A Beauty So Cursed by Beena Khan

Chapter 4

Three weeks later

“Hello, King.”

Enzo Vitalli’s head lifted as Miran entered the interrogation room.

Miran eyed the older Vitalli and stood across from him.

The former Don’s thick raven hair was styled neatly, and he wore the standard orange inmate uniform. With wrists cuffed to the table, and his feet cuffed to the chains in the ground, Vitalli finally looked the prisoner that he was. The man had been in jail for more than a month.

He had some graying hair in his beard, but he still sported a full head of black hair, his eyes on the other hand… looked soulless like they’d seen too much, and it sucked the light right out of them. Even now, he sat up straight without slacking in his chair. A flair of arrogance surrounded him, draped around his body like a crown.

Miran hated how much the former Don resembled Vlad.

“I’m Miran Demir.”

After a beat, Enzo’s grave, deep voice spoke.

“You’re the Chief of the DEA.”

His voice was harsh, strong, and commanding.

Enzo tilted his head and mockingly said, “I expected someone older.”

Miran took a seat across from him and rested a leg over his thigh. Not bothering to turn the video camera recording on, he stayed still. He didn’t take the bait and instead replied, “You became Don at twenty-four. Must have been unfortunate, becoming a leader the day, your father died.”

Enzo stayed silent as he observed him.

“Your crimes have caught up with you. Your trial is coming soon,” Miran continued, “You’ll probably die in prison. Alone.”

Enzo had no visitors at all, he wasn’t allowed any, and even if he was, his living family member, his son Vlad Vitalli wanted nothing to do with him.

The former Don didn’t react and only blinked.

“What evidence do you have against me?”

“Vladimir Vitalli has agreed to testify,” Miran replied with a smirk. “He mentioned you killed his mother.”

Vlad had agreed to no such thing nor mentioned anything.

Enzo’s gray eyes became dimmer by the second. No hope was left for him, and Miran didn’t feel an ounce of pity for the sick, twisted asshole.

He only spoke two words.

“Roza Ivanova.”

He carefully observed his face.

Enzo’s heated eyes flashed.

They were fighting fire with each other.

“Vitalli,” Enzo corrected. “She will always be Roza Vitalli.”

Miran noted that Enzo still spoke about her in the present tense. His voice had gotten so low, he had to strain his ears to listen.

The former Don shrugged. “Do you have a body?”

“We found one,” Miran lied.

Enzo arched an eyebrow, waiting for him to finish.

“You are going down for good. Galina Ivanova has come forward, and she will testify against you. She has stated that you kidnapped her and her two sisters. You sold her into human trafficking and killed Irina Ivanova,” he continued.

Now, that wasn’t a lie.

The former Don’s shoulders tensed and his jaw clenched. He glanced down at the table and asked, “Who else?”

“Alexei Nikolaev.”

“Who else?” Enzo asked dismissively.

Miran studied him.

Was he waiting for him to say his mother’s name?

When he didn’t reply, Enzo stared with fiery eyes.

“Those are the witnesses.”

He couldn’t get his mother to testify. She’d refused him before and shut down every time he mentioned it.

His baba Kaya also refused, claiming that, if he came forward, then Vitalli would know she was back in town.

Enzo’s shoulders relaxed.

Miran knew Enzo could have the witnesses killed by contacting his lawyer and ordering the hits, but Alexei was well-guarded, and his Khala Galina was in special witness protection already.

“Let’s start with one of your infamous crimes,” he began, looking Enzo dead in the eye. “Rumor has it that you killed Elena Ivanova years ago, the Pakhan Maxim’s wife.”

Enzo gave a sly smile. “Why won’t you ask your witnesses?”

Miran clenched his fist, ready to pound it through Enzo’s face, but he restrained himself… for now.

“Tell me why you killed Irina Ivanova, a sixteen-year-old child.”

“I didn’t kill her,” Enzo replied.

He was smooth. Really smooth. It wasn’t a lie. His baba had told him the former Don had placed the hit but didn’t murder her himself.

“How many innocent women have you sold through the flesh trade?”

Enzo’s eyes turned amused. “I don’t trade women.”

He exhaled slowly as he grazed a hand on his beard.

