Stolen from the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (36 page)

“You robbed graves?” I say, my nose crinkling at the thought. As if that’s the worst thing I know him to have done.

“
Da
,” he says, then instructs me to try my shooting again.

“They were ugly times. Honest working people found themselves struggling to survive for the first time in generations,” he explains to me before getting me to go through the practice routine once more. “But my father was made for such times. He had never lasted a full day in a factory or office. He knew how to make a living from chaos and despair.”

I frown a little at that thought. Making a living from chaos and despair?

“So he’s what got you into organized crime?” I ask.

“Not entirely. Now again,” he says, and I shoot once more, three more shots as I advance on the target. “I left home to get away from my father as soon as I could. Joined the army. Fought Chechens in a bombed out hole that was once their home. Saw war and ugliness that even my father couldn’t fathom,” he says, and I can see the darkness in his eyes, like tunnels into his soul gouged out by a hard life of pain. Received and given.

It all kind of falls into place. I understand, now, how he can do what he does. Why he must. I lived a pretty cushy life, all told. Sure, I struggled and felt loss. I mourned for a long time when Dad died, and then I had to start caring for Mom, and I know I’ve complained about that to anyone who’d listen. My studies in college to become a doctor, or at least a pharmacist or chemist, were hampered by my need to look after my mom and pay the bills.

But his life is like something I couldn’t even consider, and I have a newfound respect for how he did what he had to. He’s been so cold and hard throughout his entire life, betrayed by the people who were supposed to have his back.

And then I waltzed into his life; maybe that can help him?

Maybe, after all this settles down, and if we survive the next few days, I could really be a person that he can come to count on and respect.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

And I did it. I managed to hit the target twice as I advanced on it, leaving the long fence with a few less picket tips.

“I-” but before I can declare my victory, he claims me in an embrace again, holding me in his arms, kissing me. He takes his time, his strong hands rubbing at my shoulders and spine until finally I melt. And only then does he relent.

“When this is done, and your life is safe from Gregorovich,” he says, peering into my eyes with those two dark tunnels into his soul, “I will marry you. And we will live in a beautiful home, with the sound of many little feet running about us. And your mother will stay in a guest suite. I will make a life with you, like I had no inkling of knowing I needed all these years.”

I can feel a sob threatening me, happy tears springing to my eyes before I blink them away. I didn’t even know I wanted a life like that, a life with a killer, a life with him.

But when he says it, I know it’s all I’ve ever wanted and never knew I did. Someone I can be totally honest with, someone who can share in all the pain and joy of life and never abandon me. Someone who can protect me and love me, no matter what happens.

And if we could survive the last couple weeks together, we can survive anything that comes our way.

His mouth presses in against mine, tender and soft, filled with such affection, and my tongue meets his in kind.

When he breaks the kiss again, his words coming out gravelly and low, I’m stunned by what he has to say.

“Man of power or simple means, I love you, will love you for all time, and I will protect you, Alicia.”

There’s no way I can hold back the tears now, so I quickly swipe under my eyes as my lips tremble. I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

This murderer is in love with me.

“I’m in love with you, too,” I say back, before I can even think about it.

His chiseled face breaks with a genuine smile, unlike any I’d ever seen him bear. But the touching moment is all too short, as the sound of crunching gravel and the lights of an approaching vehicle light up the unpaved back road, and I raise my gun with a newly blossomed instinct for survival.

I’m not going to fall in love moments before death.

I
hear
the approaching car a moment later than I should have, as evidenced by the fact that my girl jumped to attention first, despite my lifetime of study. She’s a natural at this, I guess, but when I look, I immediately see the vehicle make and know who it must be.

“It’s okay,” I tell Alicia, putting my hand on her arm and guiding her aim away from the approaching vehicle. “It’s an old friend.”

The car comes to a halt and it shuts off, leaving just the dark silhouette inside.

Though I cautioned Alicia, I keep my own hand near to my gun. Petyr is an old friend alright, but old friends can become new enemies. And anyone can be tailed. Especially now, when tensions are running high. Who knows who could’ve gotten to him, and what other enemies I’ve made.

“Mikhail,” comes the familiar voice as he steps out of his car, and I give Alicia a nudge to stand back as I step forward.

