Sweet Carnage (Heirs of Obsession #2)

Prologue

NINA

The door clicks shut behind me as I step into the hushed and dim room. A huge mahogany desk in the center. Plush burgundy carpet on the floor. Thick books lining every wall. A brass globe reflecting golden light.

Everything in this room feels much older and more powerful than me.

Especially the man behind the desk.

Artyom Petrov.

His golden hair is swept back from his forehead, and when he raises his eyes from the papers on his desk, I see that they’re two different colors.

Hazel and blue. One warm, autumnal, while the other is icy, desolate.

Heterochromia. The word flashes through my brain, straight out of a textbook.

He looks like he’s busy, judging by the papers in disarray on his desk. But he smiles and leans back when he takes me in, his gaze lingering on my face.

“The freckles on your left cheek look like Cassiopeia. The constellation. I haven’t noticed that before.”

His voice is clear and smooth as liquid honey, but his comment catches me off guard. I don’t know how to respond. I bring my hand to my left cheek, on instinct, as though I can somehow feel the freckles.

Unsure what else to do and feeling flustered under his steady gaze, I take a deep breath and launch into the speech I’d prepared.

I stole from the Bratva, and I know it will not go unpunished. My manager caught me taking extra cash from the register.

“It won’t happen again—”

“Don’t lie to me, Nina. You’re not very good at it.”

He speaks softly but with such confidence that it’s like he knows me already.

“I’m not lying.”

I need this job so goddamn much. I will plead. I will beg this man to keep it. I will resort to sexual favors — hell, I don’t even think I’d mind — if it means I can stay working at The Demon. If I lose this job, I lose everything.

He reaches out one huge hand to the globe on his desk and spins it, his eyes fixed on the orb.

“I swear, it was a one-off. I needed the money to pay for car repairs.”

He gives a frustrated sigh at my words, and rakes a hand through his golden hair. There’s something mesmerizing and deep about his anger, like staring into a fire.

“Let me explain how I know otherwise. Six months ago, our usual accountant was decapitated. An unfortunate casualty of a turf war with the Irish, but,” he shrugs, “that’s to be expected in our line of work. We all know the risks and are compensated accordingly.”

He leans towards me. “The new accountant is more hands-on with the books. He noticed something interesting.”

No.

I school my expression to remain the same.

There’s no paper trail. They can’t have...

“I thought this was about the other night?” I blink at him.

He doesn’t reply, nor does he take those mismatched eyes off me. I have the uncanny feeling that he knows everything, that he knows me, already.

Just as my heart starts to pound, he unfolds himself from the chair and stretches out, as though he’s been sitting still for too long.

At his full height, he’s a giant, all power and muscle and immense stature.

As he stretches, I notice the edge of a tattoo under his collar.

It’s the only reminder that this civilized, well-dressed man is part of one of the most powerful organized crime families in the city.

I swallow.

Artyom makes a face. “Don’t look so scared, Nina. You wouldn’t be here with me if we were trying to terrify you. We have other men for that. I’m the one who makes deals.”

I don’t know why the Bratva would want to make a deal with me. I have nothing to offer them.

Artyom walks around the desk and leans against it right in front of me, his arms folded in front of him. He has the thoughtful yet dangerous walk of a prosecutor in a courtroom drama. Except, I remember with a shiver, in this world, he’s more likely to be the criminal on the stand.

“You must be busy, working late shifts at The Demon while taking an accelerated path through medical school.”

I don’t respond.

“Despite being a young and attractive woman, who surely faces more abuse from drunks when she works until four in the morning.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“I wonder what would push someone into that position.”

Fuck this.

Fuck this man, standing here in front of me in his old-money office, wearing a suit that could pay for my med school fees even if it was sold second-hand, thinking that he can lecture me about morality.

“Maybe I need to work to support myself,” I spit at him. “I’m sure that’s not something you’d be familiar with, given that your family is worth billions of dollars.”

He looks pleased with my response. I shrink back into my chair, remembering the golden rule of dealing with the Bratva: don’t give them anything to go on. It was drilled into me by the other non-involved staff as soon as I started working at The Demon.

“I’m curious….” His tone makes my nerves thrum with anxiety. “Do you know how much a year of tuition at Carson Medical School costs?”

