Perfect Monster: A Fake Marriage Mafia Romance (The Oligarchs)

The red stain spread across his crisp white shirt in a wide bloom. I took a step back from the very large and very angry-looking man as he wiped at his chest and groaned. The glass lay shattered into pieces at his feet, sparkling like little diamonds.

That shirt probably cost more than three months of my rent, and the suit looked custom. The pinstripes matched up perfectly at the shoulders, each little detail fastidiously tailored and finished.

“You idiot girl,” he said, still trying to wipe the wine off with his palms, like that would work.

He was a wine-soaked gorilla.

I was tempted to suggest club soda. Or maybe I should just run.

Instead, I kept my mouth shut and kept still.

His date, a pretty brunette with striking lips, thick dark hair and eyebrows, and enough jewelry to make the Queen blush, rubbed his arm and gave me an apologetic smile.

“It’ll be okay, baby. Just a little stain.”

The man shoved her away.

“Do you have any idea how much this cost, you stupid little bitch?” His eyes bugged out, and he stared at me like he was about to rip off my head and drink my blood like a demented Viking.

Which he might’ve, all things considered.

It was a very weird party.

Winter in Sea Isle, New Jersey, didn’t exactly get a ton of tourists, but when Jack, the manager at the Stone Harbor Club, called me up and said some big gathering was going down and offered me a catering job for the night, I had to say yes. Money was always tough to come by in the cold, lonely months.

Though, in retrospect, maybe staying home would’ve been a better idea.

The room was packed with men in expensive clothes and skinny girls draped on their arms like cotton candy. They mingled over drinks, laughing softly to each other, the room’s air was thick with danger and discontent.

I knew men like them. I had distinct childhood memories of men smoking cigars and talking at each other too loudly over poker games and football on TV, the room crackling with a sense of unease and latent violence. It’d been a long time since I’d last let myself get anywhere near men like these, but the rent was due and I liked eating, so I kept my head down and tried to power through.

The ballroom was set up like a wedding, with a dance floor and lots of round tables, but there was no music, and the gathered men seemed more like they’d rather blow lines of coke off a stripper’s ass and maybe kill someone than do the Electric Slide.

Couldn’t blame them. I hated the Electric Slide.

I had no clue what the occasion was supposed to be except that it celebrated a man named Roman and some new business venture he’d started, which sounded great, good for Roman. I wished him the best.

Only I really didn’t want this very large, very angry-looking Italian man to murder me in front of fifty people.

And based on their bored stares, I was pretty sure nobody would come to my rescue.

“I am so, so sorry,” I said, finding my voice at last. The guy’s date glared at him and crossed her thin arms over her curvy chest, saying nothing. I wasn’t getting any more help there, clearly.

“Sorry’s not good enough,” he said, voice dropping into a dangerous snarl. He’d be handsome, if it weren’t for the death glare.

In my defense, it was an accident. He’d been arguing with that girl about something when I walked past with a glass of red on a tray for one of the guests, and he turned abruptly and slammed into me.

Obviously, that didn’t matter now, but still, I was a decent waitress.

I’d only ever spilled drinks on, like, two other customers. Three, max.

“Sir, I’ll get you some club soda, and maybe—”

“Club fucking soda? For wine on a two-thousand-dollar shirt? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

I really shouldn’t have mentioned club soda. I’d known it was a mistake and would only piss him off more. I just couldn’t help myself.

I held up my hands, pleading now. I didn’t want this to turn into a whole thing. I couldn’t afford to lose my job, especially not in the winter when I was barely making ends meet to begin with, and the idea of burning two grand for some rich guy’s shirt made me want to scream bloody murder into my pillow.

“I’ll make it right, sir, whatever you need.”

A dangerous gleam flashed in his eye. “Anything I want, pretty bitch?”

I stepped back from him, heart suddenly racing. The way he ran his tongue over his lower lip was both lascivious and threatening, and I wasn’t a fan of where this was going.

“I meant, financially. I can pay to have it dry cleaned—”

He reached for me, faster than I could follow. My tray clattered to the ground, and the other men didn’t even react, like they were used to seeing waitresses get assaulted.

“Is there a problem here?”

A voice behind me. I was about to hyperventilate from the stress and the worry that maybe, just maybe, this creep would sexually assault me in front of all these people.

