The way a crow shook down on me. The dust of snow, from a hemlock tree. Has given my heart a change of mood and saved some part of a day I rued. —Robert Frost
I should have stayed at the bar like I was told. Instead, I decided that I wanted to dance a bit, or a lot, since I was only ever allowed to dance with my dad at political events.
I’d never even been to a club that wasn’t owned by someone my family owned—and they rarely let me go to Andrei’s by myself, for good reason.
I knew the sort of depraved things that went on here. As much as my dad tried to protect me, you can’t protect your eldest daughter from the horrors of a sex club you helped protect day in and day out.
My dad was both a hero and a villain; he played whatever role he needed to in order to keep the Family safe, and now that we were even more in the public eye, I worried about the toll it would take on the great Chase Abandonato. Other politicians called him the Dark Horse.
They had no clue how right they were because the minute he threw his hat in the game, it was already over, already won, a parade already planned.
Because he was Chase Abandonato.
And they would always be beneath him—beneath our Family.
I wasn’t able to dance long. I held my rum and coke in one hand and tried to maneuver my body through the sweaty people to get to where I saw some space when it happened.
A hand over my mouth—leather gloves protecting his fingers.
And an arm around my waist picking me up like I was a rag doll he’d just purchased and was in a hurry to get home.
My drink fell to the floor with a loud crash.
But nobody heard it break.
Just like nobody heard my scream.
Because the people in that club were used to that sort of thing.
The way they saw it, I was probably already bought and paid for by whomever had just taken me.
“You won’t get away with this!” I yelled.
“Muzzle it.” He snapped back, his breath was foul as he yelled in my ear—he smelled like old cigars, whiskey, and something tangy that made me gag.
He carried me kicking and screaming past the dance floor, meaning Tank didn’t see a thing, and neither did my favorite bodyguard of Andrei’s, Ax.
“My father’s going to kill you!” I added in for effect because he would, and the fact that he’d make it painfully slow was the only thing that calmed me.
Because even if I died like this.
His death? This man carrying me?
It would be unimaginable.
That was a fact.
Something my dad promised me over and over again when I was a child expecting a fairy tale—he always swore he’d avenge me in the most bloodthirsty way, and for some reason, that’s what put me to bed at night with a smile on my face.
My daddy’s bloody promise.
My daddy’s oath of honor and revenge.
We made it to one of the metal doors, he knocked twice, and when it opened, it revealed both Andrei and Breaker in a room with five other men.
I breathed a sigh of relief when Andrei’s expression turned hard. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I want proof.”
He set me on my feet and then wrapped a blindfold around my eyes before I could memorize the faces of the other four men. One of them was younger than the others; he had brownish hair and was muscular, which stood out against the older men’s wrinkled faces. But that was all I noticed.
“Proof?” Andrei spat. “Careful, you do realize who you’re speaking to?”
“I do, and that’s why we need proof.” A deep Russian-accented voice spoke up. “You say you’re still in the trade, and yet, your alliance with the Italians is, shall we say, extremely disconcerting.”
A laugh erupted from someone, and then Andrei voiced, “And I should be concerned that you’re uncomfortable because…?”
“Because there are whispers of the great Andrei Petrov going soft, being, how did they put it… oh yes…” He laughed. “…fucking domesticated.”
This was bad.
Really bad.
I jerked against the man again but flinched when something sharp pricked my arm and then went deeper.
“What the hell did you give me?” I roared.
“Just something to make it easier to hold onto you… Jacko’s getting old, and your struggling isn’t helping,” a smooth voice said.
I didn’t recognize that voice, but it sounded… friendlier…
My body suddenly felt like it weighed a thousand pounds as I slowly slumped back against my captor. It was like he’d put me in a dreamlike state.
I was there.
But I was also somewhere else.
I didn’t like the lack of control, and I hated that the voices were even harder to focus on now.
“…it has to be a Petrov,” one said.
“…you know the price must be paid, pure of blood…”
What? What pure blood?
“He will do it.”
“I need proof, damn it!” someone yelled.
I couldn’t see anything but the blackness in front of me and could feel nothing but the warmth that continued to weigh down my muscles, my bones.
My head lolled to the side.
The man holding me cursed. “So, it has been confirmed?”
Confirmed?
“Thirteen minutes, one camera, this will be the best day of his life, fucking mafia royalty, being her first.”
My first?
My brain told me to panic.
It told me to fight.
Run.
But all I could do was inhale, exhale, measure my breaths as I was slowly handed over to someone else.
He had rough hands.
Hands that made me wonder about what sort of man would take a girl’s innocence without a second thought.
My heart dropped when I was suddenly picked up and carried somewhere.
I couldn’t control my head as it fell back, exposing my neck.
“Beautiful.” The accented male voice whispered.
Maybe he would be kind.
Maybe he wouldn’t take what wasn’t his to take.
Maybe he would save me. All the things I thought and prayed as my sluggish body tried to alert itself to what was about to happen—clearly my anxiety was pumping whatever drug they gave me through my system fast enough to start to clear my head.
