A Treacherous King- Dark Mafia Romance

three

Caine

"That was the last of them boss." Leo calls out.

I'm watching my men load up the last of tonight's shipment onto the docks. The heavy crates are loaded on pallets to be taken to the main warehouse.

I normally don't tag along to shipments. There was no need for it. It was a simple trade off, no weapons required, although my men were always armed to the teeth. That's what made us the most feared organization in the city. No one dares to cross the Bravta. No dares to cross me.

My father told me when I was ten years old that I would one day be the Pakhan of the Russian Bravta. It had been set in stone.

When he died, I would become the leader the people of this city needed. I was raised to become a soldier. I was taught to be fearless, to be feared. I was taught to flick remorse off my shoulder and to crave my enemies' blood. To have a heart and head as impenetrable as iron. Nothing lingered too long around me. Nothing held me back. Or so my father thought.

Ever since last night, I had felt as though I had a bundle of nerves the size of my fist lodged in my chest. The feeling was foreign to me. I didn't get unnerved. Except I had. It was all because of her.

I had decided I needed to breathe in cold air. I needed to cleanse my chest and mind of all the demons swimming inside. The chill crisp air was also a relief after breathing in the stifling odor of Chicago.

I had returned with a prize my blood thirsty heart had yearned for, for years.

Maeve Holloway.

A single, twenty-four year old woman living in Chicago. She had grown up in Texas, raised by her grandmother. Her mother had died from an overdose when she was just seven and she had never known who her father was.

At eighteen, she had moved to the city and after only being there a week, was conveniently hired as the personal assistant to business owner and multimillionaire, Maxwell Huxston.

I had learned all of this from an informant I had hired to track her down. I had taken the chance and flown to the city overnight to meet her at a pub. She had been sitting there, all alone. Waiting for a date that was never showing. He had been hogtied by one of my men and thrown in the trunk of my Escalade. It was me who had met her.

Her long dark hair had curled down her back. The paleness of her skin contrasted by her black dress, which hugged her curves. I would be foolish not to admit that she was attractive. Beautiful even.

But that beauty held a darkness, an ugliness. Now here was my drought, a cure. All bottled up in a petite dark haired American. All I had to do now was lure her into my iron cage, lock her up and throw away the key.

Now that I had her, I didn't know what my next step was. Killing her was too easy. It wouldn't be sufficient enough for the loss I had endured. So I had kept her alive. Had allowed her to sleep in one of my many rooms. The thought twisted a knot in my spine. She didn't deserve a warm bed, food and shelter. She didn't deserve my mercy. I wanted nothing more than to carve her pretty chocolate colored irises out of her head and mail them to Huxston.

But I couldn't. Not yet at least. I needed to formulate a plan. I had been so eager at the prospect of having her in my claws, that I hadn't focused on anything else. However, her days were numbered. The first chance I got to spill her blood. I'd take it.