Bound By Vengeance (Born in Blood Mafia Chronicles Book 5)
Bound By Vengeance: Chapter 1

The first time I met him, he’d been in disguise, dressed up in a stylish black suit, made to look like he was one of us. But while the layers of fine fabric covered his many tattoos, they couldn’t hide his true nature. It shone through, dangerous and chilling. Back then I’d have never thought that I’d get to know him and the monster within better than I knew anyone else, and that it would turn my whole life upside down. That it would change my entire being to the very core.

“I can’t believe they let you go with them,” Talia muttered. I turned away from the mirror to look at her. She sat cross-legged on my desk chair, dressed in her shabbiest jogging pants, and her long brown hair was piled atop her head in a messy bun. Her t-shirt, a faded grey thing littered with holes and stains, would drive our mother into a meltdown. Talia smiled grimly when she followed my gaze. “It’s not like I need to dress up for anyone, you know.”

“There’s a difference between not dressing up and between what you’re doing,” I said with a hint of disapproval. I wasn’t really annoyed at my sister for wearing her shabbiest clothes, but I knew their only purpose was to rile mother up, and it was a likely scenario given our Mother’s tendency for perfectionism and overreacting. I really didn’t want her mood to turn sour so shortly before the ball. I’d be the one to suffer since Father was definitely out of the question when it came to becoming Mother’s favorite target. Mother had a tendency to take it personally if Talia or I weren’t perfect.

“I’m making a point,” Talia said with a small shrug.

I sighed. “No, you’re being petty and childish.”

“I am a child, too young for a social gathering at the Falcone’s mansion,” Talia intoned in her best imitation of Mother’s chiding tone.

“This is an event for adults. Most people will be over eighteen or far beyond. Mother’s right. You’d have no one to talk to and someone would have to keep an eye on you all night.”

“I’m fifteen, not six. And you are only four years older than me, so don’t act so grown-up,” she said indignantly, pushing up from the desk chair, leaving it spinning around itself, and staggered toward me. She eyed me squarely, the challenge unmistakable. “You probably told mother not to take me with you because you were worried you’d have to watch me and that I’d embarrass you in front of your oh-so-perfect friends.”

I glowered. “You’re being ridiculous.” But a flicker of guilt flashed through me at Talia’s words. I hadn’t talked Mother into letting Talia stay home but I hadn’t really fought very hard for my sister joining us either. Talia was right. I’d been worried that I’d be stuck with her all evening. My friends tolerated her when we met at home but being seen with a girl four years younger at an official gathering wouldn’t sit well with them. A party at Falcone always meant the best chance to meet eligible matches and having to babysit your friend’s sister didn’t really help with that endeavor. I wanted this night to be special.

Something from my train of thoughts must have shown on my face because Talia scoffed. “I knew it.” She turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, slamming the door shut so hard that I couldn’t help but wince.

I let out a small breath, then turned back to my reflection, checking my make-up and hairdo one last time. I’d watched countless tutorials of beauty bloggers to make sure I got the smokey-eyes-look right. Everything needed to be perfect. Mother was a harsh critic but Trish and Anastasia were even worse. They’d notice if I matched the wrong tone of eye shadow to my dress or if my hand had trembled while holding my eyeliner, but their scrutiny had made my preparations meticulous. They were the reason why I was never slacking. And that was what friends were for.

My dress was dark green, and my eye-shadow just a few shades lighter. Perfect. I checked my nails one last time for chinks, but they too looked immaculate in their dark green sheen. I smoothed down my dress a few times until I was satisfied with the way the hem brushed my knees, then smoothed my hair back again, too, for good measure, turning to see if the bobby pins were still all in place holding my light brown hair up.

“Cara, are you ready? We need to leave,” Mother called from downstairs.

I checked my reflection and smoothed my dress again, scanned my tights, then finally forced myself to hurry out of the room before Mother lost her patience. I could have spent hours checking my outfit for possible mistakes if I’d had the time.

Mother stood in the doorway when I came downstairs, letting the cool autumn air into the house. She was checking her golden watch but the moment she spotted me, she grabbed her favorite winter coat, a splendid thing that had cost many ermines their life and put it over her long dress. Even with the temperatures being unusually cold for Las Vegas in November, a fur coat was completely over the top, but since Mother had bought it many years ago in Russia and loved it to pieces, she used every chance she got to wear it, no matter how inappropriate.

