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

I’ve never believed in second chances.

Trusting that someone can change is wishful thinking in ninety-nine percent of cases. It’s a waste of time and energy.

However, there’s always that pesky one percent. The anomaly.

The…deviation of human behavior.

The fact that it’s almost impossible to predict or catch such a moment is what makes it special. Desirable, even.

It’s a sin waiting to be committed.

An untouched rose about to be plucked so it will wither in a place that’s far away from her natural habitat.

And even that one percent can’t be trusted. It’s not that people change of their own volition. They’re forced to by external exertions, by circumstances and tragedies.

In a way, second chances don’t really exist. They’re a myth told once in a while to appease emotionally fragile people so they can look forward to new days instead of spiraling into depression.

Sooner or later, however, they realize such things don’t exist and are hit by a deeper form of depression, a form that will eventually lead to their ruin.

I don’t believe in myths. I’m a man of facts. I may twist them in my favor, I may use a distorted version to reach a certain end, but I do not go after illusions.

And yet, there’s an exception.

An illusion I will pursue.

The woman sitting beside me in the back seat of my car is a myth, herself.

A doppelgänger.

“Do you believe in doppelgängers?” Lia once asked me as we sat down for breakfast.

I raised a brow. “Doppelgängers?”

“Don’t give me that look. They’re real! It’s said that everyone has forty people who look exactly like them. They’re scattered all over time and space, so it’s extremely rare to find your doppelgänger in the same time and place.”

“Lovely.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t believe me.”

“I only said ‘lovely’.”

“You’re being sarcastic.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, you are, Adrian!”

“Hmm. How can you be so sure?”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is, then?”

“Imagine my doppelgänger somewhere in the world right now.” She gave me a soft smile. “If you saw her, you wouldn’t be able to tell us apart.”

“That’s impossible.”

“It is possible. I hope it happens to you.”

“You seem to be the one intent on meeting her. Why don’t you wish for it?”

“No, Adrian! We can’t meet our doppelgängers. The first one who sees the other will die,” she whispered the last words with a spooked tone.

The first one who sees the other will die.

That’s exactly what happened. Lia saw this homeless thing and just disappeared as if she’d never existed.

When you don’t believe in something and it ends up happening, you blame that something because you can’t simply start believing in what you never have.

This woman is that something.

She’s the one who took Lia away and thought she could waste her life in the dirty streets without repercussions.

She stares out the window as my senior guard, Kolya, drives the car through the busy streets. My other closest guard, Yan, sits in the passenger seat, keeping an eye on the road, his hand close to his gun on his waistband. They’re strong, loyal, and silent men, who speak with actions more than words. Just as I prefer it.

Winter is gripping the door handle with both hands. It can’t be because of Kolya’s driving, since it’s smooth. It can’t be because she’s mesmerized by New York’s night view, because her eyes are unfocused.

It’s almost as if she’s fantasizing about opening the door and jumping out while the vehicle is speeding down the road.

She’s slightly unpredictable, so I wouldn’t put that action past her. I can still feel the sting of her slap on my skin, and a part of me is demanding I punish her for that insult.

But all will be well in due course.

For the rest of the ride, she doesn’t look at me, probably scared that I’ll act on my threats from earlier. She’s smart at times but has foolish patterns at others. She still doesn’t know who I am or what I do, but she’s already figured out that I’m not a man she can afford to mess with. And for that, all her walls are up with wires wrapped around them.

What she doesn’t realize is that I can and will destroy those walls until I get what I want.

If there’s anything I learned from my fucked-up parents, it’s to be like a river with a strong current. Not only will others think twice before they cross me, but I’ll also clear out everything in my way, whether it’s friends, enemies, or her.

We arrive at one of our malls downtown. It’s owned by the Bratva’s legal front, V Corp, the company that’s currently managed by the Pakhan’s grandniece, Rai.

I didn’t go through her to come here, though, because no one needs to know about this.

