The Assassin’s Portrait: Stepbrother Dark Romance

CONTENT WARNING

The Assassin’s Portrait is a Dark Romance featuring heavy themes that are not for the faint of heart. This story is strictly for mature audiences (18+).

THEMES:

• PSEUDO-TABOO: A forbidden, obsessive step-sibling dynamic.

• HARD EROTICA: Graphic sexual content, power play, and BDSM.

• GRAPHIC VIOLENCE: Blood, gunplay, and dark criminal themes (Bratva).

• MORALLY GRAY CHARACTERS: Obsessive, possessive, and dangerous behavior.

The actions of the characters in this book are not meant to be healthy or emulated. This is a work of fiction exploring the darkest corners of obsession, and extreme power imbalances.

Reader discretion is not just advised, it is mandatory.

“If you’re still here... you’re already mine.

Try not to scream.”

꧁ 𖤓 𖤓 𖤓 ꧂

꧁ Marisella ꧂

I’m breaking my mother’s heart. Even if she doesn’t know it yet.

The elevator’s hum is monotonous. When it opens into the private landing of the penthouse, my jaw drops.

Apparently, Hotel Astoria is one of the largest and most expensive in Miami, more than ten thousand square feet, thirty-two grand a night.

Clearly, my first client is insanely wealthy.

I fiddle with my gold clutch on my way to the lobby mirror to check myself out. Crimson spandex cinches at my waist, the top made of two soft straps that cover just my nipples, and then some.

More fabric barely covers my ass, stretched out and leaving nothing to the imagination. My back is exposed, my neckpiece a simple gold pendant that falls between my boobs.

Sucking in a shuddering breath, I recall Sonya’s words.

“You’ve got a highly coveted asset back there. Use it.”

She was talking about my generous ass. An ass that’s landed me a night with an obscenely wealthy client.

The notes on his client profile allegedly proclaimed him intense, dark, and having peculiar interests.

Am I really about to sleep with a stranger for money?

My hand trembles as I raise a fist to knock on the large mahogany doors of the main entrance.

My mother’s meds are proving too expensive for even the ten thousand-dollar checks we receive every month.

After sorting hospital bills and groceries, there’s barely anything left for miscellaneous expenses. But we’ve managed on the meager salary from my waitressing jobs.

My knocks echo in the quiet private lobby.

I flit my gaze, taking in the elegant space. An open newspaper rests atop a coffee table, and beside it—

A gun.

My breath hitches. The metal glints ominously just as a voice rings out on the other side of the doors.

“Enter.”

Even through the thick wood, its treble makes me shiver. Deep and sharp, as though he’d rather not be disturbed. Yet he’s booked company?

My eyes never leave the gun.

A criminal.

I’ve signed up to sell my body to a gun-slinging criminal.

I take a silent step back, my heels sinking into the soft rug. I could bolt right now, and he’d never see my face.

Sonya would be disappointed, maybe even reprimanded for recommending a no-show like me. I shiver to think how such a man would react to having his time wasted.

“I said, enter.” He barks.

Only one thing keeps me tethered to the spot.

The ten thousand-dollar checks we receive from my estranged stepbrother, that had covered our main bills, suddenly can’t anymore.

Mother’s chemo has skyrocketed to fifteen thousand a month.

This client had paid a base f*e of two thousand to the escort service. I’ll get fifty percent and am allowed to fleece him for more, which will wholly belong to me.

Steeling my spine, I push open the door.

My first step in, regret seizes me by the throat. I ignore the alarm bells in my head and push through, walking deeper into the darkness.

The door slides closed behind me, sealing my fate.

I have the sudden idea to apologize in person for changing my mind. I’ll leave, he’ll order another woman. No harm, no foul, right?

Wrong.

I remember the gun. The tense atmosphere on the entire floor.

Do I really want to provoke this man whose invisible presence already tastes of danger and warning?

Somehow, I’ve gravitated to the crushed glass balcony overlooking an infinity pool with underwater lighting, and beyond that, the lit-up, sprawling city.

I admire the stunning view—without permission.

Before I can turn back to the door where I should’ve waited, a heavy presence settles behind me.

“Enjoying the view?” His voice is deep and rumbly, his barely-there accent tingeing the words.

I bite the inside of my cheek.

Of course, the first man I’m ever going to fuck is Russian. His timbre brings to mind a certain childhood crush. Should I imagine my crush making love to me in place of this strange man? It wouldn’t hurt to enjoy my first experience…

Shame lashes me at the stray thought.

“It’s beautiful,” I confirm around a nervous swallow.

Something moves beside me. I glance to see a masculine hand holding out a glass of clear liquid.

A very masculine hand.

Long, thick fingers with a heavy gold band on the thumb. I immediately picture it petting my skin.

“What’s in it?”

“White wine.” I can’t get enough of his clipped voice.

He is so close, his body heat warming me from the back while a chill wind teases my front. I collect the glass without turning back, my nerves strung tight even as my body rages.

I’ve caught his scent. Smoky and commanding, with a sharp citrus edge that robs me of breath. Subtle, sweet, almost forbidden.

My face flames. I haven’t even seen this man’s face, but I already know I’d fuck him for free.

Focus, Mari.

“I ordered a tall, thick blond.” He grates.

I am five foot four, thick, and dark-haired.

“She had an emergency, as you were made aware. You accepted the replacement.”

“I’d expect the replacement,” he says flatly, “to meet at least two of my preferences.”