Captive of the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Novel

by Alexis Abbott

  Which would all be excusable, except he’s also greedy.

  And a greedy, paranoid mafia boss is a dangerous thing for everyone.

  “How nice of you to pay us a visit,” he says, tugging open his thick overcoat as Nikita rushes around to help him out of it. “I trust everything is alright?” And with that brow arched at me, I know I have already engaged more of his suspicion than I wish to.

  “Just visiting an old friend,” I say, giving a light smile to Nikita, which she bashfully returns. I don’t generally let slip any emotion around these men, but it’s important they know who I favor, so they know better than to mess with her.

  “I see,” Gregorovich says, looking me over once more than Nikita as well. “Well it’s fortunate timing, there’s a matter we can discuss. In back,” he says, leading the way. It’s the most presumptuous thing he’s yet dared do with me in front of others.

  Surprisingly, however, along the way he gestures for Vasili to follow. He’s a two-bit crook, and why he’s being trusted with anything baffles me.

  But I have a sinking suspicion this is about the matter I came here for, so I follow after, into the back room, with its reinforced walls. It’s empty but for a simple metal table with some chairs, and he helps himself to a spot there while one of his men pats down the underside of the table, checking for any listening devices.

  I stand back, fold my arms as another of the guards pats down Vasili as well, checking him over. Gregorovich trusts no one.

  When they come to me I don’t budge, and they back off, knowing better.

  “What is the issue at hand?” I ask brusquely.

  “You fucked up,” Vasili says with malicious glee, but I don’t so much as grace him with a glance.

  Gregorovich clears his throat, cutting off Vasili, preening at his expensive suit. I leave him the dubious honor of being the only one sitting.

  “There are some loose ends from your job,” Gregorovich says.

  “I do not leave loose ends,” I say firmly, an edge to my voice to let them know I’m serious. But I want more info, so I’m careful not to be too rough with them.

  “Well, this time, the police think you have,” Gregorovich responds carefully. “And they’re looking for a potential witness seen entering the hotel with the party.”

  “That no-women no-kids rule of yours has finally fucked you up, Volkov,” Vasili says with sneering relish, fidgeting a lot. Probably because he’s constantly wired on a cocktail of different drugs.

  “Was there a woman there when you did the job?” Gregorovich asks calmly, and I know it won’t be easy to lie to him. He’s perceptive, for a greedy little shit.

  “I agreed to take on this job, knowing it might lead to a bad place,” I say firmly. “But I did the job, and no one survived.”

  “Then how do you explain this?” Vasili says, pulling out the picture of Allie with the men I’d slain. It’s not great quality, clearly taken from a security camera. But it’s her. I take a moment to soak it in before Vasili gets into my face, that greasy weasel so full of himself.

  I take a moment to slam my fist into his throat and send him choking and sputtering back against the wall.

  “Why is this little rat fuck in here with us?” I ask Gregorovich pointedly.

  “I’ve tasked him with finding this woman. And making sure she can’t talk,” he replies, ignoring the coughing and cursing of Vasili as we engage.

  “She has nothing to tell anyone,” I insist calmly, not overplaying the point. I can’t give him reason to suspect me. “I did a clear sweep. Every single person in there when I did my hit died by my hand. And when I was done, I double-checked. Triple-checked. And calmly walked out.”

  Vasili is gasping for air, making a noisy distraction.

  “Then there is nothing to worry about, and this is just an added precaution,” Gregorovich assures me with a placid, fake smile.

  “Too many added precautions can land one in trouble with the feds,” I say, knowing to add anymore would let him find me out. “But do as you need. My work is done.” I turn to leave, but one of the guards is in my way, and I have to stare him down.

  Which gives Vasili enough time to choke out a few words.

  “When I find that girl, I’m gonna cut her into ribbons. She’ll be more useless to the cops than a shredded document,” Vasili says, and my fists clench, my jaw tightening.

  I turn my head slowly, stare down that weasel shit.

  “Everyone knows what it is you like to do with women, govnjúk. But if I catch you laying a hand on one,” and I walk over to him, making him back against the wall as I stare down at him, “the only ribbon you’ll be worried about getting cut is the one between your legs.”

  I don’t give him time to snark back, I just plant my knee into his groin and make it so that he won’t think about women for a few days without a lot of pain.

  “You should not trust this little govnjúk, he’ll land you in trouble someday,” I caution Gregorovich before I just walk out, knowing I was in a precarious position and might’ve just overplayed my hand.

  4

  Alicia

  This safehouse wasn’t set up to keep people in, it was set up to keep people out, and that’s my one advantage here. But so far it’s not really paying off for me very well.

  My high heel didn’t turn out to be the miracle tool I’d hoped it would, and my attempts to use it to pry open the door or barred windows failed. The utensils in the kitchen were all even worse, plastic and easily broken.

  On the plus side, I didn’t find any cameras, so maybe it was just a fluke earlier when he came in just as I was trying to bust out. I still don’t know what to make of him. Part of me believes him that he only wants to keep me safe from whatever the hell happened that night. But I don’t know if that’s just lust speaking or not. He’s the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, and there’s nothing more that I’d want to believe than the idea that he’s my Prince Charming, rescuing me from some bad men.