Kolya and Yan get out first and stand guard by the side of the car, facing away from me. Winter stares at me from under her lashes, silently questioning what we’re doing here.

“Remove the coat,” I tell her.

“Why?”

“Stop talking back and do as you’re told.”

I can see the spark of rebellion in her aqua eyes, the need to question me again. I wait for it, intending to squash it once and for all, but she blinks away that urge and opts to pick her battles.

She unbuttons her coat and slides down the zipper before she removes it and lays it on her lap. I pull the thing from under her fingers and throw it out the window. Kolya catches it and walks with it toward the trash.

Her gaze follows the action, eyes wide, as if I murdered her favorite puppy. “Why did you do that?”

“It smells and makes you look like a beggar.”

“I am a fucking beggar,” she snaps, then clamps her lips together when she realizes her mistake.

“What did I say about talking back? Do you wish for a few years in prison? Is that it?”

“N-no.”

“Seems like it.”

“I’m sorry. Okay?”

I don’t like the tone she speaks to me with. It doesn’t sound apologetic at all. If anything, it’s a bit sarcastic. This woman is a lot different from my Lia.

Deciding to let it go for now, I study her, tapping my fingers on my thigh. She’s wearing baggy jeans and an ugly striped sweater that swallows her tiny frame, making her appear like a runaway pubescent kid. But her clothes don’t stink like the urine and vomit from her coat.

Something else smells, though.

“Remove the gloves.”

This time, she doesn’t ask why and does as she’s told. I throw them out the window, too. Black lines of dirt have taken refuge under her ragged nails and a few red blisters mar her fingers due to the cold.

I reach into the console beside the driver’s seat and retrieve some wet wipes. She stiffens when I take her hands in mine, her pupils dilating as I clean them off. They’re as frail and small as Lia’s, and they’re pale, almost to a sickening level. Only the red blisters and the green veins peeking from underneath her skin show a break of color.

Reaching into my pocket, I retrieve my wife’s wedding ring and slide it into her finger. Her expression widens and she stiffens but she thankfully keeps her mouth shut.

Instead of asking her to remove the hat, I do it myself. She remains still as her greasy blonde—or half-blonde—hair falls to her shoulders. After I throw the filthy scrap of fur out the window to join the other trash, I use the wet wipes to clean her face.

She tries to do it herself, but a single glance from me makes her drop her hands to her lap. I glide the cloth over her forehead, the soft contours of her cheeks, and the ridge of her nose. When I move to her chapped lips, they part slightly. I try meeting her gaze to see what she’s thinking, but she’s staring at her hands lying limply in her lap.

When my thumb pauses at the lower line of her bottom lip, a dark desire grips hold of me, and I’m tempted to bite it into my mouth and feast on the cracked exterior. To see if she’ll scream.

As if sensing my thoughts, Winter trembles, but it’s for something a lot different than desire.

Fear. Raw, potent fear.

I release her and she pushes back against the leather seat.

Opening the car door, I step out and take in a long inhale of the night air. I stride to her side and open hers as well. “Get out.”

She does, cautiously, and instantly shivers, wrapping her arms around herself. When I remove my coat and drape it around her, she stares up at me with a weird expression, one that says she never expected someone like me would do that.

Kolya shrugs off his jacket and offers it to me, but I shake my head. I’m not cold. If anything, I’ve been hotter than normal today.

“Follow me,” I tell her and she starts to hobble.

When I turn around to inspect the problem, she comes to a halt, her sock-covered foot resting on top of the other.

I wrap my arm around her back, lift her under her knees, and carry her bridal style. She’s too thin and bony; it should be a crime.

She stiffens, even though her fingers grip my shirt. “I can walk on my own.”

“You’re missing a shoe.”

“I can manage.”

“Or you can stay still.”

“You…” She clears her throat, and as if not wanting Kolya and Yan, who are following close behind, to hear, she whispers, “You said I smell.”

“Let me worry about that.”