Down to the last dollar. $75,626.

“Go on.”

I shrug my shoulders. I broke before, and I won’t do it again. No response gives these people nothing to play with.

“Say it.”

Nothing makes me more stubborn than someone who wants me to say or do something. I maintain steady eye-contact, willing my face not to flush, and I stare down Artyom Petrov for what feels like an eternity.

My pulse races as he meets my glare. The money truly means nothing to him. He doesn’t even care enough about this to be angry at me, but that doesn’t mean I’m safe.

I see no malice in his eyes, but I know enough about the way the Bratva operates from my years at The Demon not to trust him. He’s beautiful, ridiculously so, but that’s only to conceal the poison under his skin.

There is no forgiveness or mercy from this kind of organization.

That’s why I can’t admit anything.

If I do, I’m dead.

He breaks with a smile. “Fine. You won’t say it. I will. $75,626.”

I try to steady my breathing in the face of his surprisingly warm smile.

“And guess how much of an unexplained drop in turnover we’ve had at The Demon?”

He knows.

Ice-cold certainty blooms in my stomach.

“I’ll hand it to you, you were exact. Not a dollar more than you needed for tuition.”

He’s backed me into a corner.

He knows everything, not just the cash I was caught with the other night, but all of it.

I fold my arms tight across my chest just as he relaxes his to his sides. “How?”

“You’re obviously smart, Nina. Smart enough that you’re in med school at the age of 20. But there are only so many ways to steal. And the Bratva has seen most of them.”

“There’s no way to prove it.”

“You’re right, there’s no paper trail. But your strategy — overcharging drunks for drinks they didn’t have — only works on a small scale. Our new accountant caught it immediately. It doesn’t register month-to-month, but when you look at the overall drop in cash flow, it becomes obvious.”

He strides to a table at the corner of the room, in the shadows. “Would you like a whiskey?”

I shudder at the suggestion. The stale smell of whiskey makes my stomach turn. He frowns, those uneven eyes narrowing.

“No. Thank you.” I fold my hands in my lap.

He puts the bottle and glasses down with a clink and looks as though something has just clicked into place.

“How did someone with an aversion to alcohol end up working in a notorious nightclub?”

Once again, he says it as though it’s obvious that I don’t drink. Most people take months to notice.

I don’t have to lie for this one. “You were hiring. And I needed a job. As discussed, that is a thing normal people need to survive.”

“You’re really determined not to reveal anything about yourself to me, aren’t you?”

I set my lips together in a line.

“But I already know something about you, Nina.” A hot chill runs down my spine at the sound of him saying my name. “You look like you wouldn’t hurt a fly. Like a sweet, innocent, good girl. But you would. You’re a survivor. You’ll do whatever it takes.”

I suck in a sharp breath and brush my bangs back from my eyes. He continues, his eyes laser-focused on my face, his lips curling into a smile.

“The first time I saw you, you threw my cousin Valentin out of the bar because he was a drunken menace, after refusing to serve him another glass of vodka. You didn’t care when he told you that he owned the bar.

You didn’t care when he then tried to proposition you.

He was annoyed. I was fascinated. I returned to the bar so I could watch you work. I kept an eye on you. I know you.”

I stare at my hands and exhale slowly through my mouth. There’s no way I’m keeping my job.

“Nina?”

My breath catches in my throat when I look up to see Artyom standing over me. Gone is the cocky smile. His expression is… tender.

“It didn’t surprise me at all to learn that you’re a thief. But I can hardly criticize. My family name was built on thievery.”

It’s different, I want to scream at him. I don’t turn a profit from an empire built on death.

“I had to,” I whisper, feeling broken. “I had no choice.”

“Your family won’t help with your school fees.” It’s not a question.

“No.”

He tilts his head at me, his golden hair cascading over his forehead, and I feel almost hypnotized by those two different eyes, deep whirlpools that never end.

“I will.”

I shake my head in protest. “I can’t—”

“There’s a condition. This would be a trade, not a favor.”

I say nothing.

I have nothing to offer this man who has everything.

“I will pay for your studies. But you will be mine. In every way.”

It’s then that I see the softly lit room, the beautiful man across from me, for what it is.

A trap.