I should have just asked one of the guys to take my virginity, one of my friends, though the only one who even tempted me was currently outside with Andrei allowing this horror to take place.
I would have given Breaker everything and several times almost did—only to realize that my dad would murder him and I couldn’t have the death of my best friend on my conscience no matter how annoying he was or how he paraded girls in front of me like he wanted me to know he was getting it somewhere else.
Funny how when you’re about to lose, you realize how precious that one thing was to you—you realize that you really did want to give it away to someone, but that that someone wasn’t a hero.
Never had been.
Breaker Campisi was as hard as the rest of them, with a steely glint in his eyes that told me I should have just listened to him because he knew more than anyone how fast a person’s life could change.
I focused on Breaker’s bright green eyes when I was dropped onto a soft mattress. I imagined that he was touching me, not this Russian monster, whoever he was.
I imagined that he was dying with jealousy.
That he was seconds from breaking the door down.
And yet, no sound was heard beyond my own panicked breathing, and the man’s rustling as clothing was moved around.
Hands gripped my wrists as they pinned them at the top of the bed, and then he lowered his lips to my ear, causing a chill to erupt down my body as his heavy accent broke out in English. “I’m sorry it has to be like this.”
“No, you aren’t,” I rasped.
“You have no idea.” He said something in Russian and then pressed a small kiss to the corner of my mouth. “I have thirteen minutes with you.
I’ll make it fast, but I don’t think I can make it painless.”
I could make out the smell of mint gum on his breath as I tried to focus on things that would calm me down—familiar things.
Most of the men I’d seen were old—except one.
This one, I imagined, because, despite my ability to reach for him, to feel the softness of his skin, I knew he was young.
And I knew he wasn’t going to stop.
Tears filled my eyes, one slid down my cheek past the blindfold. “Please, I’ll do anything. Just please.”
His body tensed over mine, and all he got out was an accented, “Sorry.”
“Don’t lie!” I snapped. “You’re not sorry. You’re going to take and take and take from an innocent woman while she lays numb and drugged. Does that make you feel bigger? Better? Like more of a man?”
The room spun behind my blindfold as the familiar scent of my favorite cologne hit me square in the face. How dare he smell good? How dare he ruin the Gucci that Breaker, King, and Asher all wore!
My stomach rolled.
I tried to jerk against him, but my body wouldn’t follow my brain’s instructions; my brain screamed, my body stayed asleep.
And I was trapped.
I let out a scream of frustration. “Just do it already! Fucking do it!”
He didn’t say anything.
“What? Now you can’t get it up?” I expected him to slap me, but he stayed still over me. “Afraid I won’t feel anything?”
“Stop.” His voice had a rough warning edge to it, but I already felt dead inside. “Stop.”
“No!” I roared.
“So get on with it, fuck a helpless girl, go back to your little Russian friends who will, for the record, never defeat the Abandonato Dynasty, and tell them how you took a girl’s virginity without her permission, without her pleasure, with nothing but pain!”
“You’re wrong…” His voice was deep, rich as his lips nipped my right ear, his tongue sliding out as he pressed an erotic kiss to my neck. I wanted to buck against him but was immobile, and I hated that his kiss felt tender when it should have felt like a thousand needles burying inside my skin.
“You will feel pleasure, or I’m not doing my job right.”
“I’d prefer you not do your job,” I spat. “At all!”
I felt something cold against my thigh, and then he whispered, “Scream again.”
I didn’t need any encouragement.
I screamed, and I screamed, and I screamed until the sound of the door opening and closing filled the room. I still couldn’t move very well or see.
“No games,” another Russian voice said; it was deeper. “You do this, or her entire family dies.”
The door shut again.
“I’m sorry.” The smooth Russian voice was back, and then the weight of his body as he sat next to me. “I thought—I imagined they wouldn’t come in and look, the blood…”
“They can’t die.” My voice shook as another tear slid down my cheek.
“Regrets.” His voice was back; this time it felt guttural—like the room had turned into his own personal Hell—or maybe he’d just joined mine.
“We all have them. And I can promise you, this will be mine; something that will be at the top of the list will be this very moment—taking what wasn’t mine to take, what was only yours to give.”
Tears burned my eyes as my lips parted to say something like, “Good.”
Instead, I felt nothing but pain.
My own.
His.
“Will they really die if you don’t do this?” I asked softly.
He was silent and then said, “You die, possibly the new Sinacore boss, definitely your father; they have a gun trained on him right now at the party along with your mother and younger sister.”
“It seems such a small sacrifice.” A knot of emotion lodged in my throat. “One small thing I give, you take, and everyone lives.”
“There is living—” he agreed “—and there is surviving. You’re doing the second right now, but one day, not tomorrow or the next day, you’ll live again, you’ll smile without pain, and you’ll know you did your part in saving your family when you were given the chance.”
“Who are you?” My heart slammed against my chest. I’d never heard a person speak like that before or have such insight—like he’d lived a thousand lives and only taken the wise, meaningful moments and collected them for a time like this.
