His Target: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Bella King

  “Then, if I ask you a question, you have to tell me the truth,” she says.

  “Sure,” I say, wondering where this is going.

  Alexia presses her foot into my cock. “Do you have an erection?”

  I stiffen up, and so does my cock. “God, don’t do that unless you want me to stop the car and fuck you on the side of the road.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” she says, crossing her arms and moving her feet over my lap.

  “Um, yeah, I guess I have an erection now, thanks to you,” I answer.

  “Good,” she says, pulling her feet off my lap and letting me breathe. “I’m glad you’ve decided to start being honest.”

  She’s glad, but I’m even happier. I’ve never been able to be honest with anyone. Everything that’s ever come out of my mouth has been a half-truth at best. She might think this will be a difficult change for me to make, but I’m relieved to have found someone who I can be wholly honest with.

  Alexia makes it a point to hold me true to that honesty, picking my brain for hours before we arrive in Nevada. We cover my entire childhood, growing up in Russia, and how I escaped prison at the age of twenty-five. We discuss the struggles of finding work as a nameless nobody, until I found my home among the crooks of Sacramento and started doing hits.

  I find it easy to explain my life story to Alexia. She listens with the maturity of someone who has been around the world a thousand times and lived many different lives. It surprises me that she’s able to take it all in without any apparent judgment.

  She’s more special than I thought she was when I first met her.

  After I let her pick my brain, I pick hers, discovering the events that brought her to the orphanage, and then out into the streets at the ripe age of eighteen. The world has been cruel to her, and I feel guilty for thinking only about money when I first brought her to my car. She’s worth so much more than that.

  I find my hand on her thigh, comforting her as she finishes up her story, telling me about the night that I rescued her from Boris’s men. It dawns on me then that I haven’t even told her about her father. She never knew the man.

  “You’re a brave woman, Alexia,” I tell her. “But I realize now that your courage doesn’t just come from your circumstances. Your father was the same way, from what I hear.”

  Her head jerks up, and she looks at me so intensely that I have to look away. “You know about my father?”

  “You can thank Boris for that,” I say with a chuckle. “He was the one doing all the research. I was just–“

  “Tell me about him,” she snaps, cutting me off.

  I clear my throat. “Well, you may not like this all that much, but it makes sense. I mean, it’s no wonder you’re drawn to criminals.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Not even me?” I ask, faking like I’m offended.

  “You’re an exception. You’re the only exception.”

  “Well, your father was one too,” I say, waiting for her reaction.

  She frowns. “A criminal?”

  I shrug. “Sure. I don’t think he ever served time in prison, though. He was a drug lord, which is how he amassed such a large fortune. He went by Mr. Diamandis, but I don’t know his first name.”

  The look of shock on her face is priceless. “Alexia Diamandis,” she mutters.

  “That’s right. I think it’s fitting.”

  “And my mom?” she asks, looking at me with those fierce grey eyes again.

  “Admittedly, I don’t know about your mother,” I reply. “But, I do know how you ended up at the orphanage with no clue about your inheritance.”

  “How?”

  “Your father has a lot of enemies, so I was told, and when they caught up with him, they made damn well sure that they killed him and everyone in his estate,” I say. “That includes your mother, and probably all of the housekeepers too since nobody could identify you. You were found with your blanket, hiding somewhere on the property when the authorities arrived.”

  “But if nobody knew who I was, why would they know now?” Alexia asks, cocking her head to the side with a puzzled expression.

  “DNA tests are pretty accurate. They have plenty of evidence from the massacre. They never really get rid of that stuff, especially if the case never gets solved,” I reply.

  She nods. “So, I can prove it and take the money, provided that it still exists.”

  “It does,” I say confidently. “Boris wouldn’t have sent me after you if he didn’t know for certain that it was floating around somewhere. I think you were even named in your father’s will, but again, the orphanage got you with just a first name, and they never cared to dig any deeper.”

