The Killer’s Vow by Aria R. Blue
Vera
Ipad to the kitchen to find my sister humming to herself and swaying her hips.
“Vera,” she squeals. “You’re finally up.”
I wince at her enthusiasm. “What are you so chirpy about?”
“The party’s tonight,” she says, grinning. “How come you’re always in a bad mood on the only days we get to leave the house?”
“For you, it’s a party. For me, it’s a fresh cycle of hell. Or did you forget about the seven men I almost married?”
“Eight,” she corrects.
“Thank you, that’s just what I needed,” I say, opening the chafing dish to find that breakfast is still hot.
She slides me a cup of tea.
“I don’t think Papa is going to find another one so soon.”
“Why not?” I say, the knots in my stomach easing as I start to eat. “He did it the last time.”
“He usually waits at least a few weeks before finding someone else,” Inessa says.
“I don’t know why, but I keep getting the feeling that Papa’s in a hurry. Remember how he used to at least wait for the season to change before finding another man for me? That’s not happening anymore.”
Inessa thinks about it, curling a strand of black hair around her finger. When she lets go of it, the lock of hair falls straight and sleek down her shoulder.
“Yeah, you’re right,” she says.
I take a sip of my tea. “Who is it?”
A flash of alarm crosses her face.
She turns back toward the counter, busying herself with filling the salt and pepper shakers.
“Who’s what?” she asks, even though she knows exactly what I’m talking about.
“The boy,” I smile, enjoying making my sister squirm.
She shakes her head. “It’s nothing.”
“But it’s something?” I ask.
My sister turns around slowly, pink-cheeked and flustered. “It’s just a crush.”
“You’re being careful, aren’t you?”
“What? No. No, no, no. It’s not even like that.”
“Who is it, though?”
She bites her lower lip. “Promise not to get mad?”
“I would never,” I lie. As long as she doesn’t blurt out some Italian dude’s name, it’ll all be okay.
“Luigi Monte,” she whispers.
Of course it’s a fucking Luigi.
“Inessa. You know better than that,” I say, pushing my plate away.
“I knew you wouldn’t be open-minded about it,” she mutters.
“Look around you,” I say, gesturing at the opulence around us. It’s nothing but a gilded cage.
Yes, we’re fed and sheltered and protected. But we pay a hefty price—our freedom.
“Does this look like a place where girls get to be open-minded?” I say. “You know I’ll try to protect you no matter what, but you see what’s happening to me, don’t you?”
“There’s nothing wrong with having dreams,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.
Her eyes glass over with embarrassment.
I wish I could be supportive of her dreams.
But there’s no escape for the Pakhan’s daughters. Thinking that we can ever escape this life will only lead to crushing disappointment.
Even though I want to inject some reality into my sister, I can’t be the one to snuff the light out of her eyes.
She has an optimistic spirit.
And I want to preserve that about her.
“What are you wearing tonight?” I ask.
She brightens up immediately, taking my hand and dragging me to her room.
We spend the rest of the afternoon deciding what dress she’ll wear for the party tonight.
Every time she looks at herself in the mirror, I know she’s wondering what that Luigi guy will think of it.
“You said he was a Monte, right?” I ask after a late lunch. “I’ve never heard of a Luigi.”
The Montes are the Italians who rule a major part of Chicago. I’m usually familiar with their names and identities, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard a Luigi mentioned.
“He’s a cousin of theirs,” she says. “Visiting from Italy.”
“In the middle of January?”
She sighs dreamily. “You haven’t seen how cute he is, Vera. I could just eat him up.”
Before I say something negative like ‘be careful’ or ‘it’ll never work,’ I distract myself with the rest of the dresses.
“What do you think I should wear?” I ask.
My sister squeals. “I thought you’d never ask.”
She picks out five dresses for me and makes me try them all on.
Unlike the rest of my family, she never tells me to do something to my hair or wear something more flattering. She knows that making myself look attractive only draws more ruthless Russian men my way.
I’ve had a whole lifetime to prepare for it, but I’m not ready to spend the rest of my life in a loveless marriage.
At this point, I don’t even care about love.
I’ll just settle for some mutual respect.
But even that is too much to ask.
