I let her go. She’s not the type of girl who falls in love in one night. This is the first time she’s done something reckless, that I know of, and she found me. I’m not husband material. I’m not a good person. I’m a killer. I fantasize about having something better with her, about being a better person. But I know I can’t.
I lock the door and hop on my motorcycle. I should be following Chi, because that’s the assignment my father has given me. Instead, I’m driving my bike through New York traffic toward my sister’s office which is in the back of the family’s bar, The Vodka Room. Natalya and Anatoli have taken up the hobby of infusing vodka with flavors, so it’s an apt name.
I pull up out front, park, and stride inside. In the afternoon the bar is always the same. Two Russian girls behind the bar, prepping for the evening crowd, pouring drinks, taking care of customers. The customers are all the same at this time of day as well, men who are too old to still work for the family. The bar is like a retirement home for the Ivanovich Bratva. There are always men who work for the family in and out, providing security, getting orders, or simply having a drink.
“Hello, Misha,” one of the bartenders calls out.
I turn toward her and nod. Her name is Kat, and she’s been trying to get me into her bed for six years, since before she was legal. The other bartender is married to one of the lowest foot soldiers. She doesn’t look at me, ever. Her husband is very jealous.
“Hi, Kat, is my sister in?” I ask her.
She gives me her best bedroom eyes, and answers me in Russian. She knows I don’t speak the language. Not that my mother didn’t try to teach me, but my mother had already taught the other three, and by the time she got to me she was tired. I know a few words. I can swear in Russian really well. But I have no idea what she just said.
“So, I’ll assume that’s a yes,” I reply, and walk toward the back. The other girl laughs. “Whatever. Fuck you both,” I call out, as I knock on the door labeled Manager.
I open the door to find my sister behind her big, cheap desk. She’s the dark haired child in the family, and the only daughter. She really is beautiful, but she probably didn’t have the best childhood. Our older brothers teased her, and when I wanted to play with her she screamed at me and told me to leave her alone.
I guess I’ve always been alone. That is, until I was given Chiara. Well, I was given the job to watch her, so that counts.
She glances at me briefly, then returns to her work. “What the hell do you want?”
“Nice to see you too, sis,” I reply.
She sighs loudly, as if I’ll always be the annoying little brother. I guess she doesn’t remember all the assholes I protected her from after I grew to be six feet tall in freshman year.
I sit down across from her, and place my hands on my knees. I don’t want to do it, but I know I have to. It’s the only way I can make enough money to formulate a plan to get away from this city, this family. “I’m ready to move on from the Rossi thing. I want to make some money. So put the word out that Volk is available.”
She knows what I mean. I’m ready to go back to killing. I don’t only kill for the family, I kill for other families too. Everyone wants me because I’m the best, even though I’m expensive. They know I’m worth it. Volk, which means wolf, is my code name. No one outside the family knows who I really am. Well, except for Chiara now. But she doesn’t know that I’m the wolf, a paid assassin, she just thinks I’m a soldier for the Bratva.
She sits her pen down on the desk, and gazes at me. Well, I think that got her attention. “Are you fucking with me?” she asks. She’s surveying me with her hazel eyes that are so like our mother’s.
My sister is a beautiful woman, and she knows it and uses it to her advantage. She looks like our mother, and she thanks God every day. Our older brothers look just like our father, with wide noses and pudgy faces. I’m the only sibling to look like a mixture of both. I have my dad’s hair and eyes, and my mom’s nose and lips. I don’t think I’m bad looking, especially not with women throwing themselves at me constantly. But I don’t know if that’s because I’m good looking, or because I’m an Ivanovich son.
“No.” I mean, she knows I hate it, but I didn’t expect this kind of response.
She’s really trying to dig into me deep with her eyes. Suddenly she laughs. “Why do you think you can defy Papa’s orders and change your assignment on your own?”
I try to turn my face into a mask of non-feelings. “I thought Rossi was just busy work to keep me out of trouble. I’m ready to move on.”