  “They’re useless,” Alexia says, shaking her head. “All this time, and I never knew.”

  “Well, you can thank me for informing you.” I grin. “See, I’m not all that bad after all.”

  She laughs. “Of course, Zeno. You’re my bodyguard now. You’re sworn to protect and serve me.”

  “That’s only if you pay me,” I remind her. “And I haven’t seen any money yet.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll get your money,” she replies, a knowing look in her eyes. “And you’ll also be getting a lot more on top of that.”

  I want a lot more, like, right the fuck now, but I’m going to be patient for it. Alexia is a dream come true, and I would be a fool to rush her on anything now that she’s the one calling the shots. I never really wanted to control her anyway. That was Boris’s idea.

  Boris, the bastard. I might be approaching the end of my hitman days, but he’s an idiot for crossing someone with so much experience killing people. I will kill him for betraying me, and that will be the end of it.

  I’m not messing with Vlad, though. I’d need a small army for that, and some things just aren’t worth the trouble, especially not when I have other, more pressing matters at hand.

  I glance toward Alexia, who is now staring up through the moonroof at the clouds. I wonder what she’s daydreaming about, but I don’t want to disturb her peace by asking. I’ll let it remain a secret. Life is more fun with a bit of mystery.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Alexia

  I was expecting a bank, not a shack out in the middle of the desert. It’s much hotter here than it was in Portland, and I’m sweating bullets as we roll up to the lonely building where Zeno keeps his money stashed. It doesn’t seem very secure to me, but he sees nothing wrong with it.

  Zeno stops the car and leans over to me. “Have you ever shot a gun before?” he asks, pulling one from his pocket and holding it out to me.

  “No,” I answer, only looking at the gun. I don’t want to take it from him.

  “Let’s hope you don’t have to learn,” he says. “Take it.”

  “Why?” I ask, cautiously clasping my hand around the warm handle.

  “If we go out, then we go out shooting,” he says with a smirk. “Those assholes will never take me alive.”

  “What assholes?” I ask, looking nervously through the rearview window as Zeno jumps out of the car. I don’t see anyone, but I suppose they could still be following us. Zeno certainly seems to think so.

  I throw my door open and join Zeno in the blazing desert heat, wholly uncomfortable with the thought of being left in the car should the parade of black cars come rolling down the dusty road toward us again. I’d prefer that the front seat not become my coffin.

  “I have the kay to this damn thing somewhere,” Zeno mutters, fishing around in his pocket while I look around us with my hands on my hips, squinting through the slanted sunlight.

  “Not much here,” I note.

  “That’s the point. Do you think anyone is going to try to break into my little hideout when they have no clue that it exists?” he asks, finally pulling a key out of his pocket. “Besides, I have traps for any poor fool who wanders in.”

  “Traps?” I hope there aren’t any grenades rigged to the door.

  “Traps
, like bear traps, except for humans. I’ve never actually caught any in them, though. I did get a snake once that managed to crawl through a hole in the roof.”

  I would’ve been happier without the mention of snakes. I’ve had to deal with my fair share of wildlife, mainly raccoons and rabid dogs, and it’s never a good time. I’d argue that they’re worse than people. At least some people have a moral compass.

  Zeno uses aggressive force in twisting the lock open, struggling for a moment before it pops open with a squeak and a groan. He must not have been here for a while. That, or the desert takes a toll on exposed metal pretty quickly.

  I stand a few feet behind Zeno as he swings the door open, leaning in a pulling a light switch dangling from the ceiling without stepping into the room. I’m assuming that’s because of the bear trap lying in the doorway.

  “They snapper will shatter your bones,” Zeno says, pulling it out into the open.

  I cringe at how close his hand is to the jagged metal teeth. It’s like a giant metal shark’s jaw with the reaction time of a computer. I don’t want to be anywhere close to that thing.

  “Are there more of those?” I ask.

  “Probably not,” he replies, stepping into the shack.

  “Probably?” That’s not very reassuring.

