Page 1 of Sapphire

Chapter 1: Kamilla

Anatoly's eyes stared up at me, wide and unseeing, a gaping slit across his throat as the life poured from him. My brother, was dead. Killed by the pig of a man who now stood over his corpse, gripping the knife in his hand.

Piotr Sokolov. He was a monster in human skin who had clawed his way up from the gutters of Moscow to the top of the Bratva food chain through sheer brutality. Now he had his sights set on the ultimate prize - the title of Russian mafia leader. A title that he planned to claim by forcing my fifteen-year-old niece, Natasha, to marry him.

Beside me, Natasha let out a broken sob as she sank to her knees next to her father's lifeless body. Her small hands fluttered uselessly over the wound in Anatoly's throat, as if she could somehow stem the flow. When her mother died, I'd stepped into the role of protector, determined to give her the love and stability I'd never had. Anatoly used to joke that Natasha had two parents in one - the strict but doting father and the wild, uncompromising aunt who would tear apart heaven and earth to keep her safe. Now he was gone, and I was all Natasha had left to protect her from the predators like Piotr. If that bastard got his hands on my sweet, innocent niece, he would ruin her in every way imaginable.

Piotr was smirking at Natasha's hunched, sobbing form, lust warring in his piggy eyes. The hand not clutching the dripping knife was already reaching for his belt, as if he couldn't wait to defile her right here, next to the cooling corpse of her father.

"Papa," Natasha whispered, her voice choked with tears and horror.

“Come,” I said to her as Natasha stood and I wrapped a protective arm around her.

Please," she whispered. "Please don't let him take me, Kamilla. I can't marry him, I can't."

I felt a surge of protective rage wash over me. I was not much older than her when I was given to my husband. “Shh, Natasha. I will make it so it will not happen.”

I knew what it was like to be at the mercy of men like Piotr Sokolov, knew the pain and degradation that awaited Natasha if he married her. I'd grown up in the underbelly of crime and violence that chewed up women like us and spat out the broken pieces. I had survived my husband for many years, before the beatings become too much and I took matters into my own hands. Anatoly, my now dead brother, had offered me protection from the others in the family who called for my death when they had learnt I had killed my husband. I now need to replay that. Even if it meant sacrificing myself in the process. Natasha deserved a chance to live outside of these monsters.

I squeezed Natasha's fingers one last time, then I stepped forward, pulling her behind me and fixing Piotr with a stare that could freeze hell itself. "She's not yours to touch," I said.

"Mind your tongue, before I cut it out," he spat. "The girl is mine. Anatoly is dead, and I intend to collect my prize."

"Over my dead body," I said simply.

"If you're so eager to die for her, I'm happy to oblige," he said. "It will be a slow, painful death, Kamilla. But first I'll make you watch while I claim sweet little Natasha in every depraved way I've been dreaming of."

Bile surged up my throat. Behind me, I could hear Natasha's terrified whimpers, feel the desperate clutch of her hands on the back of my jacket. Fifteen years old, still more a child than a woman, and already she knew the shape of the nightmares that lurked in the hearts of men like Piotr.

"Take me instead."

Piotr's head whipped around, his cold black eyes locking onto me with predatory intent. A slow, cruel smile curved his thin lips, sending a shiver of revulsion down my spine.

"Kamilla Sokolova," he said. "The Bratva princess, offering herself up. How very noble of you."

I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Spare Natasha and I'll do whatever you want. Be your wife, your whore, your punching bag. I don't care. Just let her go."

He laughed, a harsh, ugly sound that made my skin crawl. "And why should I agree to that, when I can have both of you? The Bratva princess and her pretty little niece, bound to me forever. Imagine the sons you'll give me, the dynasty I'll build on the backs of Anatoly's women."

Bile surged up my throat, hot and acidic. I swallowed it back down, forcing my face into a mask of cold indifference. "You don't want Natasha. She's a child, weak and useless to you. But me? I'm a Sokolova, born and bred. I have value, connections, influence that a little girl can never provide."

I took a step closer, my voice dropping to a throaty purr. "Imagine what it will do for your reputation, to have me on your arm. The woman no man could tame, the one who killed her husband, willingly submitting to your every depraved whim."

I saw the flare of interest in his eyes, the greedy hunger that all men got when they thought they had a chance to possess something, to overpower it. I was playing on his ego, his arrogance, and it was working. If stroking this monster's pride was what it took to save Natasha, to buy her a chance at escaping before he changed his mind, then I was taking it.

Piotr's gaze raked over me, like he was already imagining all the ways he would me suffer. I fought back a shudder of revulsion, keeping my expression carefully blank.

"You make a tempting offer," he murmured, reaching out to trail a finger down the side of my face. I forced myself not to flinch at his touch, at the cold, reptilian feel of his skin on mine. "But how do I know this isn't some trick, that you won’t kill me like your husband?"

I had to make him believe me.

"I'll prove it to you," I said softly, stepping even closer until I was almost flush against him. I heard Natasha's sharp intake of breath behind me, could feel the weight of her stare boring into my back.

"How?" he demanded, his hand coming up to wrap around my throat in a gesture of ownership that made my stomach heave. I forced myself to lean into his touch, to tilt my head back and bare my neck to him in a show of submission.

"I'll send Natasha away," I breathed, letting my lids flutter closed as if in ecstasy at his proximity. "Right now, tonight. I'll make her go to the Irish. To the Emerald Queen herself. If they turn her away, then she is on her own and you can claim her then." I just hoped that the Irish Queens reputation would be in Natasha’s favor. She had a better chance there then remaining here.

I felt Piotr go still against me, his fingers flexing on my throat. "The Irish? You would send your own blood to those potato-eating mongrels, those filthy bastards?"