Cruel Promise (Sins of the Bratva #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

AVA

I wake up inside a cage.

The cold metal presses into my skin, making the temperature of the already cold room even more biting. There’s barely any room to stretch my legs out or sit up straight.

I gasp and look around, but it’s dark, making it impossible for me to see anything. Shapes appear in the darkness, creating monsters that aren’t there.

I grip the metal bars for only a second before letting go. They’re too cold. My hands come back raw and burned.

Why am I in here? What happened?

My heart begins to pound even faster inside my chest to the point that it hurts. It hurts so much I think I might die. I press my palms to my chest to quiet my heart, but it’s no use. I’m scared out of my mind, and nothing will change that.

“Hello?” I whisper into the darkness.

I’m distinctly aware of my dress over my legs, the way the fabric touches my upper thighs. I was at school before—college. Taking classes. Keeping my head down. I always had to keep my head down to keep him from finding me.

But he found me anyway.

It’s then I start to remember what happened before waking up in this cage. But I don’t want to go there because it pains me too much. It’s a betrayal so deep it cuts me to the core.

“Hello?” I try again. “Can someone help me?”

A light flicks on. For a moment, I’m blinded until I can make out who entered the room.

It’s a man I don’t know. His hair is slicked back, and he’s wearing a suit that’s a little too big for him. Sleazy. He reminds me of a car dealer.

“You’re awake,” he says. “Good. Time to start the auction.”

The auction?

“Why am I here?” I ask. My voice is barely above a whisper.

“You don’t remember?”

I do, but I need to hear him say it. I need to know for a fact.

“Your father brought you in. He needs the money.”

And there it is—my father kidnapped me.

It all hits me at once, and the power of it makes me slump back against the too-cold cage, and I don’t even care that it’s burning into my skin.

My father kidnapped me so he could sell me for money.

Twenty hours earlier

“The classic story of Beauty and the Beast says a lot about love, selflessness, and compassion,” Professor Williams says into the microphone on the podium. The PowerPoint presentation behind her shows the scary imagery of an ugly beast stalking a beautiful maiden.

I jot down notes as I listen to the lecture. My favorite part of college is the freedom to take whatever classes you want. I chose fairytale literature because it’s always been one of my and my mom’s favorite things to do. She would read fairytales to me before bed every night. I think she still would if I wasn’t too old for it now.

I tug the end of my dress down. The simple white summer dress with small yellow flowers on it is one of my favorites, but it shrunk a little bit in the wash. It still fits; it’s just a little too short for comfort.

The lecture ends, and I collect my books and notepad. Most of the other students use laptops, but I love a good old-fashioned notebook to write in. It makes me feel closer to the material.

Because of my father, I wasn’t allowed to learn much as a child.

So, now that I’m free of him, I love to take the opportunity to learn as much as possible.

“Hi, Ava,” a male voice says behind me.

I turn around and give Jason a smile. “Hi.” Jason is cute, with blond hair and nice bone structure. His hair color is similar to mine, which makes a lot of people around campus mistake us for siblings. We’re just friends, though. He introduced himself to me at the beginning of the year, and I felt immediately safe around him.

I haven’t felt safe around that many men before.

“Can I carry your books?”

“Oh, sure.” I hand them over. Jason always offers, and I always take him up on the offer. It’s sweet.

We walk through campus. It’s starting to get colder with the leaves turning red and yellow. It’s still fairly warm out, which is why I wanted to wear my dress one last time before it got too cold. Winters in New Haven can be brutal.

“Do you want to grab a cup of coffee?” he asks.

“I have to get to my next class. But maybe later.”

“You always have to get to your next class,” he says in a tone that surprises me. It’s strangely … bitter.

“I worked hard to get into Yale. I’m not going to do anything to mess that up.”

“I understand.” He gently touches my arm. “We can grab that coffee later.”

I nod at my books in his hands. “Can I have those back?”

For just a heartbeat, he hesitates then hands them over.

“See you later, Jason.” I walk away before he answers.

I drive thirty minutes every day to get to my mother’s apartment. It’s a lot smaller than the house I grew up in, but this smaller, cramped apartment makes me a lot happier than the large house I remember.

The main reason is because my father is no longer around.

“Hi,” I say as I enter the apartment and set my books down on the kitchen table. One of the legs wobbles, but I’ve gotten used to it and barely notice anymore.

Mom is bent over a pot on the stove, stirring something. “How was school?”

“It was good as usual. I have a ton of reading to do.”

“Well, you were the one who wanted to go to Yale.”

I make a face at her as I approach. She smiles back and wraps her arm around me.