  “Well, I don’t really remember. It’s been years since I’ve been to this place,” he replies from inside.

  I wait outside, unwilling to venture into his deathtrap and risk having my feet snapped off by one of his archaic metal traps. The fact that Zeno shows no hesitation going inside confirms that he has a least a few screws loose, maybe more.

  “Hey, come help me with this,” I hear his muffled voice say after a minute.

  I look at the beartrap, sucking in a deep breath of the dry desert air as I grip the gun Zeno gave me as though it will protect me from the jagged metal teeth that may or may not be waiting for me inside. It would be ironic if I made it this far only to be killed in the end by Zeno by accident.

  A suitcase lands in my hands the second I enter the tight space inside the shack.

  “Take this,” Zeno says. He reaches into an opened safe and pulls out another identical suitcase.

  “I’m assuming there’s money in here and not a bomb,” I say, testing the weight of the suitcase,

  “Probably both,” he replies.

  I freeze. “What?”

  Zeno chuckles. “I’m just messing with you. There’s nothing but cold, hard cash in these.” He hands another one to me, pulling yet another from the safe. “All the bombs are inside the safe, waiting for whoever decides to check the safe after us.”

  “Are you serious?” I ask, taking a step back from him and the explosive safe.

  “Absolutely,” he replies, slamming the door to the safe shut. “The next time someone opens that, they’re going to be blown into a cloud of crimson.”

  “Shit, what if it’s an innocent person?” I ask.

  “It won’t be,” he says. “We’re leaving the car here, so I’m sure our little mafia friends will want to search the place. When they do…” He mocks an explosion with his hands. “Kaboom!”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” I say with a sigh.

  He winks. “I always do.”

  I walk out of the shack carrying two suitcases with Zeno and his two in close tow. I have the gun he gave me tucked into the waistband of my jeans, and in the distance, I can see a cloud of dust rising up into the air.

  “They’re coming,” Zeno mutters from behind me.

  I look back at him to see an exciting smile on his face. Why the hell would be excited about this?

  “Um, I thought they outnumbered us,” I say, trying to make sense of his excitement.

  “They do,” he replies. “But, they can’t outrun us.”

  “You think the car is fast enough?”

  “I told you,” he says, shaking his head. “We’re leaving the car here.”

  “Well, we certainly aren’t going to outrun them on foot,” I say, growing irritated.

  “I have something around back,” Zeno says. “Come with me.”

  I follow him around the shack, leaving the car parked in the hot sun, attracting the people who want to kill us. I’m not nearly as excited about this whole thing as Zeno seems to be. In fact, I’m terrified. I don’t see how he can be in such a good mood.

  “Have you ever ridden a motorcycle before?” Zeno asks as we arrive at a small garage attached to the back of the shack, made out of a metal shipping container.

  “No.”

  “Well, maybe you should learn,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “Because I have no clue how to ride this thing.”

  I groan. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  He laughs. “You’ll fall for anything, Alexia. Yes, I’m kidding you. I know how to ride a motorcycle.”

  I don’t laugh at his joke. I’m not at all in the mood for humor when we’re minutes away from being pumped full of led. A sense of urgency looms over my head, disallowing me from cracking jokes. He seems to be lacking that urgency.

  Zeno sets his suitcases down beside the garage and pulls out his keys again, thumbing through them for the one that will fit. Every few seconds, I peek around the corner, trying to get a gauge on how quickly the enemy is approaching us. The dust cloud gets bigger by the second.

  “Maybe you could hurry it up,” I suggest, glaring at Zeno as he slowly pulls the motorcycle out of the garage.

  “I know what I’m doing, babe,” he replies, the excited smile never once leaving his face. “I’ve wanted to get back on this thing for a while. I hope it has gas.”

  “You hope?!”

  “Yeah,” he replies casually. “I think it does.”