“How many women have you forced into prostitution in your brothels?”

“I don’t know any whores.”

Miran thought long and hard.

The kidnapping charges his Khala would claim were punishable up to twenty-five prison years, and the human trafficking charge of an additional five to eight years depending on the victim’s age in the state of New York, but it wasn’t enough. Thirty-something years was too little for Enzo Vitalli’s crimes.

His younger Khala, Irina, was dead, so her case might get dismissed.

He had to consider every possibility.

Enzo was currently in his late fifties. Once the life sentence was over, he would be in his late eighties. He would be old and close to death, but he could still be very much alive when he was free. Miran craved more years, he needed more evidence. An elderly Vitalli was still deadly because people still feared him to this day. All he had to do was snap his fingers and order a hit.

He would still be powerful with connections.

“Who are your accomplices in your drug trade?” Miran asked instead.

Enzo shrugged innocently. “I have a chain of restaurants.”

Miran lost the nice guy act now and leaned forward in his chair, resting his hands on the table.

“You like plucking out nails, don’t you?”

Enzo’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak.

“I prefer not to get my hands bloody,” Miran added smoothly. “You bleed people to death,” and smirking, he added, “I boil them. I heard you do something similar, don’t you? Pouring hot oil?”

The former Don’s jaw ticked. “That is illegal.”

Miran laughed darkly. It was strange hearing the word “illegal” coming from Enzo Vitalli.

“And who’s going to report me? You?” When no reply came, he added, “Who will believe your word over mine?” He took out his phone from his pocket, dialed the guard’s number, and ordered, “Bring it.”

Enzo’s steel eyes followed his every movement.

“People will hear what’s going on.”

Miran arched an eyebrow. “It will fall on silent ears. No one interferes when I’m in the interrogation room. Do you really think my officers will try to save you?”

“I have a lawyer.”

His eyes lit up. “I can easily tell him you have a contagious virus. He will run away on his own then.”

A few seconds later, the door opened, and he watched in amusement as the former Don’s eyes fell on the steaming, boiling bucket of water. It wasn’t cold this time. No warning. The guard placed the bucket next to Enzo’s seat before walking out and closing the door behind him.

Miran jerked to his feet, sending his chair flying behind him. It hit the wall with a satisfying bang as he came swiftly, closing in on Enzo while narrowing his eyes like a serpent ready to strike. His eyes peered into Enzo’s steel ones, holding steady eye contact while daring the man to silently look away.

“Confess or burn.”

Enzo’s soulless eyes pierced into his, but he kept his mouth shut.

“I know you give zero fucks about anyone but yourself. Why are you protecting them then?” Miran demanded.

After a moment, he realized the former Don was protecting himself only. If he gave him accomplice names, he basically admitted to the crimes.

“Maybe I should remind you of your crimes?” he suggested. Without waiting for a reply, he continued, “Did your first official crime begin the day your father died? Galina Ivanova said you murdered her mother Elena Ivanova in cold blood,” his lip curled up in a snarl, “The police only found bones left of her. What happened next? The kidnapping of the three sisters. Roza, Galina, and Irina Ivanova. Human trafficking of Galina Ivanova,” he paused and added, “Dahlia Hadid.”

Enzo’s eyes flared.

“The murder of Irina Ivanova. Human trafficking of women and children. Forced prostitution. Drug laundering. The list is endless,” he said stonily. “You have no family and no friends left. Even if the court acquits you, who will accept you? Your own son has rejected you.”

Enzo seemed unfazed and chuckled under his breath. “My wife once said, who will accept you in your darkest hour but me?”

Miran paused, startled at the mention before he collected his composure. “She was right, and then you killed her.”

He wanted to see if Enzo would reveal that she was alive, but the former Don didn’t budge. Even now, he probably felt the need to separate her from Vlad by staying silent. Miran’s upper lip curled up in disgust, the outer corners heading south.

Selfish fucker.

“This is called karma,” he leaned down and whispered in his ear.

You burned my grandmother, now your flesh will burn.

“It would be so much easier to drench you in oil and set you on fire,” Miran smiled darkly, “The force would thank me for getting rid of a sinner like you.”