  As I exhaust all the options I can think of, though, it’s seeming less and less likely that escape is possible. I’ve not heard or seen anyone else, and I still have no idea how much time has passed since that man captured me.

  Rescued.

  Who knows.

  The only thing I do know is that my window is my best option for escape, and I can’t give up. I glance around the room, and when my eyes settle on the TV, I get a bright idea. It’s big, and probably too much to carry comfortably, but maybe if I can hoist it up and throw it through the glass...

  It’s a long shot. A really long shot. And I don’t know what I’m going to do once the window is out, but I can’t just sit here like a damsel in distress for Mikhail to save me from whatever is happening out there. I have to rescue myself, damn it!

  I unplug the TV and try to pick it up, but it digs into my arms, almost too big for me to lift, but finally I manage.

  It’s a struggle to heave the TV, but as I heft it up, I hear the doorknob turn, and as I struggle to put the TV back into place, I realize there’s no way I’m doing that before he catches me.

  “What are you doing?” he asks, that deep, dark voice of his so blasé about the whole thing as he stands there watching me. “If you didn’t like the placement of the TV, you could have just asked,” he says, the grizzled man seeming almost amused by me, if I could read anything on his stoic face.

  I brush some hair from my eyes, feeling guilty as sin, as if I’m doing something wrong by trying to break out of this prison. I’m scared, and I don’t want to piss him off, but at the same time, I’m curious about him. About who he actually is.

  I’ve gotta get a grip.

  “Yeah, well, I never got your number,” I answer back, filled with snark.

  “My apologies,” he says dryly, and he heads into the kitchen area, toting a large brown paper bag that looks to be packed with boxes. He returns a moment later, the towering brute plucking the TV from my grasp and putting it back where it came from. “You know,
smashing out the window would not help you. It is barred, and the streets are many floors below. Nobody could hear your cries,” he explains to me with the air of a patient, wiser man, even if he has the look of someone dangerous in that tight-fitting sweater and jeans.

  “At least I’d be able to enjoy some fresh air,” I say, my arms folded beneath my chest, but it’s all bravado. I feel like a quivering bird held in his palm, just waiting for him to squeeze a little too hard. I’m only alive because of him, or so he says, but this isn’t my life or the life I ever wanted.

  He walks past me over by the wall and taps a thermostat there.

  “You can control AC and heat here, and don’t worry about the light bill,” he says with a hint of humor to his voice before he heads back into the kitchen.

  “Ahh, funny,” I say, some of my normally sarcastic self seeping out. I like it when he banters with me.

  I have to walk around the sofa to see him there, taking out plates and serving up some food from the packages he brought. Some take-out, no doubt.

  My stomach growls with desire. Since whatever drugs I had made me reject everything in my system, I’ve been starving and too afraid to eat. I sniff the air, catching the various scents of foreign cuisine, and my palm goes to my tummy to quiet it down. Last thing I need is for this guy to know how desperate I am for a bite.

  “I couldn’t dream of putting you out with an exorbitant bill, though,” I say, trying to keep things light. Maybe that’s what is needed.

  “So considerate.” I notice he’s serving up egg rolls, and that familiar scent comes back to me: Chinese food. “I did not catch any dietary concerns,” he says with that accent of his, “but I figured everyone likes Chinese.”

  He comes out of the kitchen, laying the two paper plates full of food onto the table before retreating back in to pour us both up some water.

  I stare after him in disbelief.

  “A meal together. How cute,” I grin, but before he’s even returned from the kitchen, I’ve scalded my tongue on the egg roll, and I’m grabbing for the glass of water like a toddler.

  So much for playing it cool.

  “It is still very fresh,” he says, a caution that comes too late. “They know me there, make it just for me. But this time I had them prepare a little extra,” he gestures to one side of my plate. “You’re a lovely young woman, so I thought perhaps you are a vegetarian or some such, everything on this side is free of meat,” he explains before seating himself down like he was in a mess hall and digging his fork into a piece of meat.

  He’s no vegetarian, that’s for sure.

  I gulp back the water, but I can already tell I won’t be able to taste anything else on my plate with a burned tongue, and I sigh.

  “So you’re vying for, like, the most considerate kidnapper award?”

  “When one does something, you must always give it your best,” he says in that odd way of his, drawing out the words with that eastern flavor, and a healthy dose of dry, dark humor. Though the close proximity gives me time to study him, to see the scar on his face, right up along the highest part of his cheekbone, his jawline lightly stubbled with dark hair.

  He catches me staring, and I quickly avert my eyes. I’ve never been the kind of girl who’s been shy around men, but there’s something about him that makes me feel like a girl again. If I wasn’t his captive, I’d probably have hit on him at a bar or something. He has a rugged charm about him, and I admit that his sense of humor aligns with mine a little too well.

  “So you’re single, huh?” I venture a guess, though as soon as the words are out, I wish I hadn’t said them.

  He arches a brow, looking about as surprised by the question as I am, but nods his head.

