Captive by the Mafia Book 2
highlight_author
Rachel Van Dyken
highlight_reads
60,9K
highlight_chapters
59
Debase
Book 2: Debase
Debase
Verb: To reduce (something) in quality or value; degrade. To lower the moral character of someone. i.e.
I am war.
I am Andrei Petrov.
I am impure; Debased.
Prologue
Andrei
With blood on my hands, I held her.
With death in my soul, I drank her.
With the devil in my heart, I coveted her.
My name is Andrei Petrov.
My last will and testament is as follows:
Let me finally die.
Let me bring down this empire of filth and destruction into the depths of a fiery Hell.
Let. Me. Go.
Protect Alice De Lange at all costs and tell her I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for referring to her as a number—it was too painful to say her name.
I’m sorry for all the times I shoved her, when I just wanted to shield her from the pain.
I’m sorry for taking her virginity and giving her mine in the process.
I’m sorry that she’s left to clean up a mess she’s not ready for.
I’m not sorry for loving her.
I’m not sorry for doing what was best.
I’m not sorry for killing them all.
I’d do it again.
For her I’d do anything.
Sincerely, Andrei Petrov, last boss to the Petrov Dynasty.
PS. I will not rest in peace.
One month into the future…
Blood and dirt caked her face.
And still I grabbed the whip.
I clenched it between my bloodied hands while they watched.
It came down hard on her snowy white skin, it ripped into her flesh and pulled it from her body—and I could smell their arousal.
Women I gave them.
Women I sold.
Souls I stole.
Hell was waiting for me.
I knew it as much as I knew my next breath would be the hardest I would take in my short life.
Because her eyes begged me for life.
Even when she knew, even when I told her again and again—all I had to offer was death.
They needed it, lived for it.
And she’d committed the ultimate sin.
Trusting me.
I slammed the whip down on her right thigh.
She cried out my name.
And I remembered.
I remembered then.
There was once a time where my name fell from her lips in ecstasy, in wonder—in love.
But she didn’t know—I wasn’t capable of it.
This was my legacy.
This was my destiny.
A tear slid down her cheek, falling onto the rivers of blood streaming down the concrete.
Soon the blood would be gone.
The concrete clean.
And her life would be sacrificed.
Not by my hand.
But hers.
Because that was the deal, wasn’t it?
“Kill me,” she’d whispered between kisses.
“Yes,” I agreed as I tasted her sweet sin for the last time. “I will kill you.”
Her thank you fell on deaf ears.
So, I raised the whip again while she smiled.
