowering his zipper and taking his cock out, dipping it in and out of the man and woman's mouths.

  I glance warily at Vanya, thinking she's too young to be seeing something like this. But then I remember she's not real.

  Her attention is wholly focused on the people on the stage. In just a short while their positions change. The woman is on her knees, getting railed from behind by her partner, while the masked guy is fucking the man in the ass. The show becomes even more interesting when they call out yet another number, and another man joins them on the stage. The masked man takes a step back, making the newcomer join the fucking train before taking his dick in his hand once more and riding his ass.

  It's like a never ending chain, especially when they keep calling out names, more people joining in, the masked man always in control at the end of the line. Men and women are arranged alternatively so there's always a cock fucking a hole.

  Weirdly enough, the stage is the least problematic aspect of this entire place. And ghost or not, I ask Vanya to not look around, especially not up.

  Like an opera house, the entire room is sectioned in boxes on different levels, all looking down at the stage.

  But the boxes belong to the richest, and most depraved. The ones who crave the anonymity the crowd cannot give them.