“Petyr,” I say as we move to meet in quiet inspection of each other. He’s put on some weight.

“Comrade!” Petyr exclaims, and I can feel some of the tension lift as we embrace.

“You’ve lost none of your strength!” I say in English for Alicia’s sake, and it’s true. Bigger he might be, but beneath that layer of added padding, he’s as strong as a bear.

“You’ve lost nothing, I can see,” Petyr says as he pulls back in his thick, expensive suit and overcoat. Too warm for the time of year.

“Only gained enemies,” I reply, and Petyr nods in return.

“Is always the way for men like us,
nyet
?” he says, casting nary a glance in Alicia’s direction. He’s all business as usual. “What is the problem you drag me out here for in the evening, Mikhail? You could have been boss of your own territory, need turn to nobody.”

“That is the problem. I turned down the offer when I shouldn’t have. And Gregorovich has made a mess of things,” I say.

“That sounds very serious,” Petyr says, glancing in Alicia’s direction for the first time. “Does this have something to do with your lady?” he asks in Russian, but I answer in English.

“In part, it does. As you know, Gregor had that hit against the Chechens and that congressman, and all has spiraled out of control. He sicced Vasili on me and my girl to cover the tracks, as if I can’t be trusted,” I tell him, a bit of a bending of the truth, but not an outright lie.

But Petyr looks confused.

“Wait,” he says, hands up, “a hit against the congressman? What- you mean… you and Gregor did that?” he asks, sounding increasingly agitated as time passes. He curses in our mother tongue. “Mikhail, do you have any idea what you fucked up? Those were no Chechens! Those were our men! That massacre fucked up our business royally!”

Now it’s my turn to be confused, my brow furrowing.

“Gregor said the hit was sanctioned by you and the Bratva,” I say, and for a moment I can tell Petyr is studying me. Trying to find out if I’m lying. Even old friendships face their tests in this business.

“Mikhail,” he says in a low, tempered voice, “we were comrades in arms through war. New York City would be yours for the taking if you only asked. Are you playing games with me now?”

“
Nyet
!” I say, falling back into Russian, leaving Alicia out of the loop as I speak, “I passed that chance up, and did Gregor’s orders as was my place. That is the only mistake I have made!” I say, but it wasn’t quite the only mistake. Just the biggest.

I can feel Alicia behind me, shifting her weight from foot to foot restlessly. She can feel the tension, even if she doesn’t understand our tongue.

“Brother, this is serious, if Gregor has done this he is attempting to make a move on the whole bratva,” Petyr says. But then my attention is drawn away by the sound of a crack, like someone stepping on a branch. Petyr hears it too, because the two of us grab for our guns and dive at about the same time. Only I dive for Alicia to throw her to the ground. Except she’s one step ahead of us two old war buddies even, popping off a shot just before I fling us to the ground.

The thunderous sound of guns firing, bullets whizzing past us as we hit the dirt just in the nick of time.

To her credit, Alicia doesn’t scream, and she moves her gun away from my gut so it doesn’t accidentally go off. Her mind is quick, even in the thick of it, but all three of us are at a disadvantage. The lights are behind us, and the gunfire is in the trees. The only shelter is the shed a few yards away and the car. I don’t have to tell her or Petyr—we all start shimmying towards our cover in near unison.

Petyr hides behind his car as we make for the shed, there are some close calls, and I feel a pinch in my calf as a bullet grazes me. But there’s no time to see the damage. I rise up as we get behind the shed and my leg holds, so it’s good enough. I pull the switch, shutting off the lights so that we’re all at an equal sight advantage.

“Keep a low profile, harder to hit you that way,” I mutter to Alicia as the gunfire becomes more sporadic now that the men after us have been deprived of the light advantage. “Stay here and pop off a few shots to give me cover. But never fire from the same exact spot twice,” I caution her before slipping around the corner behind us to come out the other side of the shed.

“Wait, Mik-” Alicia starts, but cuts off, doing her duty like a real soldier, after only just one training session.

She fires that first shot, and it does the trick—the gunmen shoot in her direction but she’s a clever girl who waits behind cover. And I’ve never been so damn proud in all my life. Not of any medal or accomplishment I ever earned, that’s for certain.