Then, he lifted the bucket of hot boiling water and poured it over Enzo’s body.

Miran would give the notorious gangster credit for not screaming until three buckets later.

❖

Enzo Vitalli had revealed nothing.

He was tough to crack, but he would break eventually.

Miran shuffled through the paperwork in his office.

His eyes fell on the file in his hand that included the biographies of each possible member in the Bratva. His eyes fell on Alexander’s and Alexei’s photographs before flipping to the culprit he needed to see. His eyebrows raised, reading the information, and he frowned.

His cell phone rang, a secure line where he communicated with his family, that no one could listen in to. He had three cell phones—if anyone could believe that—one for official work, one for his family, and the third he had kept for Dahlia.

He glanced down at the table.

Zander.

Picking it up on the second ring, he answered, “Hello, cousin.”

“Miran,” Alexander replied smoothly. “How are you?”

“Tortured a fucker.”

Well, that fucker was also his stepfather, but he didn’t mention that.

“What do you want?” Miran asked.

He tilted his head and captured his phone between his ear and shoulder so he could use both hands to organize the file in front of him.

A name jumped out to him.

Adrian Sokolov.

Yes, that was what he was looking for.

Remembering his cousin was on the line, he declared, “If one of your men is in prison, I’m not bailing him out so don’t bother asking.”

Alexander chuckled on the other end.

“Like you have ever done that for me, hmmm?”

Miran smiled before asking, “What is it?”

“I thought it would interest you about an update of LadaSokolova.”

Miran sighed and dropped the file in front of him.

“Not you too.”

“I called to inform you that Lada’s marriage has been finalized. It’s in two days.”

He paused. What the fuck?

This came out of nowhere.

“With whom?” he asked, anger churning inside of him.

He had denied the alliance, but he hadn’t expected her to be engaged so soon. Raking a hand through his hair, he gripped the phone with his free hand.

A flash of a young, freckle-faced girl with green eyes flashed in front of him.

Alexander stayed silent on the other end.

“Tell me who, otherwise, I will come over, arrest you for a day, and make you tell me,” he threatened.

Alexander whistled low. “I know that you’re a psychopath like the rest of us,” Miran scoffed but his cousin continued, “but I would like to see you try anyway.”

He impatiently drummed his fingers on his desk, waiting for the revelation.

At last, Alexander answered, “Sasha Petrov.”

He almost wanted to ask his cousin to repeat the name. Had he declined based on the age difference, just for her to be married to a man even older than him? His lip curled up in a snarl, and he wanted to bash Adrian’s face in. He swallowed the anger that was growing in the pit of his stomach like a seed.

“He’s more than twice her age.”

“True,” Alexander confirmed. “Must be a daddy kink thing.”

Miran rolled his eyes. “You cannot allow that.”

“It’s his family matter.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “Tell me again, why you refused to marry her?”

“I watched her grow up. She’s like family.”

“But you’re not related?” Miran pointed out.

“Yes, and neither are you and Dahlia, but look at your bond.”

After that, he remained mute. His cousin had sucked the voice right out of him. He sighed in frustration as the fire in his heart returned and burned hot like any dragon has flamed.

It just might burn everyone.

“She agreed to marry him?”

“I am not aware. I do know that I am invited,” Alexander replied.

“The wedding can’t happen,” he protested. “That man is vile.”

“You cannot interfere, Miran. It’s not your territory. You had your chance.”

He frowned. “I won’t allow it.”

Alexander sighed at the other end of the line.

“What are you going to do? Crash the wedding?”

After a few minutes of conversation, Alexander hung up the call, and Miran slumped down in his chair as he thought long and hard. His cousin was right that he couldn’t interfere even if he wanted to… and yes, he did, more than ever now.

He might just bring an inferno.

A sigh left his lips, his mind drifting to Lada Sokolova and her pain-filled eyes.

She looked… lonely.

He rested his arm on the armrest as his fingers tapped against his forehead in slow motions. He wanted to call Dahlia and hear what she thought, but the couple had left the state and were in Brazil. He’d tracked them because he would always monitor her safety, and Vlad too, but only to see he wouldn’t return to his old, criminal ways. Miran shook his head and leaned forward, dropping his fingers from his face, and rapping his knuckles on his desk.