Yeah, it felt like that kind of party.

My asshole assailant looked up, and his face instantly switched from rage-induced mania into something more like a very angry child caught sneaking into a forbidden room.

“Roman,” he said, gripping my wrist harder. “This woman ruined—”

“Let go of her, Manzi.”

Manzi, his face very red, released me instantly. I rubbed the aching bone and looked back at the looming figure behind me, then sucked in a surprised breath.

Dark hair, light skin, handsome, cut jaw, and eyes the pale blue of arctic ice. His expression was tightly controlled fury, though I got the strange, distinct sense that he could lose himself at any moment. He was muscular and athletic, and he wore an expensive, sleek suit—not quite as flashy as Manzi’s, but perfectly fitted to his exquisite body.

His eyes drew me in and made me want to get lost. I’d never seen eyes like those on a person before. They looked like a wolf leading its pack. His dark hair was pushed back in a deceptively messy, almost perfectly imperfect style that accentuated his high cheekbones and sculpted brow. His full, pale pink lips frowned and twitched slightly as he stared down Manzi like a bull about to wreck an alley filled with clowns wearing bright red capes.

Roman was gorgeous. I’d seen plenty of handsome men in my life, but Roman was on an entirely different level, like his mouth and eyes and cheeks and hands were built to attract and to please.

Like he was used to giving orders, and to being obeyed. He held himself like a prince, like a king.

He was a honeypot, a poison flower, a Venus flytrap, something beautiful and dangerous all at once.

Terror flitted through my gut as I turned back to Manzi.

He looked down at the ground. “There’s no problem, Roman.”

“There better not be, not at my party. Not when we’re celebrating a business venture that your father worked very hard to put together.”

“Of course, Roman. I didn’t mean anything. It’s only, this shirt—”

“I’ll write you a check.” Roman’s tone was a snarl and a whip.

Manzi flinched. “That won’t be necessary.”

“I insist. Or are you simply looking for any excuse to terrorize this girl?” He finally looked at me—

And his head tilted to the side like he saw something interesting for the first time.

His eyes roamed down along the full length of my body in very explicit judgment, and I felt weighed and measured. Coming from most men, that look would be rude at best, but somehow it felt natural from Roman, like he was used to taking the temperature of a person.

I hoped he didn’t realize that I was burning up.

I stared back. I couldn’t help myself. His gaze commanded respect and attention, and I was instantly drawn toward him, like I was a space rock on a crash course for the moon. I knew instinctively that he was a hunter, that he was a predator with sharp teeth and a strong jaw and a hunger that I couldn’t begin to sate, but my curiosity only intensified under the pressure of his presence.

He was alluring and terrifying.

“No, Roman. I apologize for making a scene.”

“Good. Go now. Don’t bother the girl again.”

Manzi turned and strode away. He grabbed his date’s arm and dragged her with him. She let out a string of curses in Spanish, none of which Manzi seemed to understand, let alone care about, but I was pretty sure they were extremely intense.

At least, I thought so, based on my Spanish 101.

Nobody stopped him as he pushed open the door and the pair disappeared outside.

The remaining men went back to drinking and talking in a low murmur.

“I apologize for my young, reckless friend.” Roman continued to look at me with those incredible eyes, and I felt like a patient on an operating table.

He could take me apart and I think I’d let him.

What the hell was wrong with me?

“It’s okay. It was just an accident.”

“Even still. Did he hurt you?”

“No. I’m fine, really.”

He nodded once. “If he bothers you again, come find me.”

And with that, he walked away and joined the nearest group of men. They greeted him with smiles, though they all seem reserved, respectful—even a little afraid.

I couldn’t blame them.

“Holy crap,” I whispered to myself as I picked up my tray. I returned it to the back, found a broom, and quickly cleaned up the glass shards.

They glittered in the overhead light. I kept glancing over at Roman, the center of attention.

Who the hell was that guy? He’d defused the very angry, very scary Manzi without breaking a sweat, and I got the feeling that Manzi wasn’t used to being deferential.

Heck, none of the men in this place struck me as the simpering type. And yet Roman controlled the room like a general in front of his latest cadets.