I walked toward her, ignoring Talia who leaned against the banister of the staircase, a sulk on her face. I felt sorry for her but I didn’t want anyone or anything to ruin this evening for me. Father and Mother hardly ever allowed me to attend parties and tonight was the biggest event of the year in our social circles. Everyone who aspired to be someone in Las Vegas had tried to get an invitation to Falcone’s Thanksgiving Feast. This would be my first year attending myself. Trish and Anastasia had been lucky enough to have been there last year too, and if Father hadn’t forbidden me from going I’d have gone too. I’d felt small and left out whenever Trish and Anastasia had talked about the party in the weeks prior and after, and they’d done so non-stop, probably because that gave them the chance to gloat.

“Give Trish and Anastasia her best, and Cosimo a kiss from me,” Talia said sweetly.

I flushed. Cosimo. He’d be there as well. I’d only met him twice before and our interactions had been more than a little awkward.

“Talia, put those horrendous rags into the trash. I don’t want to replace them anywhere in the house when we return.”

Talia jutted her chin out stubbornly but even from across the room I could see the hint of tears in her eyes. Again guilt flooded me but I stayed tethered next to the front door. Mother hesitated, as if she, too, realized how hurt Talia was. “Maybe next year you’ll be allowed to come along.” She made it sound as if it hadn’t been her decision to exclude Talia from the party. Though, to be honest, I really wasn’t sure if the Falcone’s would be too happy if people started bringing their younger children along, considering that Falcone wasn’t known for his patience or family sense. Even his own children were sent to boarding schools in Switzerland and England, so they didn’t grate on his nerves. At least, if one believed the rumors.

“Put on a coat,” Mother said. I grabbed one that wasn’t fur, which wasn’t an easy feat in Mother’s wardrobe, and followed Mother out of the house. I didn’t look back at Talia as I closed the door. Father was already waiting in the driver’s seat of the black Mercedes in our driveway. Behind it, another car with our bodyguards was parked. I wondered how it was for people who weren’t always followed.

Mother opened her coat a bit wider. This was Vegas, and not Russia, I wanted to tell her. But if she preferred to melt so she could stride around dressed in her fur coat, then that was her problem. No pain, no gain, I supposed. Years of ballet classes had taught me that.

Mother sank down on the passenger seat while I slipped into the back of the car. I did another quick scan of my tights for runs, but they were immaculate. I thought companies should put a warning on their packing like ‘Only for standing, no moving allowed’, considering how easy it was to get a run while doing nothing but walking. That’s why I’d stuffed two new tights into my purse just in case.

“Buckle up,” Father said. Mother leaned over and patted his bald head with a tissue, soaking up the drops of sweat that had gathered there. I couldn’t remember Father ever having hair.

“Cara,” Father said, a sliver of annoyance entering his voice.

I quickly buckled up, and he slid the car out of our driveway.

“Cosimo and I have had a short talk this afternoon,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Oh?” I said. A knot of worry formed in my stomach. What if Cosimo had changed his mind? What if he hadn’t? I wasn’t sure which option caused my stomach to constrict harder. I forced my face into a neutral expression when I noticed Mother watching me over her shoulder.

“What did he say?” I asked.

“He suggested you two marry next summer.”

I swallowed. “So soon?”

A small frown appeared between Father’s brows, but Mother spoke first. “You are nineteen, Cara. You’ll be twenty next summer. That’s a good age to become a wife, and mother.”

My head spun. While I could somehow wrap my mind around being someone’s wife, I felt way too young for being someone’s mother. When would I get the chance to be myself? To replace out who I really was and wanted to be?

“Cosimo is a decent man and that’s not an easy thing to replace,” Father said. “He’s responsible, and he’s been Falcone’s financial advisor for almost five years. He’s very intelligent.”

“I know,” I said quietly. Cosimo wasn’t a bad choice, not by any standards. He wasn’t even bad looking. There just wasn’t that flutter I’d hoped for when I’d meet the man I’d have to marry. Maybe tonight. Weren’t occasions like a party the perfect place to fall head over heals for someone? I just needed to be open for the possibility.

