Page 26 of Hateful Vows

TWENTY

ALEKSEI

A fter the disaster at the gala, I stay holed up in my flat.

I’ve never been a coward a day in my life, my training ensured I followed orders at the expense of my own life. And it’s not self-preservation that has me avoiding a certain couple. It’s what I’m afraid I will do when I see them.

I groan as I remember the taste of Irina’s sweet pussy on my tongue, mixed with something inevitably him.

“What’s gotten into you, old man?” Lucie asks from the kitchen counter. She’s making Magda’s famous granola again. She says baking helps with her nerves.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re growling like an animal. It’s not natural.”

She snorts and shakes her head like she knows something I don’t.

Our cohabitation for the past few weeks has delved into a sort of friendship I didn’t see coming.

Contrary to my step-sister or Dante or basically anyone I know, she doesn’t ask questions.

She’s quiet, likes to bake and draw and has taken to her captivity—her words, not mine—pretty well.

She keeps saying it is temporary but I don’t see how.

I don’t dislike her and that’s more than I can say about anyone else.

The first night she stayed at my flat, she threatened to poison me if I ever tried to touch her.

I’m not the only one who was trained to hate Italians.

Because she lost her parents because of Russians, she despised us.

Then, she said I was decent, and somehow that warmed me.

More than any other praise I’ve ever received.

“I’m on edge. Nothing to worry about.”

“Why don’t you fuck someone? Get that energy out?” She keeps her eyes on her baking station but a wry smirk plays on her lips and I don’t know how to interpret it.

I frown. “I know it’s only on paper, but I don’t want my men to think I’m cheating on you.”

In this life, we don’t have much but our words, our promises, that matters.

To me, it’s everything. I vowed to protect her and cherish her and even though I’ll never love her, I wouldn’t insult her like that.

Even the most discreet affairs end up in the limelight.

Besides, the only one I want isn’t available.

Two faces show up in my mind’s eye and I almost groan again.

Lucie laughs, throwing her head back. “Aleksei. You’re so self-righteous sometimes. What do you think Magda and I are up to when you’re not here?”

I reel back. “Magda?”

Lucie nods with a subtle blush on her cheeks.

“Fuck,” I exclaim. “I did not expect that.”

“What because she’s a woman?” Lucie challenges with a hip cocked to the side. She looks so young like this. Barely out of her teenage years.

“No! Because she doesn’t talk to anyone, she’s as affectionate as a block of ice. And she’s like what? Forty?”

“She’s forty-four.”

“That’s more than double your age!”

“Okay, dad,” Lucie scoffs and continues preparing the granola. I pinch the bridge of my nose. The women in my life are going to be the death of me.

“I’m serious, Lucie, don’t fuck her again. I’m gonna fire her immediately. That’s so inappropriate.”

“Don’t you dare, Lyosha .”

I level her with a dark gaze, and she sputters. Only Irina calls me that and as much as I like Lucie, the nickname isn’t for her to use. Not when it’s so special to me. Not when it’s the only thing left between Irina and I.

“Whatever, have fun at the ball tonight,” she says.

Once her granola is in the oven, she disappears back into her room. Is this what it’s like to have a sister? An actual sister that feels like a sibling, not whatever limbo Irina and I have been thrown into?

My head drops in between my shoulders, an old memory resurfacing with the heaviness coursing through my limbs.

My father is at my back, sweating as he lashes at my skin with his favourite spiked cat o’ nine tails. “You dare talk to her. She’s filth! The only reason I married her cunt of a mother is because I refused to see you marry her like the Pakhan wanted.”

I don’t remember much other than the pain, but I must have been eighteen or nineteen and it was Irina’s birthday. I gave her something, like I always did, but I got caught. And I got punished. Even as my skin was flayed from my back, I couldn’t hate her. She has never asked for this.

Like serendipity, my phone rings and Irina’s name flashes across the screen. “Dante and I are downstairs.”

She hangs up unceremoniously, so unlike our upbringing, and so much closer to what I think Dante would do. She’s becoming one of his household. I see the change every time I see her. I don’t hate it as much as I should.

R ouge Night Club has been open in West Hill for months but I was never tempted to come here. It’s rumoured to be a den of depravity and those are the words of its owner, Giulia Capaldi, not mine.

The ex-mafia princess turned political analyst for her husband, the famous cyber-security expert Andrea, watches over the crowd now from the balcony atop the dance-floor. Her red hair billows around her face and when she sees us three, she smirks and gives us a signal to come join her upstairs.

“Welcome to Rouge,” she says warmly as she offers us a glass of champagne.

“ Grazie, bella ,” Dante smiles at her while Irina glowers.

“Calm your tits, Irina. I’ve decided to forgive you for the error of your ways. Seeing you cut the hair of that bitch who touched your husband at the gala was the most fun I had since I threatened you all those months ago for touching mine.”

Her husband chuckles behind her, plastering his body against her back. All that display of love and affection is so crude. They remind me of Dante and how forward he is with his own affections, never afraid to show his emotions and take what he wants.

I flick my gaze to Irina and how close to Dante she stands. The green emotion is too new in my body, uncomfortable and raw, but I recognise it instantly. No matter if I could have what I desire most, I’d never be so bold, so warm. That has been taken from me too early to bloom again.

The lights around the black, red and gold space darken to illuminate the stage underneath us. The whole club is shrouded in darkness but for the spotlight on the two performers. They’re completely naked, their cocks erect against their stomachs as they stand in stillness, waiting for their moment.

