Vow of Deception: A Dark Marriage Mafia Romance (Deception Trilogy Book 1)

“You have one mission. Pull the fucking trigger.”

No.

“Mommy?”

I open my eyes, heart hammering so loudly, all I hear is its beat. Jeremy is perching over me, his little hand pulling on my nightgown.

Wait. A nightgown. I thought I fell asleep naked. When did I put this on?

“Mommy?” Jeremy calls again, his tiny chin trembling.

“Hey, baby. Morning.”

“M-morning.” He sniffles, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

I run my thumb over his tears. “Why are you crying?”

“Cuz you weren’t there when I woke up this morning. I thought you were gone again.”

“I told you I won’t leave. You don’t believe me?”

His gray eyes blur with tears. “But you always disappear, Mommy.”

I do? I mean, Lia does? Why would she? Actually, having had a taste of Adrian, I know exactly why she would. He’s not the type of man anyone would stay with willingly.

He’s the devil incarnate. A hateful asshole whose only purpose is to sweep away anyone in his path.

But even so, Jeremy is her son. She shouldn’t have left him with that type of man. Neither of them deserves the blessing that is Jeremy.

Softening my voice, I smile at him. “I won’t do it again, my little angel.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely not, so stop crying.” I wipe his cheeks with the pads of my fingers.

“You said you’d sleep with me, Mommy.”

“Your father had other plans. Talk it out with him.” It takes everything in me not to say your asshole father.

I wiggle to a sitting position and pain explodes all over my ass and my inner thighs. I wince, grabbing the bedpost for balance.

I’m sore like I’ve never been before and he didn’t even fuck me—and wouldn’t, per his words.

My insides burn with the reminder of Adrian’s merciless lashes and the depraved type of pleasure that his fingers ripped out of me.

It didn’t matter how much I resisted, how much I wanted to hate it. He bent me to his will to the point that I actually craved it. I wanted it like I’ve never wanted anything.

But now I wish I can incinerate last night and everything that came with it from my memories.

“Are you hurt, Mommy?”

I smile. “A little.”

“I’ll kiss it better.”

I laugh, then give him my cheek. “Go ahead.”

He smooches me, his small hands wrapping around my neck. I can’t help feeling the need to hug him, so I pick him up and sit him on my lap, ignoring the sting of pain on my ass.

“Do you love cuddling, Jer?”

“What does cuddling mean?”

Oh, the poor baby has such horrible parents. I pull him to me underneath the blanket and hold him close, stroking his hair away from his eyes. “This is called cuddling.”

He grins. “Are you gonna cuddling with me every day?”

“Every single day and then…” I trail off, tickling his tummy. “I’m going to attack you.”

He breaks down in uncontrollable giggles. “No, Mommy, nooo!”

“You’re done for, Jer.”

“Mommy!” He snorts out laughing while trying to protect his stomach.

His joy is infectious and I break down in laughter with him. And just like that, my day is off to the best start possible.

Except for the pain in my ass and the other one at the back of my head. I might’ve ignored my need for alcohol yesterday, but I don’t think I can go on another day like this.

After I shower and help Jeremy with his, we dress in matching colors. Black pants and green flannel shirts. I use a scarf as a belt. I don’t find any other tank tops—after the savage tore the only one available. So I put on a short-sleeved shirt and twist it at the bottom, then gather it in a knot so that it’s showing my belly button. I’m wearing heels today because I feel like I need the height to go with the cut of the pants.

Jeremy puts on his white-framed sunglasses and I find similar ones in my drawer. It doesn’t matter that we’re indoors. I take several selfies with the little angel because we believe we’re the coolest mother-son duo. Jeremy poses and smiles like a professional model, giggling uncontrollably whenever I try to tickle his tummy.

After our photoshoot, we abandon our sunglasses and I play a Spanish pop song on my phone in his room. Jeremy’s eyes bug out as I take his hand and start dancing with him.

He moves his hips a little and when I twirl him, he gasps in the midst of his laughter.

“You do it, Mommy!” he exclaims.

“Do what?” I shout over the music.

“Twirl like the beautiful girl.” He motions at a ballerina in a snow globe that’s resting on his nightstand.

My smile falls as I study her, the way she’s standing on pointe as snow surrounds her. The first image that comes to mind is broken legs, protruding bones, and blood.

Lots of fucking blood.

“Mommy?” Jeremy stops dancing and I realize it’s because I’ve come to a halt.

I rip my gaze from the snow globe and smile at him. “Yes?”

“Don’t worry. You’re more beautiful than her.”