We entered the premises of the Falcone mansion fifteen minutes later and drove for another two minutes until the driveway finally opened up to a majestic palace-like house and the huge fountain in front of it. The thing spewed water in blue and red and white out of its roman statues. Apparently, a stonemason from Italy had created the thing for Falcone. It had cost more than Father’s car. It was just one of the many reasons why I didn’t like Falcone. From what Father had told me about the man, he was a sadistic show-off. I was glad that my family and I were one his good side. Nobody wanted to have Falcone as their enemy. Everywhere you looked expensive cars were parked. From the sheer number, I wondered how all the guests would fit into the house without stepping on each other’s feet. Several bellboys rushed toward the car the moment it came to a stop and opened the doors for us. A red carpet led up the stairs and through the front door. I shook my head but quickly stopped at a look from Mother. She and Father made me walk between them as we headed toward the front door. There, another servant was waiting for us with a professional smile on his face. Neither Falcone, nor his wife, were anywhere to greet us. Why was I even surprised?

The entrance hall was bigger than any I’d ever seen. A myriad of crystal figures in all sizes stood against the walls and on the sideboards, and several huge portraits of Falcone and his wife plastered the high walls.

“Be polite,” Mother whispered under her breath as we were led toward the double doors that opened up to the ballroom with crystal chandeliers and high tables that fringed the dance floor. One wall was lined by a long table filled with canapés, piles of langoustines and lobsters, bowls filled with crushed ice that were topped with the biggest oysters I’d ever seen, tins with Ossetra caviar and every luxurious piece of food I could imagine. The bellboy excused himself the moment we arrived inside the ballroom and rushed off to the next guests.

Once inside I let my gaze glide over the guests looking for my friends. I was eager to join them and let my parents seek out their own preferred company, but Mother didn’t give me a chance to search very long. She touched my forearm lightly and whispered in my ear. “Be on your best behavior. We’ll have to thank Mr. Falcone for the invitation first.”

I looked past her to where Father was already talking to a tall man with black hair. Father held his shoulders in a hunch as if he was trying to bow before his boss without actually bowing. The sight left a bitter taste in my mouth. With Mother’s palm resting against the small of my back, I crept closer to my father and his boss. We stopped a couple of steps behind them, waiting for them to turn to us. Falcone’s dark eyes found me first before Father noticed our presence. The coldness in them sent a shiver down my back. His high-colored white shirt and black bowtie made him look even more intimidating, which was a feet in itself considering that bowties usually let their wearers appear comical to me.

After the exchange of a few meaningless pleasantries, I was finally dismissed and rushed toward one of the waiters balancing a tray full of champagne flutes on his palm. He was dressed in a white shimmery smoking and white high-polished shoes. At least the outfit made it easy to spot them.

One of our bodyguards followed a few steps behind me as I strode away from my parents, the other positioned himself at the edge of the gathered guests and kept an eye on my parents. I wondered why it was even necessary to have our bodyguards with us at a party of our supposed friends. I pushed the thought aside, wanting to enjoy this evening, and I took a glass of Champagne with a quick thanks, then downed a long gulp of the prickling liquid, grimacing at the tart taste.

“How can you make such a face while drinking Dom Perignon, the best drink in this world,” Trish said, appearing at my side out of nowhere and snatching a glass of Champagne for herself.

“It’s the water of kings,” Anastasia intoned, and it was unnerving that I wasn’t sure if she meant it as a joke or was dead honest.

“I’m trying to get used to it,” I admitted, lowering the flute from my lips. The alcohol was starting to do its magic and for that I was grateful after the short chat with Falcone. Both my friends were styled to perfection. Anastasia in a floor-length dream in silver, and Trish in a light green cocktail dress that brushed her knees. Not that I had expected anything less from them. They’d told me at length about their shopping trip for new dresses for the occasion. Of course I hadn’t been allowed to go with them despite my best attempts to convince my parents. Instead her mother had made me wear a dress I’d bought for Christmas last year. My only consolation was that nobody but my family had seen me wear it, so I wouldn’t embarrass myself in front of my friends.

“I hear it’s an acquired taste,” Trish added thoughtfully. She took a small sip from her glass, her expression turning into one of bliss. “I suppose I’ve always had a knack for Dom Perignon and in the past year I’ve certainly had enough chances to get acquired to its taste, and I intend to drink it even more often in the future.” She and Anastasia shared a laugh, and I cursed my parents again for sheltering me as much as they did. If Trish and Anastasia could brave the supposed dangers of our world, then so could I.