“Did I ever tell you how proud I am that you accomplished that?”

“Every day,” I remind her.

“Then I’ll say it again. I’m so proud of you, honey.” She kisses the top of my head before turning back to her food.

“What are you making?”

“Carrot stew.”

We both stare at each other for a moment before laughing.

“It’s horrible,” she says. “But I’m trying.” Mom is not a natural cook because we had a chef growing up. It was paid for by my father.

When we left him, we had nothing. Both my mom and I had to learn a lot of things without him around.

“I’ll be judge of that.” I grab a spoon, dip it into the stew, and take a small bite.

And almost spit it back out. “Nope. You’re right. It’s horrible.”

She laughs and turns the burner off. “We can order takeout.”

“Can we afford that?” I received some scholarship money to go to Yale, but I’m also using student loans and can’t afford much else.

She pauses, the smile on her face dimming. “Well, maybe we can buy a frozen dinner.”

“Ok. That sounds good.” I grab her hand before she can walk away. “Mom, you’re doing your best.”

“I’ve been trying for the past couple of years, and I never seem to get better. I always seem to forget we don’t live that same lifestyle anymore.”

“Just because we don’t have money doesn’t mean our lifestyle is bad. I think it’s a lot better now.”

Now that my father isn’t constantly abusing her. Now that he’s not screaming at me.

He had money, but it wasn’t worth it to live in that house. There are more important things in life than money when your constant state of mind is at risk.

Mom squeezes my hand and lets go. “You’re sweet.”

“You raised me right.”

“Come on. Let’s head to the grocery store and grab some frozen dinners.”

Standing in the checkout line, I get a text from Jason asking if we can meet up. I text him, asking him what for, and he replies that he just wants to see me.

“I don’t understand,” I murmur.

Mom takes one look at the text and laughs. “Honey, he has a crush on you. I’ve been telling you that for a while.”

“No he doesn’t. Jason and I are friends.”

She tucks a piece of my hair behind my hair. “You can be so innocent sometimes. Never change.”

“Mom, Jason and I are friends.”

“Then why does he always ask you out for coffee?”

“Because we’re friends!” I grab a chocolate bar from the stand by the cashier and notice it’s five dollars. I put it back. Every cent counts right now.

“You know, you never date. I get why you didn’t when we lived with your father. He wouldn’t let you. But you’re an adult now, Ava. We’re free of him. You can date. Have some fun.”

“I don’t want to date Jason because we’re friends. I don’t see him that way.”

She nudges my arm. “So, is there someone you see that way?”

I shake my head. The truth is my father scared me out of dating. He would scream at me, tell me I was a whore, for even looking at a man on the television. It made the concept of being with a man terrifying.

And even now that I’m free of him, I still can’t forget his words. I once read this article that said we tend to date people like our parents, and that instantly made me not want to be with any man. Not if there was a chance he was anything like my father.

For right now, I want to focus on school and just being free with my mom.

“I just don’t want you to be alone forever,” Mom says.

“I’m nineteen, Mom. I have time.”

“You’re right, you’re right. I shouldn’t push. I just …”

“What?” We inch closer. I set our frozen dinners onto the conveyor belt. Chicken parmesan that the cover makes look delicious while I know, in reality, it will be soggy and un-flavorful.

“I just want to make sure you’re taken care of. In case something were to ever happen to me.”

My heart constricts for a second. “What would happen to you?”

She flashes me a bright smile. “Nothing. I just like to think ahead; that’s all.”

I know she’s lying to me, but I don’t push it because that’s not the kind of relationship we have. Since my father refused to respect our boundaries, my mother and I tend to go overboard trying to respect each other’s. It means we don’t always say how we really feel.

We pay for our frozen meals and then leave, neither of us continuing our conversation.

When we return home, I can tell something is wrong.

The front door is cracked open, and we left it locked.

“Get behind me,” Mom tells me, inching closer to the door. She pushes it open and ducks her head inside. “If someone is stealing from us, then please, just go.” To me, she says, “Call the police.”

I grab my phone and dial 9-1-1.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

Before I can give an answer, a man appears in our doorway. A man I know every well.

My father.

Mom screams right before he grabs her and yanks her into the apartment.

“We’re being attacked,” is all I can get out before my father grabs me and pulls me inside, ripping the phone from my hands. He smashes my phone to the ground.

The apartment is ransacked. The couch cushions are on the floor. The beautiful pieces of pottery my mom made are left in pieces. He must have smashed them. There’s broken glass everywhere.

“What are you doing here?” Mom asks.

