Savage Little Games: A Dark Mafia, Enemies to Lovers Romance (Sin City Mafia Book 1)

Sunday afternoon is productive. After I get home from the airport, I hop online and start looking for a new job. It’s probably too much to hope that I would find someone to call and hire me before my shift at the lounge starts tomorrow night.

At the grocery store that night since I can’t sleep, I ask if they need any third shift cashiers. Unfortunately, the manager told me they weren’t hiring. Not even for a stock boy position. Yes, I would’ve accepted anything that earned any amount of money just to avoid Dante’s casino.

On the way home, I decide that I’m going to get up bright and early tomorrow to swing by as many businesses as possible on the way to the Royal Palace until I find someone who is hiring.

The idea motivates me, gives me hope that I could find some desperate manager to take pity on me.

I’m so distracted by the hopefulness that when I start to climb out of my car, my purse, and a bag in each hand, I don’t pay much attention to the vehicle slowly rolling up behind me in the parking lot. Not until it’s too late.

One second, I hear multiple doors opening, the next, thick arms wrap around my neck and band around my own arms and stomach, lifting my feet completely off the ground.

When I get spun around, I see the black SUV with the headlights blinding me. “Goddamn it, Dante!” I scream as I try to swing my bags at the head of my assailant. It doesn’t work with the steel band pinning my arms to my sides. Another man takes the bags and my purse, tossing them to the ground, where my flip-flops unfortunately join them. Then he shouts, “Get her in the car, now!”

The man carrying me takes me to the open door of the SUV. I kick my heels at his shins and claw his arms with my fingernails. They’re hairy arms, the tattoos unfamiliar. Dante sent his henchmen to drag me back to the casino? Is he fucking insane?

“Put me down! I’m not going anywhere with you, you son of a bitch!” I yell.

He doesn’t put me down. He doesn’t even let me go when we reach the backseat. No, the goon turns around and climbs into the middle seat backward without releasing me.

“Ow, bitch! You’re gonna pay for slicing my arm up and kicking me!” The voice isn’t familiar either as he holds me down on his lap. Shit. Dante’s guards wouldn’t threaten me, would they?

The asshole with shaggy black hair who took my bags climbs in the seat next to us, closing the door which turns off the interior lights. In the sudden darkness, he says, “We’re in, go!” directing the driver who accelerates so fast I get whiplash.

What I saw of the faces of everyone in the vehicle is unfamiliar, including the driver and passenger talking on his phone. Glancing over my shoulder, I find two more wide-shouldered thugs in the third-row seat. These are all men who look like their only talent in life is cracking skulls.

Fuck.

Real fear slinks under my skin, making me go still as I try to figure out what the hell is going on. There are six large men in the vehicle. I couldn’t take on even one and win, and of course I don’t have my gun either. Even my purse is missing, left in the parking lot with my pathetic groceries. That means I’m only left with trying to talk my way out of this shit.

“Who the hell are you?” I ask, just before the passenger says into his phone, “We got Mitch and Salvato’s little blonde bitch. Now what?” the moon-faced passenger turns to stare at me with an evil grin that isn’t comforting.

Mitch and Dante’s bitch? These are definitely not Dante’s men…

The man next to me grunts out, “Hold her arms out.” I fail trying to escape the monstrosity of a thug when he squeezes my wrists until I cry out in pain. While his buddy wraps silver duct tape around and around my wrists, I feel him harden underneath my ass. My first reaction is to freeze, to stop moving. Gouging out eyeballs won’t be easy with my wrists taped together. In fact, I’m not getting away so there’s no reason to encourage that…thing.

“Will do,” the passenger says to the person on the phone. “The guys and I would love to have a little fun with her first if that’s cool with the boss? Alright, I’ll let them know,” he says then lowers the phone from his ear.

Have a little fun with her…first?

“Go buck wild boys! As long as she stays in this vehicle, boss doesn’t care what you do with her tonight. He just doesn’t want us playing chase. She’s feisty so she probably would try to run.”

The boss doesn’t care what they do to me?

“Who the fuck is your boss?” I demand but my question is ignored.

“The night is looking up!” the duct taper next to me exclaims. He licks his lips, then reaches a dirty hand toward me, pinching my nipple through my shirt and bra until I scream and writhe.

“Hell, yeah,” the one holding me says while groping my other breast.

“When we’re done, he wants us to leave her body where it’ll be found right away,” the passenger announces.

My body. They’re going to pass me around, use me, then kill me. Kill me, but leave my body where it can be found. By Dante? They want him to know they killed me. This stupid fucking SUV is the last place I’ll spend on Earth.

“Make her scream again,” someone in the back says before my hair is jerked to the side, giving him what he wanted.

“Who do you assholes work for?” I shout.

“Who do you think? Kozlov,” the bastard still pinching and squeezing my boobs informs me.

Kozlov. The Russians. Shit.

“Dammit, Carl! Stop running your mouth,” a voice in the back says.

“What does it matter if she knows since she’ll be dead soon anyway?” someone replies.

Oh, god. I never should’ve left Dante. This…I won’t blame him for this. No, I blame myself for being scared of my feelings and running from the only man I’ve ever loved.

Kidnapping me, hurting me, then killing me is in retaliation to try and hurt Dante. How did they know we were together? I don’t have a chance to ask. Every thought in my head evaporates when the man holding me starts trying to tug my shorts and underwear down. Thankfully the denim is tight enough the zipper and button have to be undone first. It doesn’t take the sasquatch long to figure that out, unfortunately. “Stop! Stop it!” I scream while digging my fingernails into his hand and trying to bend his fingers backward. Nothing works to loosen his arm still banded around my waist or stop him from popping the button.