“Where was the Rossi daughter last night?” she questions. Fuck, this is an interrogation now.
I don’t even think about it. Thinking about it is how people can tell you’re lying. I just lie. “She left the church and went home, like she does every night.”
“Really?” she counters with a wry smile and a nod. Apparently she does have some of our father’s expressions, because in that moment she looks just like him. “Is that what you’re going to tell Papa?”
Fuck! She knows I’m lying. “Yes.”
“Because his driver told him that he picked you up at a club last night, with a gorgeous, shapely Italian woman, and dropped you off at a hotel.”
So obviously I made no good decisions last night. Typical for the family screw up. But she’s hiding something from me too, I can see it in her smug Ivanovich expression.
“You think Papa put you on this assignment merely to keep you busy because there’s only one thing you can do right, and that’s kill?”
I look away when she says that. Fuck. I hate that, and she knows it. But she’s right. Her statement was harsh, but true.
When I don’t answer, she continues. “Don’t you wonder why Papa gave you strict instruction not to touch the Rossi girl?”
I’m done with her cryptic bullshit. “What are you saying, Nats. Just spit it out.”
“Papa knew that the marriage was arranged. He knew the Rossi girl didn’t want to marry Moretti. He knew if he told you not to get close to her, you would. Why do you think he sent his hot, single son, the one all the girls lust over?”
My chest gets tight. My hands start to sweat. I sit perfectly still, without moving. I refuse to give away the fact that I’m angry. No, I’m furious. I played right into my father’s hands. I should have known he’d have an ulterior motive. He always does.
“What’s his endgame?” I demand.
She stares at me for several moments, as if reluctant to tell me. Then she gives me an almost sympathetic look. “You need money because you want to run, obviously. You’ll never get away from him, no matter where you go.” She pauses a moment, watching my reactions. I don’t give her one. “The mission was for you to seduce the Rossi girl and fall in love, that way you could get inside information from her.”
Father wants to put her in danger. He wants her to carry on an affair while married to the next in line to the most powerful Don in New York. “I’ll just kill him,” I say flatly. That was the plan anyway.
“He wouldn’t mind if all three Moretti sons died. But if you get caught…” she starts.
“I don’t get caught,” I assure her.
“But if you do, Papa will say he knows nothing about it. He’ll hand you over to them.” So I’m expendable. My father has two other sons who make him proud. He doesn’t need me. “Think long and hard, Misha. It’s time for you to finally prove how smart you really are.”
Smart but doesn’t apply himself. That’s what all my teachers used to say. Stupid is what my father always calls me. Maybe he is right, because I never, in a million years, saw this coming.
“The best thing for you to do is stay in the family, and use your new Italian girlfriend to get all the information you can. Because if you don’t, you’ll put both your lives at risk.”
So I finally fall in love, with a girl my father wouldn’t approve of, and it’s exactly what he wants. I have really fucked up this time.
Chapter Fourteen
Chiara
“Hello, Auntie,” I say as I run toward her. I open my arms and she grabs me and hugs me close. She guides me toward a pew, then sits and pulls me down beside her.
Aunt Clara is my father’s sister, and she’s been a nun since she graduated high school. The rumor was that her father had wanted to set up a marriage between her and a powerful man much older than her. She said she would do it, and then ran to a convent. By the time her father figured it out, she’d already taken the vows.
Maybe that’s what I should have done. But if I had, my father would have immediately married Guilia off to Dante.
“What’s wrong, child?” she asks me gently, as she sits beside me in the pew. I’ve come to her several times since I returned from college. Taking care of my crazy ass family can be a little overwhelming. “Is it Frankie?”
I glance up at her then, and fight the tears that are stinging my eyes. “Yes. All of this is about Frankie. If he hadn’t picked me, my life would be great right now.”
She stares at me for several moments with faded eyes that look like mine, then smiles brightly. “You’ve met someone!”
I sigh loudly. “I’m engaged, Auntie,” I remind her.