I hurried into the back again and leaned up against the wall by the employee’s bathroom, hands shaking. I wasn’t sure if I was freaking out from Manzi manhandling me, or if I was trembling from the intensity of Roman’s attention.

“What the hell happened out there?” I turned as Winter stormed over looking outraged. She was a few inches taller with dark auburn hair and the kind of curves that made most women jealous. Including me. And I knew for a fact that her idea of working out was walking to Wawa to buy three Snickers bars and a cheese-filled pretzel.

Whereas I went for a five-mile run most mornings just to stay in shape. And to quiet the little voice in my skull that kept wanting to go over the same old mistakes from my past, again and again and again.

Mostly to stay in shape, though.

“Did that fucking guy grab you? Jack just told me—”

“It’s okay, seriously,” I said quickly, holding up my hands to try and keep her from exploding. “One of the other guests helped me out.”

Winter let out a sharp huff and slammed herself against the wall next to me. “That motherfucker. Did you see the way he was talking to that girl he had with him? If I were her, I’d stab him in the eye with a fork.”

“I totally believe it. I sort of have the feeling she’s tried that, though. You should’ve heard what she said to him in Spanish as they left.”

“Yeah? Good, I hope she makes him feel like a real piece of shit.” Winter’s expression softened. She was a few years older and lived in the apartment unit below mine. We rented from this nice old lady named June who was happy to lose out on a little extra cash in the summer to have a couple of full-time, dependable tenants. “You’re too passive sometimes, you know.”

“Hey, don’t make me feel bad. I wasn’t the one being a dick.”

She smoothed her hair over her shoulder. “Fair enough. I just want to see you stick up for yourself, you know?”

I forced a smile. “You do the sticking up for both of us.”

“Damn right I do. Any guy talks to my girl like that, I knee him in the balls. No questions asked.”

“Pretty sure that’s not true, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

She gave me a stern look. “You ever need a pair of nuts kicked, you find me. I love you, girl.”

“Love you too.”

She patted my wrist. “Jack says take your time and come back out when you’re ready. I’m gonna go scope out the room and make sure that asshole’s definitely gone.” She pushed off the wall and hesitated. “You sure you’re okay? You look a little flushed.”

I stared down at my feet, thinking about Roman’s ice-blue eyes and the way his lips curled as his gaze traveled down my body—it was strange, like he was both appraising me and unable to look away.

“I’m fine. Really.”

“All right. Take your time. I’ll be back in a bit.” She waved and marched back off toward the banquet hall.

I leaned my head against the wall and took a few more calming breaths, trying to remember that meditation exercise I’d learned on YouTube. The guy with the very soothing British accent called it a body scan or something like that. I started at the very top of my head and imagined the focus of my attention slowly moving down, from the tip of my skull to the points of my toes, pausing to focus on each muscle, each inch of skin.

By the end of it, I almost felt better.

Except then the image of Roman’s hands following that exact same pattern, touching all of me, from my lips down to my breasts down to the soaking wet heat between my legs sent me into another stupid dizzy tailspin and I decided I had to get some fresh air.

I grabbed my jacket from the break room, headed through the kitchen, waved to Chef José, then shoved out the back. The Stone Harbor Club was a little private events space right on the edge of the bay, and the seaweed stench rolled up from beneath the wooden pier that surrounded the building. I walked over toward the railing overlooking the water and stared out at the gently lapping tide, the marsh grasses waving in the wind. I pulled my jacket tighter for warmth and let out big plumes of white breath, trying not to think about that man again, about that Roman.

It was like he wiped away the darkness of the moment with Manzi. For one second, I felt utter fear, the sort of chest-constricting terror I hadn’t experienced in a very long time. I was sure Manzi would do something horrible if given the chance, and I couldn’t tell if a room full of men would stop him.

At least until Roman had appeared. Then it was all about that beastly specimen.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to banish the thoughts. I couldn’t get some stupid, girly crush on a guest, especially not when I’d been working so hard at keeping to myself. I’d moved to Sea Isle three years ago, after the incident, and ever since then, I hadn’t done much dating or really much of anything at all.

I touched my belly where the scar tore me in half, hip to hip.

Winter said I was antisocial and wallowed too much. I said she was right, but I didn’t tell her why. Before the incident, I was an outgoing girl—I had lots of friends, liked big parties, always had a big smile on my face.

