Deceptive Vows

New York.

I drag in a staggered breath as I enter the church I’ve been attending since I was born.

I adjust my jacket, so the outline of my gun won’t be as visible.

The priest doesn’t need to be afraid of me, although I know he is.

Everything is ready now.

All that I need to carry out today’s plan.I just have this one last thing left to do before I leave.

My confession.

It may seem pointless because of who and what I am, but I’m still doing this anyway.I’m the youngest son of Sergei Dmitriyev, the Pakhan of the Baranov Bratva. I am his Obshchak, part of the elite in the brotherhood, and my hands have been crimson with blood more times than I can count in this lifetime. Men like me have no hope, especially when we have no plans of changing and going back on the straight and narrow path that should lead to a blessed eternal life in heaven.

There’s only one place for a man like me. I know my dark soul is already damned, but since I escaped my latest encounter with death and the gates of hell refused to let me in, part of me thinks I might not be as damned as I thought.

Or maybe it’s just that the devil spat me out of his lair to do one last bidding.

I don’t care how I made it back; my mother and sister should not be on the other side, and I should not be in the world of the living.

The plan I seek to enact will bring about vengeance for those who should still be living.

My gaze falls on the glass painting of Christ on my far left, and the nun arranging the flowers by the altar gives me the same welcoming nod she greets me with every time she sees me.

I nod back, despite knowing deep down she’s probably wondering why I bother. I appreciate the non-judgmental look she gives me. I appreciate even more the sympathy I witness in the depths of her eyes for what happened to me and my family.

As much as she knows what kind of man I am, she’ll know, too, that monsters aren’t born; they’re made.

They’re created.

People made them that way.

Something happened to them to push them to the dark side, and the only way to battle your demons is to become a monster yourself.

I take the corner to Father Gabriel’s office. He’s expecting me. We stopped using the confessional years ago.

I prefer to look someone in the eyes and confess my sins rather than hide behind a wall.

His door is already open. When I enter the room, he lifts his graying head and acknowledges me in that fatherly way most priests do.

For me, his greeting is always more meaningful. When he looks at me, I know he sees everything I’ve lived through, from the boy to the man I am before him.

“Good day, Father,” I say, giving him the polite greeting I don’t feel.

“Hello, Mikhail. Take a seat and start when you’re ready.”

I sit in the leatherback chair in front of him and rest my hands on the edge of his desk.

Just like last time, I look straight into his dark gray eyes and gear myself up.

This confession is going to be different from any other because it’s a declaration of war.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned, and I’m about to do it again…”

La Paz, Mexico.

My head throbs like a thousand knives are slicing through my skull at once.

I know even before I open my eyes that the cold pressing against my cheek is the floor.

I’ve slept on the floor enough times to know what it feels like.

What I don’t know is what I’m doing on the floor.

I try to wake myself up, but the fog surrounding my mind fences in my thoughts like it’s protecting me from the truth. As I move my head from side to side, the pain intensifies, and I screw my eyes shut tighter.

What the hell happened to me? I’m hurt.

The pain is coming from one side of my face, which feels numb and swollen, and is spreading all over my head.

It feels like … like someone hurt me.

Like someone hit me.

The instant that thought hits, a dark feeling of doom settles in my heart and beckons to me to wake up.

It tells me to get the hell up. because something isn’t right.

Something more than what’s already wrong with my life.

When I open my eyes, I’m met with the hazy gray surroundings of where I am.

There’s a dark ceiling above me, barely visible in the dimly lit room.

Room?

No, I’ve been here before. This isn’t a mere room.

I’d know the ceiling of the dungeon below the estate anywhere. Asleep or awake.

Counting the grooves on the ceiling was how I passed the time when Raul locked me in here last time. And that weird smell of death and decay filling my nostrils was my only companion.

To me, it always smelled like the end.

Clinging to the edge of that scathing scent is blood. When I move my right hand and feel something sticky between my fingers and the cold concrete surface of the floor, I know what I’m touching is blood.

Blood.

Where did it come from?

What the hell happened?

Why am I back here?

