Hateful Secrets (Hateful Duet #2)

Chapter 1

ONE

LUCIE

The first time I met Toma Kova?, I thought he was a handsome, but cocky prick.

Now, as he rams his fat cock into my pussy from behind, I still think he’s a cocky prick.

And he can absolutely back it up.

An alarm seems to ring in my ear, but I ignore it.

“Keep going,” I moan, gripping the rough sheets chafing my knees.

His breath caresses the sensitive skin at the juncture of my neck and shoulder, his voice a dreamy balm to my heated flesh. “Wake up, beautiful.”

I jump up in bed, very much alone, before flopping back down. My phone blares its wakeup call in. I fumble to switch it off and sigh. Morning lights filters through my window, assaulting my eyes and already pissing me off.

I press the pillow over my face. Then groan into it.

It’s going to be a long day.

I don’t wake up pissed off. From sunrise to sundown, I’m fresh as a daisy, ready to charm my way through life, as I’ve always done. That’s who I am, that’s what I do. Ever since I was twelve and being pissed off had dire consequences. Life-altering ones.

But this was all too real.

It’s the third time this week that I’ve dreamt of the Croatian hacker and his beast of a body. And his crooked nose that should make him look like a caricature but accentuates his hard brow and squared jaw. And that slutty little moustache. Oh, what I would do with that slutty little moustache.

My hand starts a slow descent towards my soaked knickers. I imagine how his dark hair would feel when I’d grip it as he…

Nope. We’re not going there.

I’ve fucked too many men and women who were bad for me. I’ve learnt my lesson. Stay away from anyone involved with crime syndicates and any wannabe mobsters.

With his baggage, Toma screams ‘trouble’.

Not in a ‘he’s going to use me and break my heart’ kind of trouble—like my exes and my friends back at home—but in a ‘my life would be in danger for getting involved with him because his brother is a psychopath called ‘The Butcher’ who just entered the skin trade with the Russian mafia’ kind of way.

I stare at the ceiling of my room in the flat I shared with Aleksei while we were still married. Located in the centre of London, high above the busy streets of the Financial District, it’s a state-of-the-art, modern place.

Soul-less.

And more importantly, spotless. Not even a tiny spider in sight. My mind has nothing to focus on but the dread filling my every pore at the prospect of packing my suitcases.

I should be ecstatic. This is all I’ve ever wanted.

I’m moving to a place of my own to study psychology—a topic I’m passionate about—in a city I know will enchant me.

Far from mafia business, whether on the French side or British-Italian side.

Far from death and threats, and loss. But it’s my second move in six months and my emotions are all over the place.

First, I had to move from sunny south of France to this grey and busy city at Dante’s behest. Of course, when my cousin called on me, I didn’t hesitate to help my family and sacrifice my freedom to marry a man I didn’t love, and who didn’t love me back, just so we could expand our territory. Hell, I didn’t even know the man.

I prioritised the Ventura name. As my adoptive father trained me to.

As has been ingrained in me from the moment I could understand words.

Dante would have done the same for me. Our family motto demands it.

Lealtà, dovere, coraggio. Loyalty, duty, courage.

These words are inked onto our skins and beaten into our hearts. I live by them.

One thing I didn’t realise when I agreed to this arranged marriage was the loneliness that would strike me right in the chest. I’d been avoiding it quite brilliantly for eight years, partying, surrounding myself with people all the time.

It was the perfect distraction to my roiling emotions.

I made myself into the life of the party, the sunshine girl.

But as I signed the marriage papers to solidify the pact between Aleksei and Dante, I lost my freedom and found myself alone and with no purpose.

The friends I thought I had disappeared very quickly. No one asked if my husband was kind to me, if I was okay or needed a friend to talk to. I disappeared from the scene, and became an after-thought, until I wasn’t even that.

I pick up my phone from the night-stand and open my favourite social media app to distract myself from negative thinking.

The first video is one of my friends—I should say ex-friends but I don’t because it makes me feel like a loser—as they party on a yacht along the coast of Marbella, Spain.

The pang of disappointment is familiar by now.

They didn’t matter. Not really.

But this unbearable loneliness reminds me that the true family I found here could also disappear in a heartbeat. I’ll move to Edinburgh and could lose it all, all over again.