The world was great. Sunshine and flowers. Rainbows, ponies, unicorns, and all that crap.

But afterward, things changed.

“Get the fuck off me, pendejo. Vete a la verga, stupid asshole.” It was the Latina girl again, and she sounded pissed. Her voice echoed off the pier and the club walls, and I caught her shadow projected along the wooden slats.

Another voice, this one male. It was Manzi, but I couldn’t make out the words. He sounded angry, though, and I drifted toward them, heart racing.

What would he do to that poor girl, out here alone? Should I run inside and get Roman?

The girl let out a violent, pained gasp, like she’d been hit. I walked closer, one hand on my scar, the other at my throat like I needed to keep myself from screaming. I peered around the corner and saw them, backlit by streetlights beyond the parking lot.

The girl was down on her knees in front of a hulking shape. She stared up with a sneer and dabbed at her mouth with the back of her hand, then spit blood onto the wood.

Manzi stood over her, breathing hard.

“I told you not to embarrass me and this is what you do.”

“Fuck your mother, you weak little man. I told you the truth because you needed to know.”

He slapped her across the face. She gasped and clutched at her cheek but didn’t cry out.

I didn’t understand why she wouldn’t scream.

“You should’ve kept it to yourself then, you dumb bitch.” He pulled a gun from his waistband and held it against her head.

The girl went very, very still.

The rage drained from her face and her eyes went wide. Her lips dropped open—god, she was really pretty—and she put her hands up in the air.

“Okay, Manzi, let’s be careful, okay? I know I shouldn’t have slept with him. It was a very stupid mistake. I agree. You can slap me around. I deserve it. We both know that. But why bring out a gun? Why would you want to kill me?”

“You keep doing this, Dia. We keep playing this little fucking game, and you don’t seem to get it. Now maybe you’ll learn.” He sounded on the verge of losing his mind, his rage barely controlled. I didn’t know what to do, and as he stepped forward and pressed the gun against Dia’s head, I couldn’t move, couldn’t lift my limbs, couldn’t open my jaw.

My lips were stuck to my teeth.

My tongue was heavy and swollen.

My mouth was bone dry like chalk on a gravestone, and a buzzing pulse ran through my legs, an ice-cold sheen of fear that kept me frozen in place.

Just like that night, all over again. My fingers dug into the scar on my belly. The slash of pain. All that blood.

“Nobody has to know, baby,” Dia said softly, and her hands reached out like she wanted to pull him against her. “Come on, Manzi. You know how this goes. You fuck around, I fuck around, but I still love you, mi cielo. I always come back to you, mi rey, my king.”

“Why the fuck do you have to be like this, huh? Why the fuck do you always have to be like this?”

“Manzi, please—”

He pulled the trigger.

Her head jerked back and exploded outward in a cloud of red mist and skull shards and brain matter. She slumped down in a tangle of limbs, more blood pooling all around her gorgeous body, and I kept thinking, oh my god, oh my god, she was so pretty, my mind like a VCR on loop, like a rope thrown over a cliff. I took a single step forward, staring at Dia’s body as Manzi cursed and waved the gun around and stood over her grabbing at his hair like even he was shocked that he’d shot her—

I didn’t know what made him turn.

Maybe he felt me there, maybe he heard something.

But Manzi looked over his shoulder, and for one throat-clenching moment his eyes stuck to mine like daggers, and there was fear in his expression, definitely fear, but that quickly turned to anger as he leveled the gun right at my chest.

My legs were broken. My fingers pressed so hard against the scar it hurt.

I finally found the scream that was stuck in my throat.

Manzi cursed and lowered the pistol. His eyes leapt to the door, and he took one step away from me before shoving the gun into his belt. He turned and ran off into the night, leaving Dia alone on the wooden pier, her blood dripping down into the bay below, mingling with the ocean tides and the salt water, feeding the fishes and little creatures that feasted on life, her pretty hair drenched in the sticky red mess, her beautiful face absolutely ruined, and I was still screaming.

I must’ve been screaming the whole time until a hand pressed down over my mouth.

“What the hell happened?”

His voice. It barely cut through my total panic. His fingers were rough against my lips, and I forced myself to stop, took gasping breaths, blinked away the fear-induced tears that rolled down my cheeks, and looked back.