Trish gave me a teasing smile, then hugged me with one arm, careful not to ruin either of our hairdos or make-ups. Anastasia only smiled. Her bodice was a masterpiece of pearls and embroidery. “I’m worried I’ll pull a thread if we hug,” she said only half-apologetically.

“That’s reasonable,” I said, taking another sip from my drink and forcing my face into one of delight instead of revulsion at the taste. I knew for most people this champagne was the height of their drink fantasies but I just couldn’t enjoy it. I’d have to try harder if I didn’t want to see Anastasia’s pitying expression again.

“One of your hairpins is loose,” she said.

My free hand flew up to the spot she was looking at and I tried to replace the offending pin before it could ruin my hairdo. Other guests were throwing glances my way anyway, as this was my debut at a party. I couldn’t risk appearing anything less than immaculate.

“Let me,” Trish said and simply pushed the pin a few inches back. “There. All done.” Her smile was kind.

That was all? From Anastasia’s reaction one could have thought, I’d committed an inexcusable fashion sin.

“There’s a nice selection tonight,” Anastasia said. Her eyes lingering on a group of men across from us made it clear she wasn’t talking about the buffet.

The men in her focus were all at least ten years older than us, and as I surveyed the rest of the room, I realized that we were among the youngest guests. Most of the attendants worked for Falcone. This was a party for his subjects; I doubted he had any friends. Men like him couldn’t afford that luxury.

“But of course, you don’t have eyes for other men anymore now that you’re engaged to Cosimo,” Anastasia continued, dragging me back to reality.

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. Her voice had been odd. Was she jealous? Her father was probably already looking for a suitable match for her, so she’d soon be engaged as well.

“We’ll all be married soon enough,” I said in a placating tone.

“You got your hands on the highest-ranking bachelor, that’s for sure,” she said with a tight smile. Then she let out a laugh and clinked her glass against mine. “I’m joking, don’t look so shocked.”

I laughed, relieved. I really didn’t want to fight with Anastasia over Cosimo. We’d all marry good matches.

The music picked up and I took another sip of my drink. I was starting to relax thanks to the alcohol spreading in my blood and barely minded the occasional curious glances from other guests. At the next party, I’d already be one of them and someone else would be at the center of attention. Trish tapped her foot on the hardwood floor in rhythm with the song and hummed a few tunes before Anastasia shot her a look. I had to stifle a laugh. The dynamic between them was ridiculous at times.

To my surprise, I realized that even my bodyguard had disappeared from view to give me privacy with my friends. Slowly but surely this evening was getting good.

I knew Talia would give me an earful when I returned tonight, but our parents had been right when they’d insisted she was too young for a social event at Falcone’s house. Of course I wouldn’t tell her that again. It would be hard enough to make her forgive me as it was, though a few juicy rumors would probably placate her. Not that I was an experienced socialite. I’d have to rely on Trish and Anastasia for that. Annoyance toward Father rose up in me. Maybe he’d refused to take me to a social function until now because he thought I’d embarrass him in front of his boss. I’d overheard him tell Mother several times how terrifying and brutal Falcone was, so it wasn’t too far-fetched that Father thought I might cower in fear in front of that man, which was ridiculous. He was still human, not the monster Father always made him out to be, and even if he were, I doubted very much that he’d hate to see me cower in fear. It would probably excite him if he were the man Father had described.

“They are a bit too old for my taste,” Trish said, then took another sip from her champagne, returning to our previous topic.

“I don’t mind. I want to be treated like a princess by my husband and older men are more likely to appreciate me than a young guy,” Anastasia said. She gave me a knowing smile. For some reason it felt false. “From what I hear the deal between your family and Cosimo is almost done, so your engagement party will be soon.”

I frowned at the use of the word ‘deal’ when it came to me marrying Cosimo. But in all honesty, it was probably the term that fit the whole arrangement best. I gave a small shrug, trying to act nonchalant. I didn’t want to talk about him tonight, especially since the topic seemed to rile Anastasia up.