“This is the one,” she squeals, when I walk out wearing a floor-length silver gown.
I catch my reflection in the mirror.
She’s right.
It’s the one.
“Inessa?”
“Yeah?”
“Isn’t it a masquerade party tonight?” I ask.
“Yes?” she says excitedly.
“If my identity is hidden, that means that I can dress however I please.”
Inessa falls back on the bed with her arms outstretched. “This is the best day of my life.”
“I think I’ll even deep condition my hair,” I say.
“Okay, what’s going on?” she asks. Her eyes glow with excitement, but she knows that something is wrong.
“I’m upset, Inessa. They think that I have an accomplice,” I say, stepping out of the gown and into my cozy striped pajamas.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” she asks from the bed, propping her chin on her hands and crossing her ankles in the air.
“No,” I say flatly. “Papa knows of my involvement, but he thinks that I hired someone else to do it.”
“Do you actually want them to realize that it was you all this time?”
“No, but I would like them to at least consider that possibility, you feel me?”
“No,” she says, frowning at me. “You should consider yourself lucky that nobody suspects you.”
“It’s just…I’m so tired of being underestimated all the damn time, Inessa.”
She looks at me as if I’m speaking in a foreign language she can’t decipher.
And then she shakes her head. “By the way, was it really not you who killed that dude last week?”
“For the hundredth time, no,” I say. “How would that even work? I was at the altar with him.”
“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “Maybe it was something in your perfume?”
“If I sprayed poisonous fumes on myself, I’d be the one to die first.”
“Right,” she says. “Who do you think it was then?”
I take a deep breath. “I don’t know. But I’m glad the wedding didn’t happen.”
My sister knows about the poisonous plants I grow.
Papa’s men tried to search the greenhouse for clues, not realizing that the murder weapons were hidden in plain sight.
The plants are my weapons.
I make concentrated extracts of certain poisons to kill the men who touch me without asking.
The extracts are stirred into the teas and cakes I serve them as they grope my ass.
Once the poison enters the body, the tables turn.
The men gradually lose motor control of their bodies or have trouble breathing. One time, I even found a way to drive a man to insanity.
I use a different poison every time to avoid suspicion.
The modes in which they die are different every time, so nobody will connect the dots later.
The only constant is that all of them have asked for my hand in marriage.
And also, they’re not good people. Not a single one of them.
This is the curse my mother speaks of.
My curse.
* * *
As the sunsinks into the horizon, I dry my conditioned hair with a diffuser.
Only when I skip all of these steps am I left with a frizzy mess.
But I feel like showing off tonight.
Maybe it’s because I know I won’t be attracting any unwanted attention with the mask on.
Defined brown curls cascade down my back by the time I finish.
I slip into the silver dress and spray some perfume over my chest before leaving my bedroom.
Inessa’s jaw drops as I walk down the stairs. “You look even better than you did at the wedding.”
“And you look like a butterfly,” I say, smiling at her vivid outfit.
Like her, it has a vibrant personality.
She’s wearing a sequinned cerulean blue gown that’s indigo at the bottom and nearly white at the bust.
She reaches for my silver mask.
I let her secure it in place for me. It covers the entire top half of my face, hiding my identity.
As we walk to the cars waiting for us, there’s an excitement at the base of my stomach, simmering and growing as the evening turns into night.
It’s a feeling that something big is about to happen.
Or maybe it’s simply because I feel beautiful tonight.
I’m showing the world the exact version of myself I want them to see.
Nothing is dimmed down.
And I don’t feel trapped.
My sister and I take a seat in the back of a Town Car. Papa has a meeting going on right now, so he’ll join the party later in the night along with Mama.
“People will recognize us if we spend the entire night next to each other,” I say.
“You’re forgetting, Verochka. I have a life,” she teases.
“I’m going to be watching you the entire time, though,” I say, thinking about her Italian crush.
My sister rolls her eyes and then grows quiet as we exit the house gates.
I watch her as she absorbs the city—the shimmering lights, the vibrant street art, and the energetic people.
Inessa has always been an observant person.
Even as a child, she used to catch things that other people often missed.
She was the first to figure out that I was involved in the deaths of my suitors.
She was ten years old back then, and I was fifteen. That was back when it all started.