He had two days.

Two days to think of something to stop the wedding.

❖

Two days later

“Do you all remember the plan?” Miran asked his DEA squad.

Three DEA federal officers in bulletproof uniforms stood in front of him. The ones who were loyal to him and would do anything that he asked.

“Sir, yes, Sir,” the officers replied simultaneously.

He knew that this wasn’t part of their job description. Drug trades and fieldwork were their focus and not crashing mob weddings. He wasn’t planning on bringing an army. He could do this alone. Perhaps, Alexander and Alexei might not shoot him, but he wasn’t too sure anymore. So, he needed to bring other officers with him, not for backup, but to be witnesses.

The mob wasn’t too keen on killing federal officers.

If he died today, they would live to give a statement then.

Nodding at them, he turned around before heading to his car. His squad followed behind in a separate car. Fixing his gun on his waist, he clipped it to his belt. He was in his all-black gear, but he didn’t wear his bulletproof jacket. He didn’t want Alexei and Alexander to think he had prepared to kill them. It might cost him his life, but he had to take a chance.

Miran turned on the siren as he pushed past thirty on the highway of New York toward Old Westbury. Without the siren, he could barely push twenty, but all the cars ahead of him stepped aside to give him room so he could pass. His cousin had said the ceremony would begin at Saint James Church before they headed to the venue for the reception. The ride was silent and quiet as he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel.

Thirty minutes later, he had reached his destination.

Outside, Bratva soldiers in black guarded the entrance of the white Church. When Miran parked and stepped out of the car, a few heads turned in his direction.

One of the soldiers approached him and asked, “This is a private wedding. Is there a problem?”

Miran only side-stepped him.

“Chief, where is your arrest warrant?” the Vor called out.

Well, he didn’t have one, but he wouldn’t tell him.

No one made a move to stop him, and all of them hesitated.

He pushed open the Church’s mahogany door, and he entered with his officers. The ceremony had already begun, and he hoped he wasn’t late. His eyes fell on the bride standing over fifty feet ahead of him.

Lada Sokolova.

She was a vision in that wedding dress as if it was attire made for royalty. Her beauty knocked the breath right out of him. The white dress material was so rich it was like silk, hugging her waist and ass like a second skin. His eyes traveled to her hair that was pinned up in an elegant bun, but wisps of her reddish-brown locks had slipped past and fell in front of her face. The sharp contrast against the dress stunned him.

It tempted him to take the dress off and see what lay underneath it.

A gnawing hunger built up inside of his black and twisted soul, a need to devour her light to his darkness. It was an indescribable feeling. A primal need surged deep within him. He didn’t like the way his chest tightened just by looking at her.

Once again, her gaze was cast on the floor.

Why doesn’t she meet anyone’s eyes?

His eyes narrowed, and his mouth set in a sneer when Sasha Petrov reached for Lada’s hand, and she instantly recoiled.

The pastor asked the audience, “Is there anyone here today that objects to this man and woman marrying today?”

Miran smirked and walked down the aisle toward the altar.

“I do.”

Over two hundred heads turned in his direction. He couldn’t see Alexander and Alexei, yet, and he doubted his parents were here. They didn’t go into hiding for thirty-three years just to announce their return at a grand wedding.

He met Sasha Petrov’s muddy eyes first.

The rotten, enormous scoundrel wore a white tux, towering over Little Lada. Tight, broad shoulders and the hatred burned in Sasha’s eyes. His black curly hair was styled and pushed back behind his ears.

Miran’s eyes dropped to the hands that held Lada’s.

Narrowing his gaze, he didn’t like the tight grip Sasha had on her. His fists clenched and unclenched by his side, screaming bloody murder. His eyes returned to an open-mouthed Lada. He met her wide, innocent, emerald eyes but her gaze was… off. Those bright eyes were like a dewy fresh arrival of spring, but they were looking behind him instead.

“What are you doing here?” a deep, raspy voice called out from his right.

He glanced in the direction, breaking out of the trance, and met Adrian Sokolov’s piercing eyes.

“I suspect that the bride here today is being forced to marry off her will,” Miran replied as he drew even closer to them.