With the shots focused on her and Petyr, I slip under cover of darkness into the tree line. There I’m at my best. Under cover of night, brush and tree, I’m a wraith. I know how to move through such terrain without making a sound, and I creep up on our attackers, their muzzle flashes a dead giveaway as I get nearer.

I reach down, taking my hunting knife out of its sheath, because tonight, I’m going to hunt the deadliest of prey.

Ducking low, knife in one hand, gun in the other, I come up on the first man. It won’t be as smooth and calculated as my hit on the hotel that night I met Alicia; things are moving too fast for that, her life on the line with every moment more we spend here. But I spring forward, knife lancing into the back of one gunman, driving right between his ribs and into his heart as I lift my gun over his shoulder and blow the head off another thug.

There’s a third man here, and he turns towards me, firing a shot. But the man dying in my arms serves as a shield of sorts and buys me time to kill him too. That’s three down, but I know there’s at least one more.

I hear the sound of Petyr crying out in pain as he’s hit, and I dash for his car in the dark. Bullets whizz by me but miss.

“You okay?” I ask Petyr, but before he can answer, a man with a submachine gun comes out of the bushes, blazing away at us. I crouch behind the car as the bullets shred its metal doors. I roll along the ground and pop up over the trunk of the car, blowing the man’s head off before he can turn his gun towards me.

Everything goes silent as I duck back down and take a breath.

“You alive, comrade?” I ask my old friend, and there’s only silence. I move back beside him and I find out why. He’s busy tying some torn piece of his expensive suit around his arm with his mouth, to prevent the blood from draining out of his wounded limb. I’m relieved, I’ll admit. Few buddies of mine have survived this long.

“Good work,” I tell him, but all relief drains away as the most distressing sound ever rises up behind us.

“Mikhail!” Alicia’s voice rises in panic.

W
hat am I doing
?

I’m in a gunfight at an old baseball field in the middle of nowhere. Just months ago, I was a college student, wanting to earn enough to look out for my mom’s care.

What scares me most is how I’m keeping it together. For so long, I watched Mikhail and wondered how he could do it. How he could shoot and kill others. And here I am, doing just that without hesitation. When it came down to it—them or me—I chose me without blinking.

I can’t see things clearly, but the cries of pain and then the two distinctive sounds of Mikhail’s gun firing let me know he’s claimed some lives in our defense. And then I see him dart from the edge of the forest to his friend’s car like a ghost in the night.

I might be able to keep my cool surprisingly well in a fight, but I can’t move like he does or do the things he does with such precision and expertise.

Not yet,
a voice in my head says, and that puts a chill down my spine.

Is that where my life is going? Training to become a killer with Mikhail?

I push aside those thoughts. They’re trivial. It’s too soon to relax. That much is abundantly clear as I watch a man walk out of the bushes, gun blazing. I line up a shot, but Mikhail takes him down first.
He’s so damn good
.

But as he and his friend Petyr settle down again, I keep an eye out. And then I see it.

We’re not done.

“Mikhail!” I cry out, but even he can’t be quick enough to save his own ass this time. The angle is all wrong, the gunman is too close.

I’m all there is between my lover and death.

I hold my breath and fire.

BANG!

I step forward and as my feet touch the ground again…

BANG!

One more step forward and… BANG!

I keep pulling the trigger as the man topples over. He’s a bullet-riddled mess as he hits the ground. And I’m still pulling the trigger, even as my clip empties.

He’s dead.

Mikhail pounces up, puts his arms around me and pulls me behind cover of the car in case any more are out there.

“You did it,” he says to me in a husky breath, so full of pride. “You saved all our asses.”

“You owe me a cheesecake later,” I quip, looking between the two of them. “For now, I don’t really wanna hang around here.”

I’m out of breath, but Mikhail’s strong arms comfort me, soothe away the agitation in my shoulders. It was a rush to save them, to do what I had to, and my entire body feels like this intense tingly sensation. It doesn’t feel right.

It kinda feels like I’m horny, which definitely isn’t appropriate right now. Is that what they talk about when they say your adrenaline spikes during a fight?