  “Da,” he says, and I know enough from movies to realize that means ‘yes.’ “A man in my line of work doesn’t make a good husband. A woman deserves more than a man who is out at all hours, life on the line all the time.” He shakes his head slowly as he eats, “No. I tried that long ago, before I entered the Special Forces.”

  “Military?” I ask, surprised he’s even answering any of my questions. I take a bite of something I don’t have a name for, but mostly I’m finding myself curious. He hasn’t actually hurt me or put me in any danger, though I know better than to trust him. At least, my brain knows. The rest of my body wants to take in everything he tells me.

  “Spetsnaz,” he says, nodding his head before downing almost his entire glass of water in a few gulps. “We were like your Navy Seals in a way,” he says, those dark eyes of his searching out mine as he explains things to me like a patient teacher. “We went where soldiers know better than to go. Did things they could not. You understand?” he asks, and he’s waiting. Watching. Wanting to know if I truly do understand.

  Is it meant to be taken as a threat?

  I try not to flinch under his hard stare, and suck in a deep breath. I will not let this man intimidate me.

  “You’re a badass. I get it.”

  “So you should understand that you’re safer here with me than on your own out there,” he says, speaking calmly as he points to the door. “There are men after you as we speak. I have confirmed it for myself.”

  “Listen, I might be cute, but I’m not so cute that anyone’s going to be after me,” I say, masking my fear with sarcastic humor. I don’t know if he’s really being serious, but something in his eyes tell me he is. But I can’t just hide in here the rest of my life.

  He laughs at me just a little and continues to eat a moment before speaking.

  “By no fault of your own, you have been a part of something ugly. I wish it was not so, but I can’t change what’s already done. Your boss is dead,” he says, the proclamation rather brusque and pointed. “A man like him simply doesn’t die and go unnoticed, nyet? And it is too important to leave open to question. The kind of questions a surviving witness can raise.”

  “I didn’t witness anything!”

  “It does not matter,” he says, and I see his thick forearm swell through his sweater as he clenches his fist. “It only matters what they think you witnessed,” he explains to me, his voice getting darker, more serious. “Do you think someone has a congressman killed without wanting to make very sure it never comes back to him, hmm?” he says, his eyes boring into me with their intensity.

  It sends a shiver down my spine, and I swallow hard.

  “I can’t stay here forever. What are you going to do to me?”

  “To you?” he asks, eyes wide before he laughs and looks away. “Nothing. But I do not send pretty, young women to their deaths. No matter how dense in the head they’re being,” he adds, that patience eked away a little as he puffs up his broad chest and sighs.

  “I’m not dense. But how many kidnapped women have you saved that are just totally fine with being your captive, huh?”

  He gives a light, exasperated sigh and finishes off another generous bite before looking back at me.

  “I do not make a habit of this, if it’s what you’re meaning. You are the first. But too much time and money had been sunk into getting the target where he was needed to be. If I didn’t do the job then, a messier hit would’ve happened as they all left, and you’d be dead instead of complaining,” he says, revealing all that info so calmly.

  A storm is brewing within me, emotions surfacing that I didn’t know even lingered beneath my skin. My heart pounds, and I stare at the man ahead of me. I know what he meant about what he did. He killed people. He still does.

  I’m here, having a quaint little dinner with what is possibly the sexiest killer in the world. Not that I know a lot of killers. Any, actually, before him.

  My skin flushes, and for a second, I feel like I’m going to be sick again, but I swallow it back as I force myself to stand. Tears are stinging my eyes, but I blink them away, fury and terror swirling within me.

  “You want me to thank you or something, Mikhail? Is that what this whole dinner business is about?”

  He takes one of
the napkins in hand, unfurls it, and calmly wipes his mouth.

  “I do not want your thanks or your gratitude,” he says, still sitting there at the table. “What I want is for you to sit tight until it is safe for you to go. Or until I figure out where you can go that won’t get you killed,” he says, looking right at me with those dark eyes of his.

  The eyes of a murderer.

  He should make me sick. He does make me sick. So why am I so drawn to him, and what does that say about me? Normal girls don’t feel drawn to their murdering kidnapper.

  I take in another deep breath of air as I continue to stare at him.

  “I’m not staying here. If you were supposed to kill me and you didn’t, they’re going to be looking at where you led them. It’s only a matter of time before they find this place, if they don’t already know of it.”

  I have no idea who they are, or if I’m correct, but I’m taking a giant stab in the dark in order to gain my freedom. To plead with him for a way out.

  His brows furrow a little, and he looks at me.

  “Only a handful of men in this city know who did the hit. You’re sitting with one. The others are all well under my influence,” he says with that stoic gaze of his, unflinching and serious. “And furthermore, they do not know about this place. This is my safe house. A place where nobody in my life knows how to get to. Where if everyone in the world turned on me, I could come here and last out a long, long wait. This place,” he says, jabbing his long index finger into the table, “is my insurance. And now, it is yours.”

  I hate that somehow, he’s making me feel bad for taking this all for granted, and I fidget under his hard stare.

  “People... people who hire hitmen don’t just forget about murder witnesses. I’ve seen the movies, you know. The ones where people are sitting and having breakfast twenty years after the fact, and they get a gun in their face. This is never going to leave me.”