“Oh my God, Falcone invited his monster,” Trish whispered, clutching at my arm and almost making me spill my champagne over her dress. I followed her shock-widened brown eyes toward a corner of the room where a tall, muscled man leaned against a wall. He was dressed in a white shirt that strained against his massive chest, a black suit and black dress shoes. In fact he didn’t look that different from the other men in the room except for the missing tie, if you took only his outfit into consideration. But the rest of him, God have mercy.

He looked way too tame for someone like him. Or at least he’d tried. There was no fooling anyone about his nature. It seemed to radiate off him like a dark cloud of danger. It was almost palpable even from afar.

Father had mentioned him once or twice in hushed tones but I’d never seen him, and he definitely wasn’t the type to appear in the gossip parts of the newspaper. I doubted any journalist was crazy enough to risk the wrath of a man like him.

“The Bastard, that’s what most people call him,” Anastasia added. She looked like a cat that had spotted a bird. I knew why she was so excited. So far nothing interesting had happened, but Anastasia probably hoped that this had the potential for some decent gossip.

“What’s his real name?” I asked. I’d tried to get it out of Mother once but the look she’d given me had stopped me from asking again.

“I don’t know his real name. Nobody does. People call him “Growl” to his face, and The Bastard behind his back.”

I gave them a look. Really? Both were names he couldn’t possible have chosen for himself. Someone had to know his name. At least, Falcone. He knew everything about his subjects. “Why would people call him that?”

Anastasia shrugged but didn’t glance my way. “There’s something wrong with his vocal cords since a horrible accident. That’s why he’s got that big scar.”

I couldn’t make out a scar from our vantage point. We were too far away. I assumed Anastasia had gotten that piece of information from the gossip mill as well. “What kind of accident?”

“I don’t know. Some people say the Russian Mob did this, others say he tried to kill himself because he isn’t right in the head, but nobody knows,” Anastasia replied under her breath.

Who would try to kill themselves like that? And Growl didn’t seem the guy for suicide. The first story with the Bratva sounded far more likely. “So they call him Growl because that’s what it sounds like when he talks?” I asked.

Anastasia barely seemed to register my words but Trish nodded in confirmation.

I didn’t ask why they called him the Bastard. That much I could explain. People in our world didn’t look kindly upon children who were born out of wedlock. It was old-fashioned and ridiculous but some things never changed. I didn’t know who his parents were. They couldn’t be high-ranking members of society, that was certain.

I directed my eyes back to the man. He seemed completely indifferent to what was happening around him, as if this party was just another of his duties. But something told me that despite his displayed boredom he was alert. I doubted that much passed his attention. He was holding a glass of champagne in his hands but it was still full. The elegant crystal looked tiny compared to him and I marveled that he hadn’t crushed it between his palms yet. As if he could read my mind, he turned his head and stared straight at us. Trish let out a gasp and jerked beside me, spilling a few drops of her drink on the expensive looking wooden floor. She really couldn’t have acted more suspicious if she’d tried. After a moment, both Trish and Anastasia jerked their heads down, breaking eye-contact. Maybe to make him believe they hadn’t been watching him, or maybe they simply couldn’t bear the power of his gaze. Now I understood why my parents and even my friends had sounded so terrified when they’d talked about him. Even from the distance his eyes almost made my knees buckle.

It wasn’t only fear that made my heart speed up though; there was something close to excitement too. It was like watching a tiger through the glass of its enclosure and marveling at its power. Only here the only thing keeping him from attack were the social rules even someone like him was bound to. The leash Falcone had him on wasn’t a physical or visible one, but it was there nonetheless.

I wondered what was going on in his head. How did he feel surrounded by people he had hardly anything in common with? He was one of them and yet not really. A man of the shadows because nobody wanted him in the light. When I realized how long I’d been staring, I averted my eyes, but my pulse kept up its erratic pace afterward. I wasn’t sure when I’d felt this…alive the last time. My life always meandered in its predetermined pathways, but tonight felt like an adventure.

“Oh my God, that was creepy,” Anastasia whispered. “He should have stayed in the hole he crawled out of.”

I couldn’t say anything. My tongue seemed to be stuck to the roof of my mouth.

“Is he still watching?” I asked eventually, my eyes firmly plastered on the bubbles still rising in my glass.

“No, he’s gone,” Anastasia said with no small relief. “I can’t believe he came here. People like him should stay among themselves and not pretend they belong to us.”