“You have to go end Gregor, Mikhail,” Petyr says as he finishes binding up his wound, and Mikhail checks his own leg, finding little more than a superficial graze.

We hear a groan from nearby, and Mikhail and I are immediately on alert. But it quickly becomes clear that it’s the sound of a dying man.

Approaching the spot with care, Mikhail finds him, and I realize, judging by the spot he was in, it had to be the guy I shot at the very beginning. I did it.

He’s nursing a wound in his gut, his blood looking like black oil over his hands, not at all what I’d expect. I find myself grossly fascinated, which is a far cry from who I was—who I thought I was—just a couple weeks ago.

“Tell me what you know,” Mikhail says darkly. But the wounded man just pants. Mikhail bends down and stabs that knife of his into the man’s hand, making him cry out.

“H-he has a girl! Held captive! In case you get away!” He says, his agony palpable.

“What girl?” Mikhail asks as Petyr moves off to check around the area.

“Some bitch who works at the bar,” he says, and Mikhail makes him hurt again for that crass language.

“Nikki,” Mikhail says. “Her name is Nikki.”

“S-sorry! He says if you turn over the girl and this friend of yours out here dies, all is forgiven, and you get her—Nikki—back.”

“Final question. Where are Gregor and Nikki now?” Mikhail asks. “Answer well, and your suffering will end.”

“An expensive hotel… in the city. Says you’d never dare show there,” and Mikhail just ends the man’s life without a word more, sinking his knife into the man’s heart before my eyes.

“What—why?” I ask, shocked.

“He was a goner and he knew it. It is less painful this way, at least. And I know where Gregor is,” Mikhail says, wiping off his knife on the man’s clothes before standing up.

Petyr returns just in time, and the two men exchange knowing nods.

There are still intricacies I don’t understand. I might have killed someone in self-defense, but I’m not like these two. They were born into blood and violence and mayhem, and I was only recently adopted into it.

But I’m not afraid anymore. And if Nikki is a friend of Mikhail’s, and she’s been put at risk because of me, then there’s no way I’m going to back down. No innocent is going to die on my behalf.

“What do we do?”

“Gregor has to die,” Mikhail says, and Petyr nods to his words.

“The sooner the better. Otherwise we have a full blown civil war within the Bratva. And nobody will be getting out cleanly,” Petyr says, and Mikhail nods in agreement. “I will take your girl with me, keep her safe while you do the job,” he says, deciding things as clear as that. But there’s no way I’m going to be pushed aside again!

“No,” Mikhail says even before I can speak up. “Leave her to me,” he says, and the two men exchange a look before shaking hands. “
Dos vedanya
old friend, I will see this through.”

“And when it’s done, I’ll see to it you’re where you belong,” Petyr says before the two of them part, and it’s just us again.

I look up at Mikhail, relief and apprehension mixing in my gut. This is real. We’re making it real. Part of me knows that I have a choice, and that I could simply run away and let him handle it. Even if I left, I know Mikhail would never let Nikki or me get hurt.

But another part of me feels like I’m riding a water slide, unable to stop or slow down, and even though I’m frightened, there’s no turning back.

“We’re going back to where this all began,
kotika
,” Mikhail says to me.

* * *

“
H
ow did
you know he meant this hotel?” I ask, feeling a strange sensation as I sit outside the hotel where my whole life changed.

“Gregor knows I never set foot back at the scene of a hit. Especially not one as big as this with an ongoing investigation. He thinks he’s safe from me here, because the increased security will make it impossible for me to get in without being detected and recognized,” he explains, and that all makes too much sense.

It’s past midnight, time crawling by as we race back to the city, and I’m still wearing my messy mix of his clothes and mine.

“So how are we going to do this?” I ask.

* * *

W
alking into the hotel
, I feel an uncanny sense of
deja vu
. Even though I wasn’t really fully conscious the entire time I was here before, I know it. And I have a queasy feeling in my stomach.

What happened here—and especially what
almost
happened here—turns my stomach.

I’m holding a coat over one arm and wearing a dress that fits not quite perfectly, but near about. My hair is done back in an emergency ponytail. Where Mikhail got the dress in such short notice, I didn’t ask, but I put it on.

