SEVEN

  ALYS FRASER

  Edited by

  MARIAH HEARN

  Copyright © 2023 by Alys Fraser

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  CONTENTS

  Introduction

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  INTRODUCTION

  Seven is a dark mafia reverse harem romance. It features moments of abduction, violence and includes some rough sexual content (consensual). If you’ve read my other contemporary novels, this is not like that. Discretion is advised

  PROLOGUE

  Elena – aged seventeen

  There must be something wrong with me. I’m not sure if it’s that my tits look too small in this dress, or if my breath reeks of garlic from the chicken cacciatore I had for dinner. Perhaps it’s that my flirting has been too subtle and my date hasn’t realized I’m into him. Whatever it is, Alexander hasn’t so much as held my hand all night.

  As he brings his obnoxiously expensive Bugatti to a stop on the street outside the gates to my house, I think this is it. He’s finally going to make a move. But no. he just switches off the engine and stares out into the darkness. It’s awkward. Should I just get out of the car?

  If I was with any other guy, I’d think his reluctance to kiss me was because he’s afraid of my father. His reputation as East Olympia’s no-nonsense district attorney is enough to scare most men. But Alexander Kurin isn’t the type to fear anyone. The most self-assured person I’ve ever met, he runs with a crowd of entitled assholes, all reputed to have links to organized crime. The seven of them do what they want, when they want, with impunity because of their wealthy, bizarrely interconnected families. I say bizarre because I don’t know where else you would find the Russian, Italian and Irish mobs cozying up to each other like they do.

  Alexander isn’t holding back because of shyness, either. It would be kind of cute if he was, but he isn’t the type to get doe-eyed over a woman. One of the biggest man whores out there, he fucked his way around Cypress Academy until he graduated last year. Now he’s cutting a swathe through the female population of East Olympia University. He’s notorious for seducing every attractive woman who drifts onto his radar, yet he hasn’t touched me. I may not be the most beautiful girl in the world, but I’m no troll. I inherited my delicate bone structure from my late mother and am generally considered pretty.

  I’m probably crazy for wanting Alexander to take my virginity, but I do. I have to lose it sometime, so why not to a guy who’s reputed to have some serious skills? It’s not like I want some loser fumbling about with my lady bits. Popping my cherry is a job for a professional.

  That Alexander is easy on the eye doesn’t hurt either. Tall, blond and blue-eyed, he has the stature of a Viking marauder and the face of an angel. Well, a fallen angel, perhaps. There is a certain harshness in his features, a hint of danger in his aura.

  Every girl I know is halfway in love with Alexander. I’m not stupid enough to imagine any kind of emotional bond could form between us, but I want him to fuck me all the same. It seems I’m in for a disappointment. No amount of eyelash batting and running my tongue over my lips is getting across the message that I want him.

  I’m struggling to work out why he even asked me on this date. It’s not as if we spent the hour we were at the Italian restaurant over in Cypress Meadows getting to know each other better. We barely spoke, except to comment on the food, which was, admittedly, delicious.

  Alexander just kept staring at me all night, his brow furrowed, like he was trying to work out a puzzle. If I’m honest, I’ve found the whole night a bit unsettling.

  “Why haven’t you tried to fuck me?” I blurt out the thought that’s been niggling away at me.

  Alexander arches an eyebrow. My question surprised him.

  “We barely know each other.”

  I huff out a breath at that bullshit response. We might not be intimately acquainted with the minutia of each other’s lives, but he went to the same school I do and we’ve crossed paths at a number of social events over the years. We may not have hung out together, but we’re not strangers.

  “You didn’t know Jenna Delaney either.”

  “Jenna Delaney?” Alexander turns in his seat to face me. “What has she got to do with anything?”

  “Well, you hardly knew Jenna, but you were inside her thirty seconds after you picked her up for your first date.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He smirks, proud of himself, the cocky bastard. “Heard about that, did you?”

  The whole town heard about it. Jenna’s father caught him balls deep inside her on their porch. The poor man had to choke back his threats of murder when he realized who it was fucking his daughter over the railing. Outraged as he was, he didn’t want to end up in one of the meat grinders at the Kurin’s food processing plant just outside of town.

  “Yeah, I heard. So what makes her so special?”

  Alexander reaches over and takes my hand. “There is nothing special about Jenna Delaney. She’s a slut. You’re not like that, Elena. You’re pure, innocent. A girl like you deserves better.”

  I snatch my hand back.

  “Maybe I don’t want better.” The frustration of being East Olympia’s resident good girl bubbles over. “I’m sick of being pure and innocent.”

  Alexander snorts derisively. “You’d rather be one of the Jenna Delaneys of this world?”

  I press my lips together in a determined pout. “Maybe I do.”

  “Okay, then.” Alexander’s jaw clenches and a ripple of dread goes through me at the darkness in his tone. I’ve clearly annoyed him.

  Before I can process what’s happening, Alexander has his dress pants unfastened and his fully erect dick is on display. My eyes pop out on stalks. Holy shit! The rumors of his size were not exaggerated.