Adrian snarled before he spat out, “W-what?”

Miran didn’t bother to repeat himself.

Adrian crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re a DEA Chief, and there aren’t any drugs here. This is a private, family matter. I suggest you leave.”

“I’m taking the bride,” Miran only replied.

“You really think you’re going to steal my fucking wife-to-be out of here?”

Miran glanced at Sasha Petrov’s edgy voice.

A few gasps filled the air.

Sasha had dropped the f-bomb in a church. And Miran tried not to roll his eyes. Everyone in this church was a fucking criminal. Except for Lada. Never her. He did a quick sweep of Sasha, sizing him up. The man was similar in his tall height and stocky frame. The gangster looked like a red bull, and Miran hid a smile. Sasha’s nostrils flared, and his pale skin flushed red before he gritted through his clenched teeth.

Miran arched an eyebrow. “Watch me.”

“She doesn’t want to go with you. This is kidnapping,” Sasha declared.

Miran shrugged.

“I don’t care what you call it. I’m taking her.”

A surge of possessiveness filled his soul as he glanced at Lada. She fiddled with her hands, and she didn’t even look at them.

He returned his attention to Sasha and looked him dead in the eye again. He lifted his pistol in the air in warning, but he didn’t point it at Sasha… yet.

“This is a Church, and I would rather not shoot anyone. Don’t test my control,” he warned.

Sasha grunted before exclaiming, “She’s my wife-to-be! You can’t come out of nowhere and barge into my wedding.”

He didn’t say our wedding.

Miran was sure it was one-sided now.

“I’ll only give you a warning. If you try to stop me, I won’t hesitate to put you down,” Miran threatened.

Sasha’s face flushed red, and sweat dripped from his forehead, trailing his cheeks, even though the church was air-conditioned. His blue vein in the middle of his forehead threatened to bulge out.

“You can’t interfere in our holy union!”

Miran scoffed, “Holy? Your hands are soaked in blood. Did you forget about the mass murders you have dirtied your hands in?”

Unfortunately, the courts always acquitted Sasha on lack of evidence.

He glanced back at the DEA that stood behind him and ordered with a finger to intervene. The three officers stepped in between them, in front of Sasha and Adrian, blocking them from him and Lada. Adrian’s two sons Sergei and Vova Sokolov were amongst the gathering crowd.

Ignoring the protests coming from them, his gaze landed on a small five-foot-something person. His sole focus was on the tiny, quivering redhead who hadn’t budged from her spot.

His eyes traced the little brown freckles dotting her skin before his gaze landed on the right side of her face. The imperfect pale side was perfectly covered with layers of makeup. Whoever did her makeup had let her freckles shine through but covered up her scars. His lips stretched in a tight-lipped, disapproving gaze that they ordered her to hide who she was. He wanted to shake her shoulders and demand on whose orders she was asked to wear that mask. He opened his mouth to speak, but paused, noticing her trembling shoulders.

Then, he spoke the one question he wanted to ask all along.

“Do you want this marriage?”

He hoped she didn’t, or this would all be for nothing.

He would have a hard time saving face and escaping from this situation peacefully.

She didn’t respond even though her breathing was heavier, and her eyes were frantic and wild as she looked in front of her.

He sighed. He hated repeating himself.

“Answer me.”

Was she in shock?

Reaching out with strong fingers, he cupped her jaw and turned her head in his direction, forcing her gaze to meet his. Those eyes… He hadn’t forgotten them. Wild green with golden flecks that were now smudged with kohl. Were those tears in her eyes? Maybe she was afraid. They doubled in surprise as realization seemed to hit her, that someone was speaking to her.

“Tell me.”

Her body trembled at the heavy weight of his voice and the harsh command. If he was a better man, he would have used a more soothing voice. If it was a situation like Dahlia’s, he would’ve, but it wasn’t, and it never could compare.

He had little time left, and he needed to get her out already.

He needed an answer, and he needed it now.

Her lush mouth opened.

“Are you talking to me, Sir?”

That word vibrated through him, making him stiff in his pants, and leaving destruction in its path. Her voice was so soft, feminine, and…. sultry.

It was the first time he’d heard her speak, and the little kiska called him Sir.