Roman stood just behind me, his chest like a prison and an escape.

I pushed his arm away and tried to get my looping brain under control.

“Manzi,” I said, breathless. “He shot her.”

Roman stared down at me, those ice-cold eyes calculating.

Weighing, measuring, judging.

“Did anyone else see?”

I shook my head. “We need to call the police.”

“Come on.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the parking lot.

Toward Dia.

“No,” I said, resisting. “I don’t want to go near her. Please, we have to call the police.”

But Roman’s grip was iron and he didn’t stop. I struggled, but that only made him turn back and stare into my eyes.

“If you don’t follow me right now, I can’t promise you’ll survive tonight. Do you understand me? Do you have any clue what you just witnessed?”

“Who are you? Why are you doing this?”

A smile quirked at the corner of his handsome mouth. “I’m nobody. Now hurry.”

He pulled me again, and this time, I followed.

I didn’t know why, but I let him tug me along. We skirted around Dia’s body—so much blood, all of it ruining that gorgeous dress, why the hell do I care about her dress she’s dead—and out into the parking lot.

Roman took out a phone and dialed a number. “Bring the car around. I’ll meet you out front. Hurry.” He shoved it back into his pocket as he dragged me toward the street.

“Wait, hold on.” My heart was racing, but my mind started to work again. I felt dizzy, like I might be sick, but at least I could think straight. “We’re calling the police, right? That was a murder back there.”

“You just witnessed the start of a war, you unlucky girl. There are men back in that building who will gladly throw you into the bay to make sure what happened just now never leaves this place. If you stay, they’ll make sure it happens.”

I tugged back against him. “What are you talking about? Are you crazy?”

He let out a frustrated growl. We were a few feet from the sidewalk and the streetlights, and for some reason, I didn’t want to go any farther with this man.

This terrifying monster. The sort of beautiful nightmare that was supposed to stay hidden beneath my bed or locked behind the closet of my childhood.

“Do you know who those men were back there? Do you remember the skinny guy with dark hair, looks like a school teacher? That’s Giatno Liberto, don of the Liberto Mafia. You just watched his son murder the daughter of a Ramos Cartel lieutenant. Can you begin to understand what that means?”

I opened my mouth to say something, but there were no words.

The worst part was, I did have some idea.

I had a shockingly good idea, in fact.

A black SUV screamed around the corner and pulled to a stop at the curb. The window rolled down and a young, handsome man with an intense jaw and a deep frown leaned toward us.

“You okay, Roman?”

“I’m fine.” Roman didn’t look back at the car, only stared at me with those killer eyes. He spoke softly, but with some urgency. “If you stay here, Giatno will make sure you can’t tell anyone your story. He’ll want to avoid a war with the Ramos Cartel at any cost. Do you understand how complicated everything’s going to be now?”

“Who the hell are you?” I drowned in that gaze. Roman was an avalanche, coming to bury me. I wanted to turn around and find Winter and tell her what had happened—she’d know what to do, she’d have some smart comeback. Hell, maybe she’d even kick these guys in the crotch for me.

But the mafia. I knew a little bit about the mafia.

My father, those men in my past.

The scar across my belly.

I knew what those monsters were capable of, and Roman didn’t seem like the type to lie to me.

“I told you, I’m nobody. Get in that car right now or you’re going to end up like poor Dia.”

I blinked at him, then stared at the SUV. “I don’t do cars.” Another round of panic threatened to overwhelm me.

I hadn’t been in a car in three years.

“What are you talking about?”

“I ride my bike. I don’t do cars. Please, I can ride my bike and meet you—”

He let out another annoyed breath, then bent forward and lifted me up over his shoulder. I let out a shout and tried to hit him in the back, but it was like pounding against a brick wall. He opened the door and shoved me inside like luggage, then climbed in.

I scrambled for the door, but the driver locked it.

“Please let me out,” I said, hyperventilating. “Please, please, please, please let me out. I don’t do cars. I don’t ride in cars.”

Roman only stared at me with a frown. “Drive, Erick.”

“Where to, boss?”

“My house in Avalon.”

The car pulled out, and I sank down in the seat, breathing so hard I thought I might rip a hole in my throat, barely keeping the overwhelming animal fear at bay.