Now, she spends her days watching documentaries and reading historical fiction. And every time we’re allowed out of the walls of our compound, her big eyes absorb every sight with rapt attention.
Sometimes, I think she enjoys the car rides to these parties more than the actual parties.
I press my temple against the window and close my eyes.
Unlike my sister, I’ve seen enough of the world.
I’ve had my fill, and I don’t want to know what else is waiting for me out there.
“Have you seen Ivan today?” Inessa asks suddenly.
I don’t open my eyes as I answer, “No. But he might come to the party tonight. Just to spite Papa.”
Our older brother has been missing all week.
He doesn’t live inside the Bratva compound with us. Because he’s a man, he can lead any kind of life he wants to.
He has that freedom.
But as is often the case with most people with access to too much money and power, he chooses to corrupt himself.
Pills and powders and whatever else money can buy.
“I really hope he doesn’t bring that girlfriend of his just to piss Papa off,” Inessa says, chewing her thumb.
“At least they’ll be wearing disguises,” I say, leaning my head back on the window.
“Yeah, but still.” My sister’s thumb-chewing intensifies.
She chews on her fingers whenever she’s nervous about something—a bad habit she’s had since childhood.
“Your lipstick,” I remind her.
She pulls her hand away from her mouth and retrieves a tube of nude lipstick from her thin clutch.
“Let me,” I say, taking it from her and filling in the smudged area with a swipe.
“Don’t you ever dream of more, Vera?” she sighs, eyes darting up to the partition between the driver and us.
It’s still rolled up to give us some privacy.
A string of cars follows us. The guards from the convoy will join us once we reach the location.
I exhale. “Dreams. Girls like us can’t afford to have those.”
“Never mind,” she says, fussing with her gown.
I watch the way the sequins reflect the city lights, making her look like an incandescent water fairy.
“What do you dream of?” I ask, trying to be more optimistic for her sake.
She shakes her head, still dejected by my blunt reply.
“Tell me,” I ask gently, placing my hand over hers. “I want to at least hear about it.”
Her head is bowed, and her black hair curtains her face. She does this when she’s fighting off tears but doesn’t want to draw attention to herself.
I squeeze her hand encouragingly.
She sniffles. “I saw this documentary last night. It was about a tribal group that inhabit one of the smaller Indonesian islands.”
“Is that your dream?” I interject, grinning at the thought of my Prada and Gucci-loving sister surviving in the wild. “To live in a tree?”
“Will you let me finish for once?”
“Sorry,” I say, putting a lid on my amusement. “Go on.”
“So this tribe, they had people of all ages—men, women, children. What struck me the most was how everyone had a purpose. The kids were responsible for fetching the water and cleaning the vegetables. The men and women had their own responsibilities. They were all a part of something bigger than themselves, you know? And I’m terrified that I’ll never get to experience what that feels like.”
My humor dies. “Inessa, we were born into this. It’s going to be a part of us until the day we die. There’s not much we can do about it.”
“Isn’t there, though?” she counters. “I mean, look at Ivy Blackwood. Remember the way people laughed when she announced she was going to be a crime boss? She did it anyway, and look where she is now.”
“That’s different,” I say, my skin bristling at the mention of Ivy Blackwood. “She’s American. Anything is possible for an American.”
“But she’s still a woman,” Inessa says. “And she did exactly what she wanted to do with her life.”
I can’t let Inessa compare herself with Ivy.
Our lives are vastly different, and I hope my sister understands that.
“Her environment nurtured her. Her father, her brother, her friends, and even her boyfriend believed in her back then. Who do we have, Inessa?”
“Each other,” she says, something defiant flickering in her eyes. “Isn’t that enough?”
I stare back at her, wondering how I can tell her the truth without breaking her big heart.
Thankfully, I don’t have to say anything because our car rolls to a stop.
“Ready for the party?” I ask, forcing myself to smile at her. It starts off fake but turns genuine because I’m actually excited about this one.
“Always,” she squeals, her grin matching mine.
Our masked guards escort us inside.
The atmosphere feels like ocean mist, pleasant but entirely unexpected.
Our coats are gently taken off our shoulders.
