Savage Sinner: An Enemies To Lovers Russian - Italian Dark Mafia Romance (Sinfully Savage Mafia)

Maks has promised me that we’ll be able to write our own ticket wherever we want to go after a few more ‘jobs’.

I’ve heard that before.

Papa used to make that same promise to Mama.

Unfortunately for both of them, he never got a chance to make good on it.

Crack! Pop! Bang!

I sit straight up with a gasp, the exploding sounds blasting through the music.

Holy shit! Did he seriously just shoot someone?

Did he kill someone?

A scream bubbles up from my lungs, but I bite down hard on my lower lip to prevent it from piercing the still air.

Oh my God, Maks!

Two more shots are fired and I strain my ears to hear voices.

They’re yelling something in a different language…

And it isn’t Russian.

My throat tightens, blood rushing between my ears.

Maks…

Police sirens sound in the distance and a car door slams, tires squealing on the pavement outside. The engine fades and my world is plunged back into an eerie stillness, save for the approaching cops.

I try to swallow, but the gaggle of tears in the back of my throat chokes me to the point that I can barely squeeze out a breath.

Maks never calls out to me.

He never opens the back door.

Minutes later…or maybe it’s hours…I reach up, my clammy, shaking hand gripping the door handle and pushing it open. I am greeted by a black sky and a desolate parking lot in the middle of an overgrown tree field near the water. I shakily get to my feet, gingerly stepping onto the pavement as if my legs might give out at any second.

My mouth falls open, but I can’t say the words that hover on the tip of my tongue.

My pulse throbs against my neck, heart galloping like a thoroughbred as I creep around to the back of the truck.

I fall to my knees, crashing hard against the concrete, bits of gravel digging into my hands as I collapse onto my brother’s bullet-torn and lifeless chest.

“Don’t look, Anya.”

“Don’t scream, Anya.”

But I can’t help myself.

I do both…

Again.

“Maks!” I gasp, sitting straight up in my airplane seat, my heart throbbing so hard, I press a hand to it to make sure it stays in my chest.

Yeah, I’m still alive.

I made it out that night.

I survived and my brother…didn’t.

After all we’d been through together…losing Mama and Papa, being forced from the only home we ever knew, on the run and living in hell with our uncle in a shithole apartment in Brooklyn…he was gone.

Forever.

Those splintered memories come back to haunt me pretty frequently, even though it’s been almost a year since he was murdered.

The book I’d been reading right before I fell asleep…when my mind was filled with steamy rock stars, hot surfers, and swoon-worthy FBI agents…falls to the floor. I let my eyes flutter closed for a second, trying to calm my breathing before I bend over to pick it up. Beads of perspiration pebble on the back of my neck as I force the images out of my mind.

Hence, the reason for the book.

It’s one of the reasons why I became such an avid reader over the past few years. It’s my only real escape…when I’m awake.

But once my eyes droop closed, the demons take over and my sexy romance fantasies morph into gruesome horror story plots with me as the main character.