So here I am, dismissing the approaching concierge as I make my way to the elevator with my best attempt to appear like yet another lady arriving late. I know what they must think, I’m either some young kept girl coming back after a late night or a sex worker heading up to a client. But that’s kind of the point: to be dismissively ignored as a part of the usual guests.

Each floor up is agony, and I feel my heart beating like loud drums, foretelling a coming doom.

Once I arrive at the floor Mikhail told me about, the very same one he plucked me from that bloody night, I see at the end of the hall two men in dark suits clearly standing guard. Another one is pacing the hall. And all three see me immediately.

I push down my fear, though, and I walk ahead.

Stick to the plan
, my inner voice tells me. So I stick to the plan.

The three men all stare at me, not sure what to make of my approach at first. But then one of them mutters into a microphone pinned to his jacket and two doors open alongside me. More men pour out around me, and one immediately blocks off my way back.

Why did I propose this? Why did I insist?! This is madness!
A voice in my head screams, but it’s too late to back out.

I stop in front of the two guards at the big, double-door.

“I have a message for Gregorovich.” My voice sounds surprisingly calm, in control. My mind is chaos, but I don’t betray my inner fears. “It’s important,” I say when they hesitate.

But their eyes dart away, and it’s just as Mikhail said. They’re being watched too. For all the security this place brings them, the cameras prevent them from gunning me down or forcing me into anything then and there. It’s a double-edged sword, as he said. Hems both them and me in.

One of the men takes hold of my arm, and though he tries to make it look harmless, his grip is tight. I immediately struggle, make a big show of it for the cameras as Mikhail instructed.

“He has to meet me out here,” I say as the guard relents. “I want to talk in the hall about an exchange. Just him and I.”

“
Nyet
,” says one of the men immediately. “The boss will not see anyone privately.”

“Very well,” I say, licking my lips as if thinking about it. But Mikhail told me they’d say this. Thankfully, they’re predictable, and my boyfriend knows them better than anyone else. “One of you can remain. But has to stay at the end of the hall. For my safety.”

“
Nyet
,” he says again, but then he pauses, seeming to listen to something coming from his earpiece. “
Da. Da
,” he says then instructs the other men with simple hand gestures, and they all begin to walk away, returning to side rooms until there’s just the one head guard and me. “I must frisk you first,” he says.

I walk a few paces away to the most open area of the hall, there I hold out my arms, put my feet apart a bit as the man moves in, patting his big, grubby hands over me. Every second is torture and reminds me of what Mikhail really saved me from, but I don’t even quiver.

How am I handling this so well? Even as he cops a feel of my ass, just to show to me he can get away with it or put me on edge, I don’t sway. He’s going to get his, and soon.

The whole time, my heart is beating faster than it ever had before. No marathon can tax that muscle as hard as it is now. But I never show it. I kept my cool, my face stony and calm.

The thug who frisked me merely rises up and backs away without a word, opening the double-doors for his boss. Gregorovich.

The man who wanted me—wants me—tortured and killed. The man who made it so that I have nightmares of blood.

The man who gave me Mikhail.

It’s a twisted emotion, to loathe someone and yet be grateful for how all their horribleness opened me up to so many amazing things.

Yet this is my first time ever seeing him, and he’s not at all what I expect. He might even be handsome and charming, if he weren’t grinning at me deviously, the mastermind of all my pain and fears.

And he didn’t come with Nikki.

“Very brave of you to come all this way alone,” he says to me in his Russian accent. “Or is your little boyfriend around here somewhere?” he asks, making an act of looking around, as if Mikhail were some imp hiding behind one of the fancy tables lining the hall.

“I’m not going to let an innocent woman take my place, no matter what Mikhail wants,” I say firmly and with conviction. It surprises Gregorovich a little, but not much. He’s leering again in no time in that ivory colored suit of his, one hand in his pocket. No doubt grasping a gun.

“How noble. But I don’t think that dyke is as innocent as you believe,” he says, and I take back everything I said about him. He’s a creepy, greasy piece of shit, and no one could ever find him attractive after more than a few moments with him. “You don’t hang around bad men for that long without being a little bad yourself, hm?”