The innocence of this angel.

“I am?”

“You’re the prettiest ever.”

“Thank you, my angel.” I brush his hair. “Are you hungry?”

“Yup!”

“Let’s go then.”

I turn off the music and hold his hand in mine as we go downstairs.

As soon as we’re in the dining room, the mood shifts. Ogla is waiting for us with scowls and obvious disregard for our clothes. But the one I’ve dreaded seeing the most and have kept pushing to the back of my head since I woke up isn’t here.

“Where’s Adrian?” I ask before I can stop myself.

“Working in his office.” She pauses for good measure. “He’s not to be disturbed.”

I sure as hell wouldn’t disturb him. If anything, I’m relieved I don’t have to face him this morning and can have a peaceful breakfast with Jeremy.

Or mostly peaceful since Ogla keeps watching us on his behalf like a hawk.

I ignore her as I sit beside Jeremy. My ass burns and I close my eyes so that the ache passes. It doesn’t, though. Every shift provokes the welts, and to my horror, it starts a tingle in my core.

Damn it.

I ignore the state between my thighs and focus on feeding Jeremy and myself.

It feels almost surreal that I’ve had breakfast two days in a row and that I haven’t skipped a meal since that sandwich I ate in Adrian’s car. It seems like so long ago, even though it’s been less than forty-eight hours.

But I guess so much has happened in such a short space of time that I’ve mechanically fallen into the routine. The main thing that I’m not used to is the lack of alcohol. No matter how much I fill my stomach, my temples throb, demanding liquor.

There’s one more thing I’m not used to. The sting in my ass. It’s like needles, uncomfortable as hell, but my mind keeps playing last night like it’s the latest, most thrilling movie I’ve ever seen. All the details are engraved in my memories like a sacred script. Including the part where I actually told Adrian to not go to her. That must’ve been another nightmare.

This place has been made by Satan himself—aka Adrian. Ever since I stepped inside, I’ve had one terrifying nightmare after another.

After breakfast, I take Jeremy to play in the garden. Something for which Ogla twists her lips, and I remind her ever so casually that Adrian said I have access to any part of the house.

I’m already cooped up here as it is. I want to at least smell some fresh air.

It’s cold today, even though the sky isn’t completely gray, so I make sure Jeremy and I are suited up in our coats before we step outside.

A few guards dressed in black army fatigues and jackets are scattered all over the property every few yards. Some of them have gigantic rifles hung over their shoulders or chests, and their faces are solemn, closed off and without any emotion. Just like their dictator boss.

I tighten my hold on Jeremy’s hand, afraid they’ll somehow hurt him, but he seems oblivious to them. He must’ve gotten used to their presence over the years. How sad is it for a small kid to grow up in the midst of dangerous people and weapons like this?

He leads me into a built-in wooden gazebo beneath a large tree. There’s a table in the middle and two long benches on either side. Endless soldiers and toys are already waiting for him there.

I drop the iPad Ogla shoved into my hand this morning to learn about the Bratva and blah blah onto the table. I’ll throw a look at it later, because I sure as hell don’t want to give Adrian one more reason to punish me.

As soon as we settle in, a guard gets into position close behind us. Please tell me he won’t be watching over us with a rifle dangling from his shoulder.

I lift my head and instantly feel a sense of familiarity. Crooked Nose—Yan—stands at the entrance of the gazebo, and although he’s dressed in black fatigues like the rest of them, he’s not showcasing his rifle. I’m sure he has a weapon somewhere, but I’m thankful he’s not shoving it in my face.

“Morning, Yan,” Jeremy says absentmindedly, as he gathers some of his toy soldiers. He’s sitting so close to me that his thigh touches mine and his feet are dangling off the bench.

“Morning,” Yan replies, nodding his head in my direction.

“Morning,” I blurt out, not sure how I should talk to him.

Now that he’s not being overshadowed by Kolya and Adrian and I can watch him up close, I see how beautiful Yan actually is. His build is leaner than both Adrian’s and Kolya’s, his features are softer, less guarded, and he has thick eyelashes that are almost girly. That and his long hair make him somehow more approachable than the other two.

He also doesn’t have a permanent scowl like the rest of them. His expression isn’t welcoming either, just neutral. All those combined make Yan the one person I think I could get the closest to here. For some reason, I feel like I need allies aside from the angel sitting beside me.

“Do you watch over Jeremy all the time?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Yan plays with me sometimes,” Jeremy informs me. “It’s okay, Yan. I have Mommy now.”