Dad pulls out a gun and aims it at us. We both cling to each other as if that will somehow protect us.

It won’t.

We ran from my father, and now, he’s come to get us back.

“I’m here,” he says, “because you two bitches left me.” Spit flies out of his mouth. My father was never a conventionally good-looking man, with thinning gray hair and a heavy belly. My mom, on the other hand, is a classic beauty, with her blonde hair and soft features. She always told me she didn’t marry him for love but for safety.

And even that, he couldn’t provide.

“If you want money,” Mom says, “we don’t have any.”

“Of course, you don’t. I was always the one who had it. But I’ve fallen onto some hard times. I’m in need of money.”

“But you just said we don’t have any,” I say.

“Shut up,” he screams at me, making me flinch. Mom holds me closer against her.

“Don’t talk to her that way. You were always a horrible father.”

He gets right into her face, pressing the gun to her head and making her cry. “So, then, why did you marry me?” He pauses. “Oh, that’s right. Because you’re gold digger.”

“How can I be a gold digger when I left you and all your money behind?”

My father’s face contorts into an ugly sneer. It’s a look I’ve seen hundreds of times, and it never fails to send a shiver down my spine.

He whips my mom across the face with his gun, knocking her to the ground.

“Mom!” I bend down next to her, but my father grabs me. “Let me go!”

He places the gun to my head, forcing me to go still. “You were always too pretty for your own good. I hated having a pretty daughter. I saw the way men looked at you.”

I never saw those looks because he never let me be around men at all. It’s another delusion my father made up to make me feel terrible about myself.

“But right now, I’m glad I have a beautiful daughter.” He runs the gun up and down my face. “Because you’re going to earn me a pretty penny.”

I’m not sure exactly what he means by that, but I can guess enough to know I need to be terrified. And I am terrified.

“Let her go,” Mom warns, standing back up. “You don’t need Ava. Take me instead.”

“Why would I want you? You’re old, woman. No man would want to buy you.”

Buy ?

“Just let her go,” she reiterates. “Please. I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yes.”

“Mom, don’t.” I can see the desperation in her eyes. I can’t lose her.

“I’m the reason we left,” she says. “Punish me. Leave Ava alone.”

“You know, I would love to punish you. But I need money more. And Ava will fetch me a good price. You see, I bargained. There’s a man who wants a wife, and he’s offering a lot of money for Ava. So, I’m going to give her to him.”

“What man?” I ask.

He shrugs. The fact he can act so nonchalant hurts even more. “Some Mafia man. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“You sold our daughter to the Mafia? You fucking bastard.” She lunges at him, raking her hands down his face. He shoves her away and points his gun at her.

Then he fires.

The bullet lands in her stomach.

“No!” I scream, wrenching away from my father, but he pulls me tighter against him.

Mom staggers back and drops to the ground.

“Let’s go,” he growls, dragging me out of the apartment.

“No! Mom!” I continue to scream down the hallway, but no one leaves their apartments to come check. I’m invisible. I’m alone.

“Stop,” Father hisses and whips his gun against my face. The shock and pain of it makes me stumble back. He uses that to his advantage and shoves me forward. My feet just barely catch up as we leave the apartment building.

I don’t know whether I’m crying or bleeding as he forces me into a car. I think a little bit of both.

All I can think about as we drive away is that my mom is dead.

She’s dead.

I slump against the car door, not putting up a fight. What’s the point? My father will never let me go. And now some Mafia man wants me. I don’t know anything about the Mafia except from what I’ve seen of movies, and it’s obvious in those films that once the Mafia has their hooks in you, they’ll never let you go.

My education? Over. Jason and my other friends at school? I’ll probably never see them again. My mom? Dead.

So, there’s no point in fighting.

My father drives us into New York City, which takes just over an hour. In that entire time, neither of us speaks. I don’t try to escape, and he doesn’t try to hurt me again.

I grew up in this city. I always thought it was magical as a little girl. People everywhere. Central Park being home to fairies. Cute cafés and bookshops on every corner.

But as an adult, I see New York City for what it really is—pure ugliness. Dark and damp and trash everywhere and people who don’t help others. People who are so preoccupied with their phones that they don’t see what or who is right in front of them.

My father never allowed me to have a cell phone growing up, so I never had experiences with social media. And now, as an adult, I’ve avoided it since I found it overwhelming.

It was just another way for my father to control me. And I hate that he’s still controlling me.

Eventually, he pulls up before an elegant-looking members-only club. Instead of going through the front door, he takes me around back.

A man opens a back door. He has a weasel quality to him that sets me on edge “Is this her?”