I make the mistake of rolling onto my side. That’s when I’m met with the grotesque sight of the headless body of a man lying next to me.

A scream tears from my throat, and another follows when I lift my hands and spot the pool of dark red blood filling the space between us.

I bolt upright, my screams turning louder when I scan my surroundings and see the dead, bloodied bodies of Raul’s guards lining the floor.

Within the flash of a second, I remember what happened.

I remember everything that happened.

Looking down at the blood-soaked wedding dress molded to my body confirms the horrific images before me and those flowing through my mind like a movie stuck on fast forward.

I also know from the clothes the man beside me is wearing that this is Felipe Naveed. He’s dressed in the sleek Armani suit he was supposed to wear to the wedding.

As I think of the monster he was to me and all he took from me, I conjure up the image of the man who killed him.

Felipe was shot first before… this.

It was while he was being shot that I ran away and tried to escape.

A hand grips around my leg, making me jump and scream even more. In the murkiness of the room, I make out José’s face. He’s been beaten—badly. One eye is swollen, and his face is covered in bruises and dried blood.

“Shhhh,” he stutters, tapping the edge of my leg with one hand and placing a finger to his lips with the other. “Please stop screaming.”

Seeing his legs are chained to the wall, I crawl over to him.

“What’s happening? Who were those men?”

“Russian mafioso. Bratva men.”

My blood freezes in my veins, and I start shaking.

“What do they want? What are they going to do to us? What—"

He silences me by catching my face between his trembling hands. “My dear girl, we haven’t got much time. I need you to listen to me and do exactly what I tell you to do. You hear me?”

“Yes,” I answer quickly. The weakness in my body reminds me of how much I rely on him.

As his dark brown eyes rivet to mine and I take in the fear brimming within the depths, the terror flooding my soul turns into something I can’t describe. José Diaz is a man akin to my father, who never feared anything. Not even death.

He was Papa’s best friend. José always took care of me, long before Papa was killed. He just took care of me even more after. He’s giving me that look again that tells me what he’s about to say is serious, and if I don’t listen, it means death.

“They think you’re Adriana,” he explains in a low voice, barely above a whisper.

I suck in a breath. “What? Me?”

Although no one outside the estate knows Adriana’s real identity, there’s no way anyone would mistake a lowly peasant girl like me for the Cartel Princess.

“The wedding dress. They thought you were Adriana because of the dress,” he explains, and my eyes snap wide as the realization truly dawns on me. “It’s the only thing keeping you alive. You need to make them believe it’s true.”

“Where’s Adriana?”

“Dead,” he answers, and my brain freezes. I can’t believe what he’s saying to me.

My lips part as I try to process his words. “She’s dead?”

“She was one of the first to die as the men stormed the grounds and opened fire. Her car never even made it through the gate. They killed everyone else and took Raul somewhere.” He swallows hard and tightens his grip on my jaw. “Mija, you must do this. Everything is out of my hands now, and I don’t know what these men will do next. When I realized their mistake could possibly save you, I confirmed you were her. They need Adriana for something, or you’d be dead, too. Outside these walls, anybody who has seen Adriana would never know she is Raul’s daughter. That kept her safe, and it will keep you safe now, too. Promise me you will do this. Please promise me.”

“I… promise,” I stammer, choking back tears.

“Gracias, mi amor. I couldn’t save your father or your mother. Please let me try to save you. You were not meant for this life.”

When I glance at the chains binding him, the tears automatically stream down my cheeks. If he’s chained up, it’s for a reason, and he’s not saying anything about himself. I can’t lose him, too. Not him. Not the way I lost Papa. “What about you, José?”

“Do not worry about me. You have to think of yourself. They will keep me alive until they don’t need to. That’s why I’m here. You, on the other hand, might escape because of this dress.”

He glances down at the still beautiful gown clinging to my body, now a bloodied mess and torn in several places. It’s a one-of-a-kind original made specially for Adrianna, daughter of Raul Alvarez, the Cartel King of Mexico.

I look at the deceptive gown and recall how I came to be wearing it.