I peered toward the corner he’d previously stood but like Anastasia had said, he was gone. For some reason it made me nervous that I didn’t know where he’d gone. He was one of the people you’d like to keep track of because you feared they could sneak up on you. And I could have sworn that I could still sense his eyes on y skin. I shivered. Paranoia usually wasn’t my style.

I searched my surroundings but he was nowhere to be seen. I shook the ridiculous feeling of being watched off. It wouldn’t do for me to start acting paranoid. If I embarrassed myself here, it would be a while before I’d be invited to anything again. Or worse, Cosimo would decide I wasn’t fit to become his wife. Mother and Father would never forgive me if that happened.

“Look who’s coming,” Trish said under her breath, and for a ridiculous, heart-stopping moment I actually thought it was Growl.

I turned to see who she was talking about and felt heat rush into my cheeks. Cosimo was heading our way. He was dressed in a grey double-breasted suit, dark-blond hair slicked back and thin-rimmed glasses on his nose.

“He looks like a broker,” commented Trish in a low voice.

He managed Falcone’s money, so that wasn’t very far off. The suit was his second skin. I’d never seen him in anything else. It was a stark contrast to the man I’d been spying on mere seconds ago.

Trish and Anastasia took a step to the side, huddling together and pretending to give Cosimo and I some privacy, which really was only pretense since I knew they’d be hanging on our lips, memorizing our words.

I doubted they’d be using them against me. They were my friends after all but I didn’t want to risk it.

Cosimo came to a stop a little too close and brought my hand to his lips. I almost rolled my eyes at the gesture, though a small part of me relished in the appreciative glances Trist and Anastasia exchanged.

“Care for a dance?” he asked, voice smooth and even. That, like the suit, was always the same. Trish had compared him to a well-oiled machine once. The term fit too well. His eyes darted to my friends but he didn’t say anything. I didn’t follow his gaze, worried Anastasia would look pissed off. Sometimes I wasn’t sure what the hell was going on with her.

I let him guide me toward the dance floor, aware of my friends’ curious gazes following us, and they weren’t the only ones watching. My parents, too, had turned their attention toward us. I almost cringed at the force of attention.

Don’t trip, I told myself over and over again as we started moving to the music.

As we danced closely, I waited for a flutter, for something, the smallest hitch in my pulse, but nothing happened. Not that Cosimo looked as if he was madly in love with me. Not that love was required for a marriage, but it would have been nice nevertheless. Cosimo tried to make conversation. The weather, how lovely my dress was, this and that he thought I might be interested in. He couldn’t have been farther off.

My friends were still watching Cosimo and me. Though, ‘watching’ wasn’t the right term for the look Anastasia was giving me. I really hoped she’d replace a man for herself soon. Knowing her, she was probably just pissed that for once I was in the lead, even though I wouldn’t have minded if my father had taken more time to replace someone for me. I tore my gaze away from my friend’s scowl and let my eyes settle in the corner where Growl had stood. He still wasn’t there.

“My friends and I noticed a man earlier,” I said, not even sure what Cosimo had been rambling on about before I interrupted him. “My friends told me his name was Growl. He looked…”

I didn’t get further.

Cosimo’s grip on my back tightened. “He should have stayed where he belongs,” Cosimo said with a sharpness that surprised me, then he gave me an encouraging look. “Don’t worry. You’re safe. He knows he’s not allowed near women like you.”

I opened my mouth for more questions but Cosimo shook his head. “Let’s talk about something else.”

There was nothing else I wanted to talk about right then, but I let Cosimo’s small talk lull me in. It didn’t stop my gaze from searching the room for Growl though.

Cosimo led me back to my friends and a look passed between Anastasia and him. Her scowl obviously hadn’t passed his attention either. If I were braver, I’d have confronted her and asked what her problem was, but I definitely didn’t want any trouble at my first party.

Cosimo excused himself and headed toward a group of men, including Falcone. Trish handed me a fresh glass of champagne. “How was it?”

“Good,” I said automatically, unwilling to admit to them that I couldn’t care less about my soon to be fiancé.

“You looked cute together,” Anastasia said sweetly. Surprise surged through me, and I felt myself relax at once. Apparently, Anastasia had realized that there was no reason for her to be jealous of me and Cosimo.