“Yes. But before I hand her over, I want to get paid.”

“You’ll get paid by the man himself. But we’ll take her in the meantime.”

Father tightens his hold on me. “No. I want to get paid now.”

“That’s not how it works. Only once he has her will he pay you.”

These two men are talking like I’m not even here. How can people treat others this way? How can my own father?

“Fine,” he grits out. “Take her. But I expect to get paid.”

“You will.” Weasel man grabs me, shoves me inside, then closes the door on my father’s face.

“Please, just let me go,” I beg. We’re standing in what looks like a storage room full of boxes.

“Begging won’t get you anywhere, little girl.” He forces me down a hallway and into a dark room. In the middle of it is a cage.

I back away. “No. Please. No!”

He sighs as if I’m inconveniencing him . “Let’s just make this easy, shall we?”

Before I can react, he punches me in the face, and everything goes black.

I wake up in the cage.

I call out for help, but no one responds because no one here wants to help me.

When the sleazy-looking man appears and tells me it’s time for the auction to begin, I know I have to confront what happened.

My father sold me for money.

And my mother is dead because of it.

Sleazy man opens the cage and pulls me out. I take one look at the open door and make a run for it, but he grabs me and locks my hands behind me in cuffs.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he growls. “You’re going to make us a lot of money.”

He pushes me forward down the hallway and through a door that leads onto a stage. In the middle of the stage is one chair, and it’s meant for me. He locks me to the chair by my hands and ankles so there’s no way I can escape.

Before me is just darkness. The spotlight on me is so bright, I can’t see anything. But I can sense there are people here, and they want me. They want to buy me.

“Look at what we have here, gentlemen,” Sleazy man says. I almost scoff at the word “gentlemen.” No gentleman would buy another human being. “A beautiful young woman. Only nineteen. And a virgin.”

My skin breaks out in goosebumps. The air changes after he says “virgin.” There’s a crackle to it. I can hear murmuring from the people in darkness. The people who want to bid on me.

“We’ll start the bidding at one million dollars.”

I almost faint. One million dollars? To buy me? I almost wish I could pass out again. It would make all of this easier.

“There will be no bidding,” a man says from the audience. He has a feeble, small voice, but it carries.

“Little man, don’t test me,” Sleazy guy says. “We’re having an auction.”

“And this woman is already bought. So, hand her over to me, and you will receive compensation for five million dollars.”

Who is this man who wants me? Is this the Mafia man my father was talking about?

Sleazy man shrugs. “All right. But only if no one out bids you. Will anyone buy this woman for more than five million dollars?”

“Need I remind you,” the man from the audience says, “that Nikolai Petrov wants her?”

Sleazy man’s face goes white. “I … did not know that. Well, yes, of course he can have her. Come, take her.” He rushes to my side and unlocks me from the chair before leading me off the stage and into the audience.

I can finally see again, and what I see is something I never wish to see again. Only five men are in the audience, but each and every one of them screams wealth. Dirty wealth to the point it’s sickening.

They’re the type of men nothing bad ever happens to. The type of men like my father.

A small man stands in the walkway. With bushy white hair and red eyes, he looks more like a cartoon than a real man.

And he’s the one who bought me.

“Here,” Sleazy man says. “Here she is.”

The other man nods. “Good. Now, come along, Ava.”

I startle at my name. But, of course, he’d know my name. My father sold me to him.

I don’t move quickly enough, so the old man gently grabs my arm and guides me along. I’m surprised by his touch—it’s not as forceful as I’d thought it would be.

He doesn’t say a word as we leave the theater and enter a den of sorts, one filled with couches with lots of men sitting on them. And sitting on the men are women in skimpy black dresses.

“Come along,” the old man says as I avert my gaze. Nothing terribly inappropriate is happening, and yet it feels so intimate.

We leave the club house altogether, and he walks me to a car parked on the street. It’s a Porsche that must have cost hundreds of thousands of dollars.

“Get in,” he says in a surprisingly nice tone.

“I … don’t want to.”

He sighs. “Dear, you have to. You belong to Nikolai Petrov now. I’m sorry.”

“So, you’re not him? The man who bought me?”

“No. I’m just his butler sent here to collect you for him. I’m Edmund. I won’t hurt you.”

“But … you’re bringing me to a man who wants to hurt me. Why else buy me?”

“You father made a deal with my employer. It’s unfortunate, and I honestly don’t agree with it. But Nikolai Petrov is not a man you argue with. So, please get into the car. I don’t want to have to force you.”