Splashed in diamonds and made of the finest silk, this dress would turn anyone into a princess. It wouldn’t matter where I came from or who I was.

Nobody might have known Adriana’s real identity, but everyone who was anyone important knew Adriana was going to be married to Felipe in a week’s time.

It was supposed to be a grand event comparable to a royal wedding, and Raul planned to show off his daughter to his empire. The event was to be symbolic of the expansion of his reign and the continuity of his legacy through Felipe.

Now, Felipe and Adriana are both dead, and the Russian mobsters who locked us up down here think I’m her.

Footsteps sound on the other side of the door, and my nerves spike.

“Remember your promise, mi amor.”

I nod, and he releases me just as the door bursts open. Two men with machine guns walk in first, and then I see him.

The man from before who shot Felipe.

Dressed in full black like the grim reaper himself, he strides in with that same cool, confident demeanor I witnessed mere moments before he shot Felipe.

I fix my gaze on the beautiful devil I encountered earlier. It could have been hours ago. I have no idea how long I was out. A day could have passed.

Regardless of how much time has gone by, the same shiver of fear wracks my body, and he has the same effect on me with his good looks, power, and dominance.

Those good looks could fool you. His has the eye-catching masculine beauty and ruggedness that makes you want to stare, but it’s the power and dominance rippling off him in effulgent waves that highlight how dangerous he is.

He’s not the man you swoon over. He’s the man you run from the first chance you get.

Just looking at him is suffocating.

His dark, dominant presence robs me of my senses, and I feel like a hand is clamped around my lungs, squeezing tight from inside of my body, strangling me.

The corners of his lips turn into a wicked smile, and as he approaches, I feel like I might die from fright before he reaches me.

I’m paralyzed with terror as he bends down, grips me by my throat, and lifts my trembling body.

He grins wide at the obvious fear I’m showing.

“The princess is awake, boys,” he states. And now I know the faint accent I picked up earlier is Russian. The deep baritone of his voice is cool and husky with a lingering effect that works its way into me. “And even with the blood of her bastard fiancé on her face, she’s still as beautiful as she’s rumored to be.”

Those honey-colored eyes of his drink me in, and the darkness within makes my mouth dry and my heart gallop in the cavity of my chest.

There’s only one thing that darkness can mean.

Death.

Darkness means death, and I don’t want to die.

Right now, I don’t know if being Adriana will kill me or keep me alive as José said. If the latter is true, for how long?

“Please don’t kill me,” I beg when he digs his fingers into my skin.

“Kill? Oh, I have much worse in store for you, Adriana Alvarez.”

It feels so strange to hear him call me by that name. That insipid name that always fuels my blood with rage.

However, if he has worse than death in store for me, being called Adriana Alvarez is the least of my worries.

When he turns his smile up a notch, undiluted fear roils within my belly.

“What are you going to do to me?” I choke out, not knowing how I manage to form words.

“Let’s start with you watching me kill your father.”

He’s talking about Raul, but he wouldn’t know that Raul is my monster. He’s the monster who took everything from me. Killing him would be like slaying my demon.

Redemption and justice spark in my soul but are quickly extinguished when I allow reality to school my emotions. No redemption or justice will be sought here when I’m sure this man is just another monster. One powerful enough to take down Raul.

And shit, if he takes me to Raul, that will give me away.

I shake when I think of my death.

He thinks I’m Adriana. When he discovers I’m not, I’m dead.

“Princess, you will watch me kill your father the way he killed my family,” he states, giving me the crux of the problem, but my head is now spinning and bile is rising in my throat. “And then you’ll watch your kingdom fall before your eyes. When I’m done, I plan to fuck you and own your virgin pussy.”

My body stiffens as shock flies through me. Shock fueled by rippling waves of trepidation that hits me over and over again.

While he looks at me like he can’t wait to devour me, my heart pounds harder as I stare at him wordlessly.

What the hell am I going to do?

When he releases me, I fall like a dead weight back to the ground, shaking.

“Bring her out, and the old man, too. Burn the rest of the bodies. Let’s show these people how the Bratva deal with traitors.”