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 n*ppl*s, and then some.

More fabric barely covers my *ss, stretched out and leaving little to the imagination.

My back is exposed, my neckpiece a simple gold pendant that falls between my breasts.

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 *ss.

An *ss that’s landed me a night with an obscenely wealthy client.

The notes on his client profile proclaim 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 knocks echo in the quiet private lobby.

My gaze flits, 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 booms from the other side of the doors.

“Enter.”

Even through the thick wood, its bass 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 bills, suddenly can’t anymore.

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

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

This client had paid a base fee 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 get another replacement.

No harm, no foul, right?

Wrong.

I remember the gun.

The tense atmosphere on the entire floor.

Dare I risk provoking this man, whose invisible presence already tastes of danger and warning?

Looking for an escape route, I cross the dim living area and gravitate toward the glass-railed balcony.

It overlooks 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?”

Voice deep and rumbly, his barely-there accent tinges the words.

I bite the inside of my cheek.

Of course, the first man I’m ever going to f*ck is Russian.

His timbre brings to mind a certain childhood crush.

I could 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 respond around a nervous swallow.

Something moves beside me.

I glance to see a masculine hand holding out a glass of pale liquid.

A very masculine hand.

Long, strong fingers with a heavy gold band on the thumb.

I immediately picture it petting my skin.

“What’s in it?” I ask.

“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 breeze 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 f*ck 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, they told you that. You accepted the offer for replacement.”

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

꧁ Marisella ꧂

Inhaling for patience, I grip the cold railing of the balcony.

I’d hoped this would be a simple affair. Roll around, get paid, and bounce. I’ve planned only one tryst to make up for Mom’s bills for the month. Then I’ll use the borrowed time to hunt for job number three.

I try to pull away, but he closes the gap. My back hits his front. Has he always been that close?

My heart thumps as his size registers against me. The back of my head is flush with the flexing pecs of his chest.

The curve of my *ss kisses his crotch, a pulsing bar of solid c*ck pressing between my cheeks.

“Looks like you’re happy with the replacement,” I purr, trying to catch my breath.

He is big. I haven’t been with a man before, but I'm no stranger to pleasure. I have an arsenal of silicone and plastic hidden in my closet, but the Russian’s size trumps them all.

“I trust you’ve read and understood my tastes,” he bites out.

“I have,” I lie o