His words draw me up short. Edmund and I are close in height, and he’s obviously older than me, but if he works for a powerful man, then he must have some tricks up his sleeve to get me to comply, and I don’t want to see what those tricks might be.

So, with trembling fingers, I open the car door and get inside. Edmund nods once and gets behind the driver’s wheel. He doesn’t lock me in. He doesn’t hit me.

He just drives.

I watch every turn and every road we take until we reach a large, grand Gothic-looking mansion in the heart of Billionaires’ Row.

“Is this it?” I ask, my voice shaking.

“This is it.” Edmund gets out of the car and opens my door for me, holding out his hand. For some reason, I take it. He offers me a kind smile that doesn’t help my fears. He may be a somewhat nice man, but he’s working for a horrible one, and that means I can’t let Edmund’s smiles lure me into a false sense of security.

The large double doors open up into a grand foyer that’s bigger than the apartment my mom and I shared.

I choke up at the thought of my mom. I still haven’t let myself cry because once I cry, it all becomes real.

“Oh good, you’re here,” a woman says, hurrying into the room. She’s plump and older, looking more like a fairy godmother than anything else. “I’ve set up your room, dear.”

I blink. “Are—are you talking to me?”

“Why, yes. Who else would I be talking to?” She pauses, then flutters her hands around her face. “Oh, my manners. I’m Mrs. Brown, the housekeeper.”

“Charlotte,” Edmund tells me. “But we all call her Lottie.”

“I like to keep an air of respectability,” she says. “But if you insist, you can call me Lottie.”

“Oh, uh … Mrs. Brown is fine.” It’s strange getting to know the employees of this household when I was just bought by their boss, a man I’ve never met before.

She offers me a warm smile. “All right, dear. Your room is on the second floor, second door on the right. Come to me if you have any questions.” Then she flitters away.

“I’ll show you around,” Edmund says.

The first thing I notice about this house is how empty it feels. In the living room, there’s nice furniture but no pictures on the walls or mantels. There are no shoes kicked off in the entryway. There are no signs that anyone really lives here except for the staff.

Everything is decorated in dark tones—blacks, grays, and the occasional white. There’s no other color anywhere.

It’s like stepping into a black-and-white film.

In the kitchen, the only spot of color is the man standing next to a counter, chopping up carrots. The sight of the carrots makes me think of my mother, and I have to hold back the tears.

“This is Claude,” Edmund introduces. “He’s the chef.”

Claude looks me over before turning his nose up to me. “Another stray, Edmund?”

Another stray ? I’m too scared to ask.

Edmund sighs. “Ava will be Mr. Petrov’s wife. Show some respect.”

I practically jump ten feet into the air. “Wife? No one said anything about marriage?”

“Why else did you think Mr. Petrov wanted you?”

“I have no idea why he wants me. I’ve never met him.”

Claude scoffs. “Typical American. So dramatic.”

“Come on,” Edmund says, guiding me out of the kitchen. “I’ll take you to your room.” He leads me upstairs, which is more of the same black, white, and gray interior.

“Edmund, what exactly is going on here?” I ask.

“Um, well, Mr. Petrov will explain that to you. In time. Here we go.” He opens a door and motions me inside. “Your room.”

A white bed. Gray carpet. Gray walls. It’s all so depressing. The home my mom and I built together was so full of color and life. The reason was because my father never allowed any color in our house. It was all white all the time. If I ever made a mess, he would scream at me.

“I’ll let you be.” Edmund leaves before I can object, shutting the door behind him. I slump onto the bed.

Still, I don’t cry. I can’t think of my mother in this place. I can’t think of her lying on the floor with a gunshot wound to her stomach.

I need to move. I need to do something.

So, I leave the room.

Edmund didn’t lock me inside, which tells me I’m not a prisoner here.

I walk down the hallway, slowly, paying attention to everything I see, and once again, everything I see is … nothing. No pictures anywhere. No paintings. No nothing. Just dark gray and black walls.

There’s a door at the end of the hallway. It has a large lion’s face for a doorknob. It’s pure and utter Gothic, and I need to know what’s behind it.

I reach my hand out for it …

“What are you doing?” a man’s voice asks. A voice I haven’t heard yet.

With a yelp, I turn around and freeze.

This man screams dangerous. Tall, dark hair, a scowl, and an intimidating presence.

A deep scar covers his face, but it doesn’t make him any less handsome.

“Uh …” is all I can say.

“That room is not for you. Go back to your own room.”

I nod quickly and run past him, going straight into the room Edmund put me in.

After I shut the door behind me, I realize—I think I just met Nikolai Petrov.