She opens her mouth to argue, then seems to think better of it and purses it shut.

Once we’re inside one of the department stores and get in one of the elevators, I hit the button and the four of us go to the tenth floor. The mall is closed, but the manager stayed late at my request.

As soon as the doors open, we’re greeted by her and three of her most trusted workers, whom Kolya forced to sign an NDA in blood before we went to fetch Winter. The manager, a woman in her fifties who seems to have a painted smile on her lips, nods at our arrival.

Winter misses the gesture because she’s completely entranced by the view ahead of us—the designer clothes hanging under the strong white lights, the luxurious sitting areas, and the high-class décor.

Her nails dig into my shirt as if she’s considering this place a threat. However, she considers me a threat, too, so the gesture means nothing.

I set her to her feet and she staggers before standing upright. When her huge eyes scan her surroundings, she visibly shrinks at the grandiosity of it all. It takes her about a minute before she finally stares at the manager, acknowledging her smile with a nod.

“I want her as good as new,” I say.

Winter’s nose scrunches at my words, but she doesn’t protest like I expect her to.

“Yes, sir,” the manager tells me and directs her smile at Winter again. “Please follow me.”

Winter lifts her nose, then does as she’s told.

My gaze follows her as she hobbles on her one shoe until she disappears around the corner, but my focus remains on the empty spot she left behind for a second too long.

The clearing of a throat pulls me out of the moment.

“Are you going to stay here, sir?” Kolya asks in Russian. “Yan or I can drive her back.”

“It’s fine.”

I sit on a red leather sofa and pull out my phone. Kolya and Yan stand on either side of me, their hands crossed in front of them. Yan, in particular, isn’t a fan of what I’ve decided, and his scowling features—that rival Kolya’s impassive ones—were a constant during the entire ride.

“Relax, would you?” I say in Russian.

They each widen their stance but don’t change position. They might be my two closest guards, but they’re as different as night and day. Kolya, who’s my age, is the more diplomatic one—the talker, the pacifier, who may or may not carry a bomb with him at all times in case those pacifying methods don’t work.

Yan is younger, more reckless, less of a thinker and more of a muscle person, who’s always ready to snap someone’s neck and amputate someone else’s arm at the same time. His character is evident in his hair that he keeps long, even though every one of my other men gives him shit about it. He pays them little to no attention because he’s also hotheaded and already has strikes against him that he’d need to answer to.

They’ve been with me since I was young. Kolya and I basically raised Yan, though. They were groomed by my father to be my inner circle. He actually only brought them in to spy on me, but things have long since changed.

Kolya’s muscles flex as he retrieves his phone. Yan has always called him a mountain, because of his physique and his personality. My younger guard is lean, which makes him faster, but he’s still jealous that no amount of training could make him as big as Kolya.

My second-in-command pockets his phone. “Igor has been trying to reach you, sir.”

“Ignore him.”

“Mikhail, too.”

“Don’t pay him any attention. Unless it’s the Pakhan, I have no one to answer to.”

He gives a curt nod as I go through my emails. I periodically change my phone number, and since I recently did so, the elite group of the brotherhood are bugging Kolya on my behalf.

My position in the Bratva is high enough that I get away with disrespecting the other leaders. There are four heads of the brigadiers, Igor and Mikhail being two of them. I’m an Obshchak, meaning the only person I answer to is the Pakhan himself.

The only other member on my level is the Sovietnik, Vladimir, but he’s not demanding. We co-exist for the Bratva as we have been for the past twenty years, ever since we were both officially recruited by Nikolai at the age of fifteen.

Or, more like, Vladimir was recruited. I was born into this world. But even though my father was some sort of nobility in the Bratva, I had to put in the extra work to get where I am. I even surpassed his rank, and continue to do so.

Others think I’m doing it for family honor, when, in fact, I’m interested in squashing everything my father did. If I suppress him, no one talks about him.