A server appears to my right with a tray of finger food. Another appears next to Inessa with square envelopes laid out on a tray. Drugs flow freely at these parties, but they’re presented discreetly.
We accept the food and decline the latter.
As we step into the crowd, I scan the hall for familiar faces.
But like me, everybody here is hidden behind a mask.
Some of them are wearing thin strips of diamonds around their eyes. Others have dark masks that cover all of their features except for their eyes and lips.
Touching the back of my neck, I make sure that mine is in place.
“I bet it won’t be so easy to find your Luigi tonight,” I tease.
“That’s no problem,” Inessa says, stepping away from me. “He’s usually the one who finds me.”
I watch her disappear into the crowd.
This bi-annual party is held for all of the crime families of North America.
They say that it’s to fortify existing relationships and to make new ‘business deals,’ but the crowd isn’t exactly the type to mingle.
Each family hangs out with their own people for the most part and only ventures out for food and drink.
Nevertheless, each party is done better than the last one.
I weave through the crowd, exploring what the party has to offer.
In the center of the hall is a dance floor where a single couple sways slowly, completely ignoring the fast tempo of the Latin music.
I would recognize the two of them anywhere, with or without a mask.
The girl has Rapunzel-like blond hair that comes all the way down to her calves. It’s pinned up in an elaborate updo now, showing off her backless dress. Her husband’s hand is splayed protectively over her back, covering most of the exposed skin.
It’s Ivy Blackwood, the female crime boss my sister won’t stop gushing over.
As if she can sense someone watching her, she turns around.
I leave before she can spot me, venturing to the other rooms of the party.
Opening one of the doors, I find a quiet classy room with men sitting around green poker tables. All of them collectively raise their heads to glare at me. I smile guiltily and scurry away like I’m all of five years old.
Another door leads to topless girls grinding on stripper poles. This one’s not for me either.
The third door I try leads to an indoor pool where the younger audience is hanging out. Bongs, pink flamingo pool floats, and bricks of cocaine make up the scene.
The next two doors reveal a rock band and a chess room.
As I usually do at these parties, I flit from one room to another. They have different forms of entertainment set up every time. I like to look at everything before getting something to eat.
The last room I enter is a planetarium, where I find a bunch of people tripping on magic mushrooms.
It’s only when I close that last door that I become aware of a presence behind me.
A man.
He’s dressed in all white, but there’s nothing saintly about him.
Now that I think about it, I’ve seen glimpses of him wherever I went tonight.
I go back to the swimming pool and watch discreetly to see if he’ll follow.
He does.
Well, fuck.
I don’t have anybody nearby to flee to.
Plus, if I’ve learned anything about dealing with creepy men so far, it’s to snatch my power back.
The earlier it’s done, the better.
I turn around and walk straight toward him.
My feet falter when I see how stupidly beautiful his face is. Light hair, dark eyes, Adonis-like features.
My mouth dries as my heart starts to drum.
“Can I help you?” I ask, steeling myself.
He raises an amused eyebrow and crosses his arms.
That’s when I see the tattoos.
A bead of cold sweat rolls down the center of my back when I see the manacles tattooed on his forearm, accompanied by an elaborate cathedral.
The cathedrals, also called Kremlins, are perhaps the most notorious tattoos in prisons…of Russia. Each dome of the cathedral represents a year incarcerated. The more domes present on the cathedral tattoo, the longer the person’s sentence.
And this man has eight.
“You wound me,” he says, a thick Russian accent tinging his words. “Don’t you remember me, pretty bird?”
Pretty bird.
Pretty bird.
My eyes snap up to him, searching his face.
“Ah. She remembers.”
“Impossible,” I say, covering my mouth with my hand. “But you were…”
“Framed by your father for a crime I didn’t commit and sent to a Russian prison eight years ago? Yes. But I’m back now. For you.”
I blink.
Mikhail.
This isn’t a stranger.
He used to live in the same house as us.
As one of my father’s most trusted guards, he was someone I saw every single day…until he was sent away.
“I don’t believe you. Papa would never…” I trail off.
My relationship with my father wasn’t always this rocky.
There was a time when he was my fairy-tale prince. My rock.
But that was in Russia.
And now…I don’t know if there’s really much left that Papa isn’t capable of.