I smile at that, and even though Yan doesn’t return it, his expression softens.

“Have you been here long?” I ask Yan.

“Since I was three.” I notice that as he speaks, Yan doesn’t make eye contact with me, choosing to focus on Jeremy, so I do the same while picking up a couple of his toys, no clue why.

“That’s a long time.”

“You could say that.”

“Did you…know Lia?” I murmur, not wanting Jeremy to hear. “I mean, me before I…you know…”

“Kolya and I got you from that parking garage, Mrs. Volkov. We know.”

Right. They did. So along with Adrian, Kolya and Yan also know I’m an imposter. That makes me feel closer and more at ease with Yan. “Please don’t call me Mrs. Volkov.”

“You are.”

“You know I’m not.”

He widens his stance but says nothing, so I repeat, “So did you know her?”

“Yes.” His answer is short but not clipped, which means he’s not opposed to other questions.

“How old was she?”

“It hasn’t been long since she turned thirty.”

“How long was she married to Adrian?”

“Since she was twenty-four.”

That’s six years—a long time to spend in the devil’s company. I’ve been here for just two days and they feel like an eternity.

“How old is Adrian?”

“Thirty-six—and that’s the only question I’ll answer about him.”

His meaning is obvious. Yan will satisfy my curiosity about Lia, but not Adrian. It’s an admirable type of loyalty, even if that leaves me in the dark about my fake husband.

I should start calling him my captor and dehumanize him a little.

“Were you close with Lia?”

“I was her guard when the boss didn’t need me.”

“Let me guess. Now, you’re stuck with me?”

“It’s my duty.” His voice is quiet with a hint of hesitation, as if he wants to say something else.

My gaze slides to him so that I can read his expression, but he shakes his head the slightest bit, still staring at Jeremy.

I lower my eyes and brush my fingers through the boy’s hair as he struggles with an endless Lego-like game.

“How did she die?” I murmur.

“She just died.” Now his voice is clipped, closed off, not offering any room for more.

The message is clear—question time is over.

But a multitude of them keep multiplying in my head. Like what type of woman was she? Mother? Wife? Did Adrian love her?

I scoff internally at that question. That devil isn’t capable of emotions, let alone something that requires giving more than taking.

But he went to great lengths to replace her with me, so maybe he felt something for her.

Or maybe he was merely obsessed with her and he’ll inflict that on me. He called me his thing, and people like Adrian don’t like their property taken away.

It’s not that they like them, but more that they crave the sense of power that comes with owning those things.

The things being Lia—and now, me.

Ghostly fingers scratch down my spine at that thought and I quickly shoo the feeling away, choosing to focus on Jeremy.

Apparently, he’s trying to build a war zone for his toy soldiers by using Lego-like plastic thingies. Seems easy enough.

Wrong.

Assembling them is a lot harder than I anticipated and I have to cheat using YouTube. Yan catches me searching on my phone behind Jeremy’s back, but says nothing, his attention quickly returning to stare into nowhere.

I want to ask him for help, but my pride stops me. Surely I can do it, no matter how complicated it is. What the hell are they selling to kids these days?

After unsuccessfully attempting to jam two incompatible parts together, Jeremy scowls at me as if I’ve kicked his puppy. “Not like that, Mommy.”

“I’m trying, Jer.” Even with YouTube, this thing is sophisticated as hell to assemble.

“You never do them right, Mommy.” His little eyes judge me just like his father’s. Jesus. Adrian gets an A+ for cloning himself.

I ruffle his hair. “Hey, are you saying I suck?”

“No, but Papa does them better.”

“He plays with you?” I sound as unbelieving as I feel. I had the impression that Adrian barely pays attention to his son.

My focus slides to Yan, searching for some sort of confirmation. But he shows no reaction, continuing to stand there like a pillar.

Jeremy lifts a shoulder. “Sometimes.”

“I’m sorry, Jer.”

“It’s okay.” He grins, showing me his teeth. “Papa is busy.”

God. This little boy was brought up to be a man at a young age. No child should feel it’s okay that his father spends more time with his work than with him. No child should be happy that he plays with him only sometimes.

If he couldn’t raise a kid, why bring him into the world?

The back of my neck prickles as if Adrian is feeling my thoughts about him and will lash out his punishments for having them.

Jeremy picks two pieces and clicks them together. Jesus. The little rascal knows how to do this better than me. I really hope it’s because he’s seen it done countless times before and not because I suck.

“Don’t you feel bad about him not being around more?” I ask.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because Papa stayed with me when you were a ghost, Mommy.”