My session of reading my emails is interrupted by a number flashing on my screen. I don’t save names on my phone, even though it’s encrypted and I can virtually destroy it the moment it’s stolen.

One of the benefits of my parents’ tyranny is that they taught me to always be ready. Never take anything or anyone for granted.

So when I recognize the digits on the screen, I stare up at Kolya. “Since when does Kirill have my new number?”

He frowns. “No clue, sir.”

I contemplate ignoring him like I did the other two brigadiers, but Kirill doesn’t call to chat.

“Volkov,” I answer.

“Morozov,” he mimics my closed off tone.

“What do you want, Kirill?” I speak in Russian.

“Does this mean I can’t check on you after you’ve been absent from the Bratva’s meeting?” he asks in the same language.

“I’m hanging up.”

“Jesus Christ. Loosen up a little.”

“I’ll loosen up in death.”

“I doubt it.”

“Do you have a point behind your call, Kirill? Because you just wasted time I could’ve used to find out the best investment route V Corp can take in the upcoming months.”

“I’m waiting for a shipment to arrive, so you’re not the only busy one, asshole.”

“You want help with customs?”

“It’s taken care of. That’s not the reason behind my call.”

“Then what is?”

“Information and rumors that I thought you should be wary of. What should I start with?”

Kirill isn’t the type who offers anything out of the goodness of his heart. He’s cunning and only gives when he knows he can take twice as much. If I receive anything from him now, he won’t hesitate to ask me for things in the future. I could hang up and ignore him, but he has his ways of acquiring crucial details that even I can’t get a hold of.

The difference between us is that I’m strategic in a methodical way. He’s strategic but in the chaotic sense. He waits for things to happen before he reacts to them, making him the ultimate opportunist.

“Information,” I say.

There’s a rustling from his end and distant chattering in Russian. I can imagine him and his men waiting at a secluded warehouse in the cold for the shipment to arrive. “Richard Green’s murder is being investigated.”

“That’s nothing new. I know the police have got their noses in it.”

“This is not a police investigation. It’s Vladimir’s. The Pakhan ordered him to look into it.”

I pause as his words register. I expected Sergei to ask me to investigate it further, not Vladimir.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Kirill continues. “I had the same thoughts. Why ask Vladimir when you’re the one who usually takes care of that stuff? Lucky for you, I’m a fast thinker and came up with two possible scenarios. Do you want to hear?”

“Spill. And stop wasting my time.”

“How I keep up with you is a mystery. Anyway, back to my scenarios. One, the Pakhan doesn’t want to distract you from growing our alliance with the Italians. Two,” he pauses for dramatic effect. “He suspects you.”

I tap my fingers on the arm of the sofa as the meaning behind his words reaches me loud and clear. If Sergei suspects me, everyone else does, too. So I choose to probe Kirill, “Why would he suspect me?”

“I don’t know, let me take a wild guess.” He speaks slowly, too slowly, drawing out the words in a provocative manner. “Let’s see. We were all counting on getting Richard to become mayor so we could get our hands on easy shipments without having to threaten the DEA at every turn, but suddenly, he’s dead. Suddenly, the Italians’ candidate is now on the road to be mayor. If I were Sergei, I would suspect the one who’s getting cozy with the Italians.”

Makes sense. At least none of them figured out the actual reason.

“I’d show up more if I were you,” Kirill continues. “Your absence only allows the others to speak behind your back.”

“The others? As in, you’re not involved in the backstabbing?”

“What do you think I am? I don’t bite the hand that feeds me. Jesus.”

“Hanging up.”

“You’re not going to ask about the rumors?”

“Not interested in rumors.”

“It concerns your wife.”

My fingers stop tapping for a second before I resume. If I show Kirill even an ounce of interest, he’ll latch on to it like a mad dog.

He’s an opportunist—a ruthless one at that.

“Still not interested.” I sound bored, even to my own ears.