Loin des yeux, loin du coeur, French people say.

It’s worse than ‘out of sight, out of mind’ because it literally translates with ‘out of sight, out of your heart’.

I almost died of heartbreak losing my parents.

Losing my friends was a latent disappointment.

Losing Dante and his two lovers, being forgotten by my aunt Mariella, that would kill me.

My nose tingles. Sighing, I get out of bed and into the en-suite, setting the water to freezing cold before placing my phone on the counter.

My breath seizes as I step under the spray. The first few seconds are always the worst, my heart rate going on overdrive to protect my body from what my brain considers an assault. It’s better than what I used to do, though.

I breathe through my mouth, deeply in and out, not letting panic set in, and count in my head to a hundred.

These cold showers help get my brain out of negative self-talk and reset my nervous system in just a few minutes.

Maybe it’s torture, but when I slowly turn the temperature to warm, my mind is clear and a soft smile spreads on my lips again.

As usual, when I step out, I ignore the large mirror on my side and wrap myself in a towel, avoiding the view of what I did to my body. If I don’t see it, I can pretend it never happened.

A text from Aleksei welcomes me. It’s a link to a flat in Edinburgh.

Sometimes, he’s even more protective than Dante.

I shimmy my shoulders with delight at the little proof of love from my emotionally-stunted ex-husband, then click on the link.

The images of the place are perfect. It’s a one-bedroom flat not far from the Meadows, in a quiet street.

I didn’t want something too extravagant, and he really delivered.

I never expected to form a bond with Aleksei, but after he agreed to never touch me, we became friends. Or whatever two people forced to cohabit become when violence and blood are used as threads to bind them.

My heart clenches at leaving him, Dante and his wife, Irina, behind, but now that my mood has shifted for the best, I place the thought in a neat, little box called ‘Do not think about’.

I forward the link to Irina, though I’m sure she’s already seen it. Even approved of it, knowing how controlling she is.

Me

Do you think I should order pink curtains? The ones on the photos are grey. That’s depressing.

She answers me within minutes.

Irina

Pink curtains are a must for you. I also made sure the triple lock I ordered for your front door was painted pink to go well with your future decor.

I love her so much. She knows me well.

Irina saw me for me. She noticed my potential and took me under her wing, brought me to the shooting range with her to train.

She’d probably say I forced the friendship and she’d be correct.

I was desperate for someone to talk to, and her cold demeanour was a great challenge for my restless mind.

Challenge conquered, considering she texts me every day now.

Without me having to text first, sometimes.

The mean voice in my head screams it’s only because of that damn family loyalty, but I silenced it with a breath and a fake smile.

I admired her immediately. We were both bred to be dutiful daughters of powerful men, but she fought her destiny with everything she had. I just… accepted it, I guess.

It’s easier to do what people assume I should do. When I’m needed, I can carve a little spot for myself in their lives. If I smile, if I’m accommodating, they won’t leave me behind.

I just started feeling at home again here, with all three of them. My marriage might have been a sham but I care about the silent Bratva kingpin, his Ice Queen step-sister who now runs the entire Cosa Nostra in the UK, and my cousin.

I giggle remembering how they all prowled around each other for weeks before finally taking that step. I even made Aleksei celebratory cupcakes when he told me he fucked both Irina and Dante. At the same time.

I must keep summoning them. Dante’s name appears on my screen as my phone rings.

“Ciao, cugino,” I greet.

“Ciao, bella. Are you ready? I’m throwing you a party at the mansion tonight. Irina wanted it to be a surprise but I need you to wear that pink dress you love. I’ve planned everything with the photographer.”

I smile as he keeps rambling about my goodbye party.

After all he’s been through, seeing Dante happy again is a joy to witness.

We were so close to losing him. I shake my head at the morbid thought.

No need to get sad, he’s safe. I plaster a smile on my face and immediately, my mood brightens.

That neat little trick I do to my brain has saved me from pain for eight years.

I won’t let the overflow of grief and anxiety submerge me now.

“Who’s on the guest list?” I ask, but my voice cracks, taking on a higher tone. I hate it when my body betrays me.

“Why? Are you expecting anyone?” Dante taunts, and I roll my eyes at the smile I can practically hear through the speaker.