She merely laughs off my declaration. I was named after her, and I do favor her somewhat. I’ve always been told I look like my paternal grandmother. “You told me you don’t want to marry him, or have you forgotten?”
“It’s not about wanting to marry him. It’s about…” I let the thought go. I know I told her I didn’t want to marry Frankie. I didn’t tell her why I have to.
“The family?” she suggests softly.
I bite my bottom lip. I ran away to Maine to get away from this kind of family bullshit. And now I’m caught in a web I can’t get out of because of family. Not because of the Rossi family, but because of the mob. Because Frankie wants it, and Frankie’s father is powerful, and not just because he’s my dad’s boss. This is exactly why I ran. And the family is exactly why I can’t run this time.
I nod, and look away. The statues along the outside walls of the church remind me that I’m supposed to be at the church in a few hours, to meet my fiancé.
“Who is he, Chi?” she asks conspiratorially.
“He’s Russian,” I answer, my voice barely above a whisper. Then I glance at her, and her eyes have gone wide and her eyebrows are high on her forehead. And she’s hiding her open mouth behind her hand.
She takes a moment to process it, then giggles like a teenage girl. “Is he blonde? You always liked blondes.”
I groan, and she chuckles again. My college boyfriend is blonde, and pretty, but not nearly as gorgeous as Misha. I nod again.
“Is he good looking? Tell me he’s good looking,” she continues, excitedly.
“He’s gorgeous,” I relent. “His eyes are so blue, and his skin is so pale. He’s breathtaking.”
“How did you meet him?”
“In a bar. I saw him, and I had to approach him.” I’m sure my cheeks are stained bright red.
That shocks her. “You approached him?”
I nod. Talking about it like this almost makes it acceptable, and fun. It makes it sound normal, a girl meeting a hot guy in a bar. And it would be, if it wasn’t for the fact that it’s oh so wrong. And I have to tell Aunt Clara why. “He’s an Ivanovich.”
Her expression changes. First she looks afraid, then she looks sad. She reaches out to take my hand. “I’m so sorry, Chi. But you know you can’t…” She pauses. Just a moment ago she was giggling about it. Now, she’s nervous. “Not with an Ivanovich.”
I know she’s right. I know it’s wrong to feel this way about him. But no matter how wrong it is, I want him. I’ve thought of nothing but him since I left his house. His perfect house that is brown and boring, and so annoyingly clean and straight. I wish Aunt Clara could meet him, and see his house with its China and expensive furniture.
“But he’s…” I begin, but I stop. It doesn’t matter how he is. He’s the enemy, as are all of the Ivanoviches. I look at her, and her eyes soften.
She smiles, and pats my cheek gently. “Tell me about him.”
“He’s tall, so tall. He’s probably six and a half feet. His shoulders are wide, and his hands are huge. His smile is genuine, and his eyes sparkle.” She grins, and nods for me to continue. “His house is spotless, and apparently he does his own cleaning. He has a China coffee set, and a mahogany dining table.” When her eyes go wide again, I realize I’ve said too much.
“You’ve been to his house?” she whispers.
“He kinda kidnapped me,” I admit. When she gasps, I finish, “On a motorcycle.” She’s stunned. I nod seriously.
Then we both break into a fit of giggles. Neither of us can stop for several moments. When she does, she has to clear her throat and wipe her eyes.
“Chi, he sounds perfect.”
I frown. “He’s not. He’s far from perfect.” I feel tears in my eyes again, but not from laughing. He’s a killer. He’s already told me that. But when I’m with him, I feel free for the first time in my life.
She wraps me in her arms again, and tries to comfort me. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” I let her hold me. It feels nice having her support. I notice the time on my watch, and sigh. “I have to go. I have to shower and change before I meet up with my fiancé at the church where we’ll be married in two months.”
Aunt Clara kisses my cheek, then pulls away. “You’ll figure it out, my girl. You always do.”
“Not this time.” I quickly hug her again. “Thank you, Auntie.” I say, before I leave the church.