“Valerian.” His voice shook. “Valerian Petrov.”
“That doesn’t sound like the name of a monster.”
“And yet… it is.” His hands cupped my face, my lips trembled as he brought his mouth to mine in the most tender, confusing kiss I’d ever received in my entire life.
My brain said we had to give in.
And my body pounded with confusion as his tongue slid past my lips. I could barely kiss him back; I was too tired, too drugged.
“Every kiss,” he whispered against my mouth, “should feel like this.”
“Like I’m getting raped?” My voice trembled even though his body was warm as it hovered so close to mine; I could feel the skin from his chest, his neck, the short intake of breaths against my mouth.
“Like you can’t help but feel everything even when you know you shouldn’t.” He said softly, his hands dug into my hair, and then he was kissing me again. Hands shaking, he palmed my thighs and then slowly slid my skirt up around my hips.
He hesitated again.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
My lips trembled. “What does the knock mean?”
“Three minutes left.”
Three minutes until I was a different person.
Three minutes until I was undone.
Three minutes to give myself to save the ones I loved.
“Valerian?” I gulped.
“Yes?”
“I’m giving you my permission.” I had to do this on my terms, so I had control even though it was a lie.
He cursed.
“Please.”
He was gone, and the sound of breaking glass had me internally panicking—and then his hands were back on my legs, spreading them open as another hot kiss pressed against my lips.
“Imagine him.”
“Who?” I wasn’t dating anyone, clearly had never been with anyone, just lusted after Breaker—then wanted to murder him when I heard of every single sexcapade.
“Whoever you dream about at night.” His voice was filled with so much pain that it almost felt like the roles were reversed—that I should be comforting him.
“Whoever holds your heart, imagine him, his smile, his eyes, imagine his hands.” He removed my thong as he spoke, gently encouraging me, seducing me with his tenderness.
My heart was at war between right and wrong.
A trembling hand slid between my legs.
I could barely move, but it didn’t matter because he seemed to be doing all the work as he worked me into a frenzy I couldn’t even fight against—while his other hand dug into my hair, his mouth met mine in a painful kiss before he whispered.
“I’m so fucking sorry.” Against my lips, and then searing pain hit me so hard that I cried out.
He was inside me.
This stranger.
“Are you doing it? Imagining him?” he asked tenderly, not moving but throbbing as my body clenched around him, unsure if I should feel good or bad, angry or sad. “Imagining the man who holds your heart?”
My vision flashed.
A memory of Breaker in the car with me.
Arguing.
And then the heated look across the room that I knew I would never get used to as he watched me dance.
I instantly relaxed. “Yes. Yes, I’m imagining him.”
“Good.” He slowly started to move. “You’re giving this to him, not me, the one who owns your soul; he gets this, not this monster, do you understand?”
“Yes.” Hot tears slid down my cheeks as his hips moved in a slow cadence that replaced the pain with enough pleasure that I was helpless to do anything except lay there and wonder how my night had gone from a boring party to a complete stranger taking my virginity, and Breaker Campisi’s name in my head and on my lips.
I would hate him forever for not stopping this.
Just as much as I would love him for being my imaginary hero during this nightmare.
“Damn it,” Valerian groaned. “You’re so tight.”
My body exploded with pleasure on his next thrust, and then he was quickly pulling away.
The rustle of clothes was like a bucket of ice water getting thrown over my still naked bottom half.
Another knock sounded.
“Shit.” A rip sounded, and then he was cleaning me up as much as he could and gently pulling my dress down, sliding my underwear back up, and then lifting me into his arms.
Twenty seconds later, the door burst open.
I kept my head high even though I knew they were making jokes about the sheets, about my virginity, about the price I paid.
And then I was getting handed off to someone else.
“Are you okay?” Andrei’s low voice whispered in my ear.
“Yes.” I gulped. “No.”
He let out a string of curses that had me tensing in his arms.
“Breaker is taking you immediately home. I need to talk to your dad.”
I almost laughed. Dad would kill me, kill him; even if it meant saving him, he would rather die than know this story.
“Don’t,” I commanded. “Don’t tell him.”
“Vi—”
“Promise me.”
“Damn Abandonatos will be the death of me.” He sighed, and then his mouth was pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I will avenge you.”
“I know you will.” And he would; he was terrifying. You didn’t cross the Sinacore-Petrov boss and live to tell about it.
“Go with Breaker; he may need to carry you until the drugs wear off. I’m going to deal with this… situation.”
I felt myself getting passed over to another person’s arms—familiar arms, arms that I’d dreamt of just minutes ago. “Breaker?”
“Yes.” He sounded like he’d aged twenty years.
“Tell him to use the Tigers.”
“My fucking pleasure,” he spat, and then—still blindfolded—I was carried to the waiting SUV.
Once inside, Breaker jerked it off my face and pulled me into his arms.
I didn’t cry until we left the parking lot.
And then the sobbing didn’t stop as he pulled me into his lap and rocked me back and forth like it would somehow fix what had just been broken and return what was just taken.