“Should we gag her?” someone in the back asks as my bottoms are yanked down my hips.

“Nah, nobody can hear her scream in here,” the man holding me says. “But somebody needs to hold her wrists down before she claws my dick!”

He’s not wrong, I do want to rip his fucking dick off. I’m still infuriated when my arms are twisted and bent backward, going behind the giant’s head where they’re held by strong hands harder than necessary to make me cry out again.

The pain in my shoulders is quickly forgotten when I hear the zipper of his fly screech down. That’s when I know time is running out. These nasty bastards will be the last ones to touch me.

The only alternative is…well, it’s almost as bad, but not quite.

Hopefully.

Either way, I have to try because I don’t want to die tonight.

“Stop!” I shriek so loudly my throat burns when my bottoms are ripped free of my ankles. That’s when I feel the man’s freed erection being wedged between my ass cheeks. I lift my hips to try and keep him away.

My entire soul aches as I grit my teeth and play the only card I have left. God help me.

“I’m Yuri Petrov’s daughter!” I repeat the same words in Russian, even if it’s a little rusty.

There’s a moment of absolute stillness in the SUV before the deep rumbling laughter starts up in surround sound from every direction. “Yeah, right. Good one. She’ll say anything to try and save her life,” the passenger remarks. The goon holding me goes still, though. He’s unsure. Thank fuck.

“My name…” My chest is so tight I can barely take a breath. “My name is Katia Petrov and I swear to you that Yuri Petrov is my father! His only daughter, his only…his only heir!”

All these years of hiding from that bastard, and now I’m screaming his name at the top of my lungs hoping it will save me.

“Petrov doesn’t have a daughter. Does he?” someone in the back asks.

“Nah, he ain’t got no kids,” the passenger says.

“I ran away when I was sixteen! I’m-I’m thirty-seven-years-old now,” I admit, giving them my real age and not the one on all my fake documents. “I’ve been using a comatose girl’s identity as Vanessa Brooks. Call him! Call Yuri now and ask him!”

There’s silence other than the sound of tires on the pavement, the noisy engine that’s slowed to a dull roar.

“Do you know what he’ll do to you when my dental records, my DNA, and bone marrow prove I am who I say I am? He’ll kill you all. Slowly. Painfully. Probably make you watch him kill every member of your family first.”

“Fuck,” the passenger says as he turns around in his seat to face me. Raising his phone, I hear a click as he takes a picture. “I’ll send a photo of her and a message to Kozlov, see if he buys her bullshit.”

“It’s true. Call Yuri, not Kozlov!”

“Yeah, like we’ve got the boss’s number on speed dial. We’re just Kozlov’s muscle. He’s the only one of us who can make that call.”

The grip on my wrists lessens at the same time the driver slows down the SUV even more. They’re both second-guessing shit too, just like I wanted. The duct taper doesn’t touch me again either, thankfully.

When the passenger’s phone rings, I hold my breath waiting for what the other person will say. My fate is in their hands.

“Yeah? Son of a bitch,” he grumbles as he turns around to glare at me. “He says it could be her.”

Oh, thank god.

The hands on my wrists fall away, eliminating the ache on my shoulders as I lower my arms back to my lap.

“Probably not but he’s looking into it. Boss says to err on the side of caution until you hear back…”

“Give me my shorts and panties back now!” I yell hopefully loud enough for the man on the other side of the phone call to hear.

Since they’re on the floorboard, the passenger is closer to them. He lowers the phone and is about to pick up my clothes when the driver says, “Uh-oh.”

“What?” he snaps at him, my bottoms forgotten.

“We’ve got a tail roaring up our ass!”

Everyone’s head swivels to look out the rear windshield, including my own. All I can make out on the dark highway are headlights. Lots of headlights. And they appear to be coming up on us fast.

Dante? No. There’s no way.

But the Russians all seem concerned as they all take out their guns and cock them. Even the one holding me grabs his from somewhere with his one free hand.

How could Dante know they grabbed me? That we’re on this particular part of the highway? It’s impossible.

Unless…unless he had his men watching me, watching the apartment. I bitched at him about not wanting to give me my gun back because it was all I had to protect myself when he didn’t have any intention of leaving me unprotected.

While the asshole holding me is busy looking out the back, I squirm my way to the floorboard figuring it’s the safest place to be if bullets start flying.

“Fuck! They’re already on us! We’re blocked in!”

When. When the bullets start flying, because there’s a rapid fire pow-pow-pow that makes the SUV swerve as if a tire or multiple tires were just hit.

I hear wind noise, all the windows being lowered. Then everyone in the back starts firing their guns.

Idiots. They’re telling him where to aim with heads out the windows while Dante’s SUVs are no-doubt bulletproof. I just keep my head down as chaos engulfs the SUV.

Not chaos.

Dante fucking Salvato.

“What’s the plan here?” the driver asks nervously, voice high while the passenger’s fingers fly over his phone. If I had to guess, it’s too late for him to call for backup. “They’re coming up on all sides of us, Jimbo!” the driver warns.

“Try to run the one on the right off the road!” the passenger instructs. “Take us into the desert if you have to.”

There’s no way they can outrun the SUVs surrounding them by going off-roading through the desert.

There’s a loud scrape of metal on metal then the SUV jerks hard like another one crashed into it before we skid to a stop.

“Shoot then run!” one of the men yells to the others.

All the doors are thrown open while I stay hunched on the floorboard, head down, restrained arms covering it, praying that Dante and his guys are better shots than the Russians.

If not…

No, I can’t even think that.

Dante is smart and ruthless. He’ll probably take all of these assholes out without getting a drop of blood on his suit.