Mikhail stretches his neck. “Don’t believe me then. Ask your papa yourself, pretty bird.”
Loyalty is everything in the Bratva.
The members of the brotherhood stick together no matter what. And as one of Papa’s senior guards, he was respected and honored. As every member in the Vory world is.
“Even if what you claim is true, I’m sure he had a good reason,” I say.
I’ve always had a loose tongue.
Even when I try to be good, it lashes out and causes trouble.
Mikhail’s entire demeanor shifts on hearing my words.
“You’re lucky you’re such a pretty bird, Vera. If you weren’t such a beauty, I would’ve had to clip your wings.”
And like my mouth, my body is temperamental too.
I raise my hand and slap him right across his tattooed face.
“Nobody talks to me that way,” I hiss. “Or do you need reminding of whose daughter I am?”
“What’s your old man going to do?” he growls, squeezing his eyes shut and flexing his jaw. “Have me convicted for a crime I didn’t commit? Oh wait, he already did that. Maybe I should hurt something precious to him to retaliate.”
“Mind your tongue, Mikhail.”
“You’ve changed,” he says, his eyes roving down my body and lingering on my breasts. “In more ways than one. You used to be so submissive back when I knew you. I think I preferred the meek you.”
I went too far.
I shouldn’t have slapped him.
I look around us to see if anyone can help me out.
But the luminous blue pool is the only source of light here.
Everyone present is either high or caught up in their own revelry.
A couple behind me is having sex on the floor. Something about that adds more tension between Mikhail and me.
It’s the possibility that anything can happen at these parties.
Absolutely anything… and people won’t find out about it until tomorrow.
When I look back at Mikhail, I see something I missed before.
A tattoo on his neck.
It’s of a spider crawling up his right shoulder.
If I remember correctly, it symbolizes that the person bearing the tattoo is a thief.
As in the Code of Thieves.
Like with most organizations, there are divisions within the Bratva.
Two of them, to be exact.
The Originals are the division that follow the older version of the Code. They renounce their mothers, brothers, and sisters and keep no wife or children of their own. And their practices are barbaric as well, involving the worst forms of crime.
The New Thieves, the division my family belongs to, is a modified version of the former. Family is valued as much as the brotherhood. And we follow a moral code that goes beyond personal gain.
Mikhail must have joined the other side when he was in Russia.
“What do you want, Mikhail?” I ask defeatedly.
“I thought I made it clear,” he says, his gaze dropping down to the curve of my hips.
I close my eyes in humiliation.
It takes me back to when I was fifteen and forcing myself to get through interactions with the first man I almost married.
That was before I gathered the courage to murder him.
When I open my eyes, I’m alone.
With my heart in my throat, I scan the crowd for him, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
Someone taps me on my shoulder.
I spin around, almost losing my balance.
It’s Ivy Blackwood and her husband, Damian Innocenti—the sole couple I saw on the dance floor.
Damian holds my forearm to steady me.
“You look spooked,” Ivy says. Her eyebrows pull together with concern.
I swallow. “Did you see the man who was talking to me?”
“What man?” Damian asks, instantly alarmed.
Ever since Damian met me, he took on a protective role in my life. After all these years, he’s like a second brother to me.
It was with his help that I killed my first almost-husband.
I guess that sort of stuff forges a bond between two people.
“The one with the tattoos?” I ask.
Neither of them says a word.
“He was wearing all white?” I say, glancing between the two of them.
They came literally two seconds after Mikhail left.
How could they have missed him?
After a pause, Damian speaks up. “Did he hurt you, Vera?”
He only threatened to clip my wings. “No, he was just being annoying.”
Because suddenly, I want to forget all about the gloominess that accompanies the Vory world.
I’m at a fucking party, and I want to have some fun.
Adrenaline pumps fire into my legs.
I don’t think. I move.
“I need a drink,” I shout over my shoulder while running to the other end of the pool.
I don’t stop until I reach a table with shot glasses lined up on it.
They contain some pink liquid.
Next to me, a girl with enormous pupils is cutting lines of cocaine with her Amex Gold. Holding eye contact with me, she rolls up a hundred.
She offers it to me, but I shake my head and reach for the pink drink instead.