“Listen anyway and answer with yes or no.” The Russian noises get quieter as he speaks. “Mikhail told us that his wife saw Lia going into Sergei’s mansion all alone at night. Some say she’s betraying you by telling all your secrets to either Sergei or Rai. Some say she’s having an affair with someone there. Is any of that true?”

My jaw tenses. “No.”

“Really?” he drawls the word.

“You think I’d let her breathe another second if that were the case?”

“Right. You wouldn’t.” He pauses as noises erupt from the other end of the line. “My shipment is here.”

The beeping sound is the only thing I hear after he hangs up.

I remove the phone from my ear, tightening my hold on it until my knuckles turn white.

“Kolya. Yan. I need you to uncover all the rumors circulating about Lia. Start with digging into what Mikhail’s wife is spouting and move from there. Don’t leave any fucking thing out.”

“Yes, sir,” Kolya says.

I fix Yan with a stare when I don’t hear his confirmation. “You have a problem?”

He stares right back, his light eyes clashing with mine. “Aside from the problem you created, sir?”

“Yan!” Kolya glares at him because of his show of insubordinate behavior.

I dismiss my senior guard with a hand. “Let him continue. You seem to have a lot to say. Let’s hear it, Yan.”

He doesn’t even smooth his glare. “This is wrong and you know it, sir. Stop this madness.”

Kolya punches him in the face. “Shut up.”

The punch is so strong that Yan staggers backward, clutching his jaw and staring at Kolya with hurt mixed with anger. He thinks Kolya hit him to cause pain, but Yan is an idiot sometimes. He fails to realize that the ever so diplomatic Kolya went out of his way and punched him because that will lessen my reaction toward his insolence.

But even Kolya’s gesture won’t save Yan.

I stand up and my second-in-command tries to get in my way. “He won’t repeat it, sir.”

“Nice try, Kolya.” I tap his arm as I bypass him toward Yan and grab him by the shoulder.

My guard stands upright, a red bruise already forming on his cheek. I speak calmly, not letting my emotions get the best of me, even though he has many strikes to count. “Whose guard are you, Yan?”

“Yours.”

“Correct. Then why are you acting otherwise?”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“How long have you known me?”

“Since I was three.”

“You’re twenty-five now, so that’s twenty-two years. That’s such a long time, don’t you think?”

“Yes.”

“It’d be a pity to end them with your head chopped the fuck off.” I grab him by the nape, peering into his eyes. “Kolya and I brought you up and made a man out of you. Don’t make me regret it.”

“But, Boss—”

“Shut the fuck up, Yan,” Kolya grits out from beside me, and that manages to silence the younger guard.

I release Yan, and Kolya grabs his nape and forces him to nod in apology.

Ignoring his sullen presence, I concentrate on work. I spend the next two hours or so opening emails and combing through the information my various hackers have sent my way. Some are insignificant, but others are saved until I can ensure their integrity.

The entire time, my focus is scattered by what Kirill said. Though the first part—that Pakhan suspects me—should get my attention, it’s the latter half that’s on my mind.

The motherfucking rumors.

I’ll eradicate each and every one of them until the truth is mixed with lies. I’m good enough at exercising that tactic to the point that even those closest to me are fooled.

Like Yan.

A movement in front of me makes me lift my head.

“She’s ready, sir.” The manager smiles with utter pride, as if she’s made a swan out of an ugly duckling.

But that’s not the case. She was always a swan, only hidden.

Winter steps from behind the manager to stand in front of me.

As I requested, her hair is dark brown. It’s tied in a bun and her face is radiant, though a bit thin.

A simple beige dress reaches her knees, molding against the curve of her breasts and hips. Black heels cover her feet. She’s wearing the same makeup from the wedding picture I showed her earlier.

The only difference is that she’s not smiling.

Almost like she’s already stepping into my wife’s shoes.

As she should.

Winter is no longer Winter. She’s Lia.

She took my wife’s life, and her punishment is spending the rest of her existence being Lia’s replacement.

I’ll bring my Lia out of this woman, even if it’s the last thing I do.