  I’m thoroughly done with Zeno, but I’m also wholly reliant on him to get me out of the desert and back to safety. I don’t want to end up in a shootout with the Russian Mafia. I would surely die, and I haven’t been on this earth for long enough to be okay with that.

  “No helmets,” Zeno says apologetically.

  “I really don’t care,” I reply sharply.

  “Great, give me your suitcases then. I need to pack them.”

  I hand over the heavy suitcases, supposedly filled with money, and watch as Zeno carefully packs them into the rear luggage bags on the motorcycle. He balances it out with two on either side and only climbs onto the motorcycle once he’s certain that they’re secured in place properly. By then, the mafia is visible on the horizon.

  Zeno pats the seat behind him. “Hop on.”

  I don’t hesitate the jump aboard the Zeno death train because I’m more terrified of the onslaught of black cars moving toward us like a tsunami wave than of Zeno’s questionable driving skills. Sure, he can drive a car, but if this motorcycle has been sitting behind his shed for years, then when was the last time he drove one?

  I wrap my hands around Zeno’s waist, comforted by the heat of his body and the feeling of his abs beneath his shirt. I lay my head against his back, taking in the scent of his body again. It’s so lovely to be protected by him instead of becoming his victim.

  The motorcycle rumbles between my thighs as Zeno kicks it on, an unfair flair of arousal instantly rising up through my pelvis. The vibration feels shockingly good as the motorcycle jerks forward, propelling us away from the ticking time bomb that is Zeno’s shack.

  I hold onto Zeno for dear life, not bothering to look behind us to check where our pursuers are. The motorcycle is moving too fast, blowing hot desert air across my arms as I shelter from the flying bits of sand with his broad back.

  I shut my eyes for a moment, thinking that the momentary darkness will prevent me from feeling sick at the world rushing by, but it only makes it worse. I feel as though I’m twirling through space without a clue what is up or down.

  I open my eyes, staring instead at the fabric on the back of Zeno’s suit jacket as we bump back onto the road and speed up. I thought we were already going full speed, but I realiz
e now why Zeno was so excited to take the motorcycle. This thing is like a rocket!

  Vibration from Zeno’s torso indicated that he’s saying something, but I can’t make out the words. I concentrate, about to tell him to speak up, when I realize that he’s not talking to me. He’s singing in Russian.

  I’ve never seen him so thrilled, but when I think about it, I realize that this his great escape as well as mine. For me, it was all about getting off the streets and finding my way in life. For him, it’s been about retiring from the mafia and being able to live a normal life. Now, with our money combined, he’ll be able to do that.

  Even for a man who was going to kill me, I can’t help but feel empathy toward him for all that he’s been through. I want him to have everything that he desires, and I hope that includes me. Bodyguard or not, I want Zeno in my life. I’ve grown attached to him, and I haven’t forgotten about what he did to me at the rest area in the rain. That was simply divine.

  I jump as a deep vibration shakes the road. Zeno lets out a yelp of triumph, and I look behind us to see a billowing cloud of black smoke rising from where the shack once stood. The entire thing, and everything within two-hundred feet of it, has been blown out of existence.

  I wish that included Boris, but I doubt it. He’s probably still in Portland, having sent his goons after us instead of doing the dirty work himself. I’d expect nothing less from a creep like him.

  Still, the explosion gives me faith that Boris and his men will think twice about messing with us again. I want to have as normal of a life as I can with Zeno. I want us to have the time to explore each other more, both physically and emotionally. I want to trust him again, to fall in love deeply, and to never stop loving each other until our dying day, which, I hope, is far into the future, when we’re both old and grey.

  I glance up at Zeno’s hair, noting the grey streak in it. It looks like Zeno is already going grey, but he’s far from old. He’s youthful at heart and so full of life and energy. I get the feeling he’s going to be around for a while longer.

  I hug him tightly, pressing my face into his back and letting my emotions spill out. I don’t want him to know that I’m crying, so I laugh with the tears as the wind whips them from my face. I’m just glad that we’re free. All I want is to be free with Zeno.