“Don’t just drink whatever you find,“ Ivy shouts, hurrying after me.
But by the time they reach me, I’ve already drunk four of the suckers.
It tastes like liquid bubblegum.
“Vera, do you even know what you just drank?” Ivy pants.
“It’s yummy,” I say, grabbing two more and handing one to her. “You want?”
“Enough,” Damian says, plucking both shot glasses from my hands and placing them back down on the table. And then he turns to me with steely eyes. “Who was that man, and what did he say to you, Vera?”
The alcohol is already doing its thing. “I don’t want to talk about it. I want to dance.”
Ivy grins. “Oh boy, I wish Inessa was around to see this.”
“It’s been the worst week.” I sigh, suddenly thirsty. “Can you get me some water?”
Ivy pulls out a small water bottle from her purse and hands it to me.
I take a small sip of the spring water and then a larger one.
“It’s okay. You can finish all of it,” Ivy says. “I just keep it around in case of an emergency.”
I gulp it all down and crush the empty bottle.
“It sucks that we don’t have a replacement for plastic yet,” I say, frowning at the crushed plastic.
Damian and Ivy exchange glances.
“Have you had anything to eat?” Ivy asks.
I nod. “I had some snacks.”
Ivy flags down a server walking by with snacks. She hands me a steaming plate.
“I’m sorry about what happened on your wedding day,” Ivy says as I take a bite of the baked potato.
“It’s okay. I got over it.”
“Have they found anything on the sniper?” Damian asks, his jaw clenched.
These two knew it was an arranged marriage, but they didn’t know it was against my will.
“Nothing on the sniper,” I say. “But Ivan is missing.”
“Missing?” Ivy asks. “Where could he go?”
“He likes to disappear every time he has a fight with Papa.”
“Is everything okay at home?” Damian asks in a hushed tone.
“My family’s gotten used to it by this point,” I joke.
Apart from Inessa, Ivy and Damian are the only two people who know about my poisons.
“By the way, do you know any of Nico Monte’s cousins?” I ask.
“Sure,” Ivy says. “Which one?”
“His name is Luigi.”
“I don’t think I’ve met him before,” Ivy says, “But Nico has a huge family.”
“Well, my sister has a thing for Luigi Monte, and I don’t like it one bit.”
Ivy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Is that what this is all about?”
I look away. “All I know about him is that Luigi is from Nico’s mother’s side.”
“Oh,” Ivy says, grimacing.
“That’s not good,” Damian agrees.
“Why, what’s wrong with Nico’s mother?”
Ivy and Damian look at each other, and I get the feeling that they’re reliving something from the past.
“That’s a story for another day. All you need to know is that they’re the crazy side.”
I wipe my lips with a square napkin. “The crazy side?”
Ivy lowers her voice. “Most of them are in prison.”
I blink at her and then burst out laughing when I see that she’s actually serious.
“Nearly everyone I know has been to prison at some point in their lives,” I say. If anything, finishing a prison sentence is a badge of honor.
Ivy shakes her head. “It wasn’t for the normal bank heist sort of crimes, Vera. It was for crazy stuff.”
It’s not what she says but the way she says it that finally catches my attention.
“Elaborate,” I say.
“It’s better if you don’t hear the details,” Damian says, grimacing.
“I want to know. What kinds of stuff were they convicted for?”
“A few years ago, they kidnapped the Italian president’s daughter because of a fucking grudge,” Damian says. “They’re just plain reckless, Vera. They don’t think before they act.”
“O-kay?”
“All we’re saying is they’re not good news,” Ivy says.
I nod. “Great. I need to go save my sister from crazy people now.”
A warmth has started to course through my body, filling me with a frantic energy.
It tells me to run.
So I do.
Away from the giant flamingo pool floats and pink drinks.
I run through purple velvet curtains and toward an open balcony. Because suddenly, I feel like I’m going to die if I don’t see the night sky.
I’m almost there when I slam into a man’s shoulder.
The entire right side of my arm burns.
It’s foreign.
All I’ve ever known is worry. I’ve never felt this kind of indulgence.
This heat.
It wraps itself around my heart before sending my pulse to my belly. It beats there, unsure and restless.
I lock eyes with the man who caused it.