I grab a cab and head back to my house. I look around it, wondering what the super neat Misha thought when he saw it. I tend to kick off my shoes and leave them at the front door, which I just did. I glance down, and find three other pairs of shoes huddled together in the corner. So what do I do? I drop the bag with my expensive black heels right beside them.
I walk through the sitting room, where my couch is covered in blankets and pillows, from where I bundled up to watch television a couple of nights ago. Then I walk up the steps to my bedroom, and find the bed unmade and clothes on the floor. My apartment is the exact opposite of Misha’s. I open my closet, and find a jumbled mess of clothes, shoes, purses, scarves, and other accessories. I wonder if he’s been in here, and thought about organizing it. I don’t think I’d mind.
I move toward one of my chest of drawers, and open my underwear drawer. Panties are mixed in with bras, and a few pairs of socks. I grab a bra and panties, not worrying if they match because I know Frankie won’t be seeing them, then I step into my bathroom. Every beauty product I own is on my countertop. I open my shower door, and notice the half dozen bottles of shampoo and conditioner, not to mention the many containers of body and face wash.
Wow. I must really like clutter. I wonder how Misha felt when he stood in my bedroom. I’ll have to ask him if I see him again. Not if. When.
*****
As the car approaches the church, I see Frankie standing outside waiting on me. All of a sudden my hands are shaking. I’ve been really nice about my situation up until now. I’ve allowed my dad and Frankie to manipulate me. I don’t know how much longer I can manage to just take it lying down.
“Hi, Chi,” he says, after he opens the door for me. “You look so pretty.” He kisses my forehead as he helps me out of the car.
“You didn’t have to send a car. It wasn’t necessary,” I murmur, and move my head away from his kiss.
He grabs my chin, and tips my head back. “Is something wrong, Chi?” He’s usually uptight, and very much in control of his emotions. Right now, though, his voice is a bit rough, and his eyes are softer than normal.
Now is my chance. I should say something. He looks concerned, though, and his thumb is rubbing gently against my chin. “No, everything’s fine,” I lie. And then I smile.
He grins back at me. “I’m glad.” He pulls me against his big body, a
nd I feel his rock hard muscles against my softness. Then he whispers into my ear, “You know I want you, don’t you?” Then he kisses the top of my head.
Is it time to just tell him? Does he not know? He has to.
“Let’s go inside, my light. I don’t want to be turned on in church.” I glance up at him, and he kisses my lips quickly. He weaves our fingers together and leads me inside. This is where we are supposed to pledge our lives to each other in two months.
I don’t love you. I don’t want to marry you. My father is forcing me.
Those are some of the things I could say to him. Or I could simply say I’ve met someone else. Now is the time to do it, when we’re in a crowded place. He couldn’t possibly hurt me in front of a church.
Then he glances over at me and smiles almost sweetly. “I’m so proud to be here with you Chi. I don’t think you understand how happy I am that I finally have you.”
“Finally?” I murmur, as I walk with him.
“After I graduated college I came to visit your father, to ask his permission to take you out. He told me no, not until you turned eighteen. I was furious at the time. You were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. Even when we were younger I knew I’d marry you. It’s your eyes, they hypnotize me.” He says it with a shy grin that he’s tried to hide from me.
His story stuns me. I had no idea he wanted to date me when I was a teenager. I must have been fourteen when he graduated college. I’m surprised my dad didn’t just hand me over to him back then. Why didn’t he tell me Frankie had been trying to date me that long? Why would he hide it from me?
“And then, almost as soon as you graduated from high school you left for college. If that hadn’t been when my mother found out she was sick, I would have chased you. Then when she passed away, I was determined to go after you and bring you home, to find you wherever you were and bring you back to the city. That’s when your mother let slip in casual conversation that you were dating someone, and that it might be serious. I thought I’d lost my chance with you, and I started dating a girl who wasn’t right for me.”
War (Bratva and Mafia Chronicles Book 1) Page 9