My throat dries and I cling to the railing of the balcony, riveted to the display of sensuality and sex below.

One of the performers ties the other with red ropes that criss cross over their body with tantalising deftness.

They tie and pull, then kiss and lick. Repeat over and over until I feel feverish.

Despite the mesmerising tableau in front of me, it’s impossible to miss how close to me Irina has shifted, how her very presence and the fact that we’re both looking at the same thing makes this even more forbidden.

The rigger suspends their partner, whose hard cock throbs in between the ropes. He orients his partner’s body so the crowd can’t miss how deep he takes their cock into his lush mouth. The person suspended writhes in pleasure, unable to escape him. I shiver at the sight.

“Do you wish it was you, pretty boy?” Dante’s sinful voice whispers in my ear.

Here in the dark, with no one else to see, I allow my mind to replace the two people on the dais with the two people I want more than my next breath.

When I turn, Dante’s so close to me our breaths mingle, making my head hazy with lust.

“Would you take it as well, malysh ?” I mean it as a taunt but his smile is blinding, like I walked right into the trap he just set for me.

“I could show you now, pretty boy.”

Our eyes lock. I make the mistake of dropping mine to his lips, full and waiting. They must taste like her. His tongue darts out to lick the lower lip and I immediately regret coming here.

This was a mistake.

Grunts and low masculine moans come up to a crescendo before the crowd applaud and lights flicker back to life, though more dim than before, throwing shadows of sex and debauchery on the walls.

“Let’s get this over with,” I push past Dante who presses his lips together like he wants to laugh. The need to kill him sings in my blood. Before I can punch his ridiculous face, Andrea opens a door and guides us towards a soundproof room looking like an office.

“Alright, let’s make this quick, I’d like to fuck my wife until we both can’t walk before the night is through, and you fuckers are in the way of that,” he says and Irina rolls her eyes while Dante fucking winks at the man. “I’ve traced the messages on the phone you found.”

“And?” Irina asks impatiently, arms crossed over her chest, like this is all a bore to her and should have been an email.

“It conveniently leads to the Irish.”

Dante bristles and he exchanges a look with my step-sister.

Everything between them makes me realise how miscalculated my decision to call him for help was.

Now they share special looks that speak of silent words.

I’m not privy to the information and the murderous red haze that takes over my brain threatens to send me to my knees.

“Tell us what you know, Dante,” I order through gritted teeth.

“Irina found out that one of my men has been travelling to Ireland a lot in the past three years.”

“I’d be careful with making assumptions, if I were you,” Giulia quips. “The information was hard to uncover but not that hard if you knew where to look. We hired Toma Kova? and he’s proven to be a talented addition to our team. Even he said this looks suspicious and we agree.”

“So you think this is a set up?” Dante asks, and it’s Andrea who answers him this time.

“I’m not sure who is behind your father’s murder, Dante, but the Irish have kept to themselves for decades. It’s not impossible, but I’d look elsewhere, too.”

“The only other real enemy we have is Petrov,” I say. “And he’s a problem for everyone, not only Ventura’s family.”

“We’re all invested in seeing the bastard burn, so I’ll keep my eyes and ears out.”

We nod and shake hands in thanks.

“Before you go,” Giulia interrupts our exit. “Don’t forget your masks. Pity your wife couldn’t join, Aleksei.”

She winks, then hands each of us an intricate half mask of black silk and golden details. I ignore the mafia spy, who somehow seems to know more than I want her to.

The masks are ornate and as beautiful as the pricy pieces one would see at the Venice carnival.

I have no intention of staying, but I put it on and walk to the bar.

I need to drown in whiskey before the end of the night to forget that Dante almost made me come in my pants with his voice and that someone wants to kill him. And that someone isn’t me.

When I whirl around, glass in hand, my eyes immediately fall to Dante and Irina.

They look gorgeous together. Him in a light blue suit with a dark shirt underneath, open just enough to see the cross at his neck.

Her in one of the silky dresses she favours.

The silver colour suits her pale skin, highlighting her long hair.

Except it’s a lot shorter than what I’m used to seeing her in, revealing long toned legs perched on pearlescent high heels.

It makes her ass look pert and perfect to sink my teeth into.

I slap my free hand on the bar, disgruntling the patrons next to me who scurry away.

Fucking hell. I need to take control of myself again. I need to leave.

I’m about to waddle my way out when Dante says something into Irina’s ear. He takes her hand and guides her into a dark corridor, but not before throwing a look behind his shoulder. Like he’s beckoning me to follow.

I throw my whiskey back and descend the stairs.

Everywhere I look, people are fucking openly, with their masks on.

When I’m at the entrance hall, a hostess asks me for my locker number.

We left our phones in one of these lockers when we arrived.

I take the chip from my pocket. Her hand extends toward me.

“Sir?”

The chip is small in my hands and made of plastic. Weightless. Yet, it’s heavy on my mind.

I turn around and ignore the hostess calling out for me, climbing the stairs again two at a time, and stampeding through the black corridor.

The music is muted as I advance through the dark space.

There are doors on each side of the hallway, and anxiety courses through me as I ponder on which one to open, and what will greet me on the other side.

At the end of the hallway, one door is ajar.

My vision sharpens to the stream of light coming from the space behind it. It glows like a beacon. When I approach, I don’t see inside but I do recognise Irina’s discarded heels.

I step inside.