  Suddenly, I’m not so sure about losing my virginity to this man. There is no way that thing will fit inside me. I’ll be torn apart. Realizing I’m not as ready for this as I thought, I back off a little.

  Alexander shoots out a hand and grabs me by the hair. I squeal in pain as he yanks me forward.

  “You want to be a whore?” He ignores my attempt to shake my head, tightening his grip on my hair. “Then suck me and make it good, you filthy slut.”

  Fear grips me as he pushes my face closer to his monster dick. I’ve never done this before and I’d rather not launch my oral career trying to deep throat a baseball bat. I make some inhuman sound of anguish, but Alexander is relentless. He raises his hips and the head of his cock nudges my lips. That’s when I snap. Struggling like a wildcat in a burlap sack, I screech and claw at his legs until he releases me. I fall back against my seat, breathing heavily. I don’t delude myself I could have escaped Alexander’s grasp if he hadn’t let me. He was teaching me a lesson, and it’s one well learned.

  Glaring at him with tears of fury and embarrassment welling in my eyes, I reach for the door.

  “Asshole!” I spit as I get out of the car.

  I march through the gates and head up the driveway toward my house, my four-inch heels clacking angrily on the fancy Italian stone.

  “Elena, wait.”

  There’s a hint of desperation in Alexander’s voice. Thinking he’s going to apologize for his behavior, I turn to face him. Only he doesn’t look contrite. His gaze is focused on my house and his expression is one of dread.

  “Don’t go in there.”

  That’s not what I expected him to say. “What? Why not?”

  “You see that car?”

  I look over my shoulder at the dark SUV he’s pointing at. It’s not a vehicle I recognize, and it’s kind of late for my dad to be receiving visitors. A sliver of unease slides down my spine.

  “What about it?” I ask, turning back to Alexander.

  “That car belongs to Francesco Rossi.”

  My entire body freezes. That can’t be right. The man who’s reputedly head of the Italian mob has no business visiting the district attorney in his home under cover of darkness.

  “What would Francesco Rossi want with my father?”

  “Nothing good,” Alexander murmurs.

  He’s right. The whole Rossi family is trouble. Francesco’s son, Nicolo, was at school a year ahead of me. Like Alexander, he’s moved on to college now, but the legacy of fear he instilled in students and faculty alike lives on in his cousin, Leo. I share a couple of classes with the youngest Rossi. Though he’s never troubled me, violence oozes from his every pore and just being in his orbit is terrifying.

  “Aren’t the Rossis friends of yours?” I ask, knowing full well that they are. All the scions of the local mob families are part of the same clique.

  Alexander doesn’t answer. He’s chewing his bottom lip like he’s actually worried for me.

  “Come to my place. You can have a guest room for the night.”

  I stare at him in disbelief. After his demonstration of how he treats women, I have no intention of getting into a car with Alexander Kurin again.

  “You’re kidding, right?”



  “I’m deadly serious.” He does sound concerned, and that increases my own sense of dread. “It will be safer for you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  As nervous as I am about going into the house, I have no intention of letting Alexander see that I’m rattled. I shake him off when he tries to grab my arm.

  “My dad’s in there. I’ll be fine.”

  As I walk away, Alexander calls out after me. “Go straight to your room, Elena. A girl like you needs to steer clear of men like that.”

  I don’t bother challenging him on his men like that remark. His own family is not exactly squeaky clean. While I leave that alone, I do pick up on what he said about me.

  “And what exactly is a girl like me?”

  “Nice. Sweet. Innocent.”

  Oh, goody. Three words I was hoping to escape tonight.

  “You forgot naïve.”

  Alexander shrugs. “Your word, not mine, dushka.”

  His use of a Russian endearment sends a shiver down my spine. Why does he have to be so damned sexy when I’m pissed at him? Whirling away, I continue along the path to my house.

  “I mean it, Elena,” Alexander whisper-shouts as I get farther away. “Go straight to your room.”

  I spin around and give him my middle finger. How’s that for a nice, sweet girl? Behind me, he utters some curse, but I ignore him and go in through the front door. I eye the staircase leading up to my bedroom but curiosity overrides commonsense. I want to know what business an Italian mobster has with my father.

  Slipping off my shoes and leaving them under the table in the hallway, I tiptoe toward my father’s study. The door is ajar and I hear voices from within.

  “It would be an honor if she was chosen to serve the Brotherhood,” my father says.

  “There are other candidates to consider but, if she’s as beautiful and compliant as you say, there should be no contest.” I don’t recognize the voice, but assume it’s Francesco Rossi.

  “Elena’s a good girl, nothing like her whore of a mother.”

  Hearing him speak about my mom like that shocks me. I thought he adored her. Did he only play the grieving widower all these years to keep up appearances?

  “Let’s hope so,” Francesco says. “We wouldn’t want her to meet a similar fate.”

  Now I am seriously freaked out by their conversation. I have no idea what they’re talking about. Meet a similar fate to my mother? She died of anaphylactic shock after being stung by a bee. Nobody even knew she was allergic until that awful day. At least, that’s what I’ve been told. I was only six at the time, so I don’t recall what happened.

  Confused, I turn to walk away. As I do, I run smack bang into a short, stocky man with a buzz cut. I let out a shriek that attracts the attention of my father and his visitor. The door to the study flies open.

  “Elena.” My father’s tone is stern. His cold gray eyes bore into me. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I… eh … I just got in. I wanted to say goodnight.”

  He knows it’s bullshit. It’s not the sort of thing I would do. We aren’t exactly close and coming to say goodnight to him isn’t something I’ve done since I was in kindergarten. Apparently not wanting to challenge me in front of his visitor, he just stands there looking at me until the other man steps forward.

  “Ah, this must be young Elena.”

  “Uh, yes.” My father snaps out of his stupor. “Yes, it is. Elena, meet Mr. Rossi.”

  Tall and broad-shouldered with graying black hair and dark blue eyes, Francesco Rossi looks like an older version of his son, Nicolo. He steps closer, eyes raking over me. I feel as if I’m being stripped bare and I don’t like it. Francesco reaches out and grabs hold of my chin, tilting my head one way and then the other as he studies my face. His touch, cold and oddly possessive, makes my skin crawl.

  I glance at my father, wondering why he’s letting this man examine me like I’m a prize pig at the county fair.

  “Your father tells me you’re a good girl,” the Italian don says. “Is he correct? Are you a good girl, Elena?”

  “Yes,” I squeak, knowing that’s the only acceptable answer.

  After another appraising sweep over my face, Francesco lets go of me.

  “Good.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and leans close to whisper in my ear. “Make sure it stays that way, principessa. When the time is right, I’ll be coming for you”

  Unable to do anything but nod like an idiot, I hurry away. Heart beating fast, I run upstairs and don’t stop until I reach my bedroom. Closing the door, I lean back against it. My hands are shaking. I have no idea what all that was about. I’m confused and, frankly, afraid. He said he’d be coming for me. Why? What could he possibly want from me? I’m not sure I want to find out.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Elena – three years later

  Knowing someone would come for me one day, I did what I could to be prepared. I watched dozens of videos on being aware of my surroundings, fighting off attackers, getting free from restraint. Unable to get hold of a gun, I stole a vicious-looking hunting knife from my father’s collection and practiced stabbing it into a slab of pork belly — not quite the same as slicing up a human, but I like to think it was good training, nonetheless. I played and replayed different scenarios in my mind, working out in minute detail how I would deal with whatever Francesco Rossi threw at me. In my mind, I became a warrior.

  Unfortunately, it turns out my mind is the only place where I am a badass. When a gloved hand clamps down over my mouth in the middle of the night, all my preparation goes out the window. Caught by surprise, neither my fight nor flight reflexes kick in. I do nothing.

  My eyes spring open, and I find a man standing over me. At least, I assume from his bulk that the terrifying figure looming out of the darkness is a man. He’s not alone. A noise over by the door alerts me to the presence of others, but I don’t know how many there are.

  As I’m flipped onto my stomach, I still don’t react. My arms are wrenched back and my wrists bound behind me with metal cuffs. A bag is thrown over my head and all I do is give a little whimper. I know I’m being pathetic, but can’t snap myself out of it.

  I remain pliant as I’m hauled up over someone’s shoulder and carried out of my room. We go downstairs and I wonder where my father is. Perhaps he’s watching this whole thing unfold.

  I’m carried outside and dropped onto the hard floor of what I’m guessing is a van. A door slams shut and an engine starts up. We drive for about fifteen minutes and though I try hard to map the route we take in my head, I soon lose track of the turns. I have no clue where we’re going.

  When we finally stop, I feel like I’m black and blue all over from being tossed around so much. Cold air hits me as the doors to the van are thrown open. Again, I’m picked up and flung over someone’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. It suddenly gets warmer, indicating we’ve gone into a building. After twenty seconds, we seem to go down a steep incline. Where on earth are we? Am I being taken underground?

  Eventually, I’m dumped onto a wooden chair and the hood is removed from my head so I can see. Well, I can after a moment or two. My eyes need to adjust to the harsh fluorescent light.

  The room I’m in is small. The walls are painted a nondescript beige, and the floor is stone. It’s cold against my bare feet. There isn’t much furniture in here, just the chair I’m sitting on and a metal table in the corner. There’s an ornately jeweled gold chest on it that makes me wonder if I’ve been kidnapped by pirates. The thought amuses me. Then I sober. How the hell can I find levity in this situation?

  Two men stand at either side of the closed door, like bouncers guarding the entrance to a nightclub. Both are beefy, with thick arms folded over muscular chests. One is bald, and the other has short, brown hair. They seem to be daring me to try something, but that’s not a challenge I intend to accept.

  A few minutes pass before a woman enters the room. With gray hair swept up into a tight bun and a sour expression etched on her face, she wears a plain black dress that screams cold and efficient. She has a white robe draped over her arm that I’m guessing is for me.

 

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