Vassily: Perfect Pain - a Bad Boy Mafia Dark Romance

by Alice May Ball

  arco has just hung up the phone from leaning on the contractors, telling them they must come Right away! Subito, subito!

  I am about to go back to my room but either I’m too slow or Marco is too quick. He comes straight over to sit by me and he puts his hand on mine. “Did you have to be so rude to him?”

  Emotional blackmail. Weapon of choice for a pimp. Distracting myself, I let my mind drift away a little and I wonder, how many virgins know pimps as well as I do?

  When he’s through I say, “Marco, do you seriously believe that Russian gangster cares this much,” I’m pinching my finger and thumb together, “whether I’m polite to him or not? You have known him a lot longer than I have. You must know it better than I do. How I talk to him counts for less than nothing in the mind of that hunk of stone.”

  My voice rises, and my throat is tight. I take another breath. I have to remind myself, I never show emotion, not to any of these men. Not. Ever. That’s how I will stay in control. That’s how I keep little Katya safe. She calls out for the Russian killer and it frightens me. Just the thought of him, his face, his eyes, even his name sets off a throb in my pulse. But I know why. Maybe she’ll have to have him. But I don’t have to think about it now and I try not to.

  I breathe slowly. Marco is talking. I make my breath steady. I’m still. I relax my face and calm myself. Nobody would know the pain I’m creating in my soft flesh.

  He’s talking some shit about the Russian killer. I’m there but I’m not fully present. I just observe. I don’t engage. I’m in control. I’m safe. She’s safe. I wish I had a fork or something.

  Marco has been focused on the idea of selling me to the Russian for days now but in the last twenty-four hours, it’s really become like an obsession. Something is making him desperate. It could be that he can see what I see. The Russian won’t take the deal. Not ever.

  Marco is playing with dynamite. I really can’t understand how he doesn’t see it. He knows the man. The more he pesters that killer, the more strained and impatient the Russian gets. If he keeps on pushing, harder and harder, Vassily’s patience is going to crack. He’s a man with strong passions. Even more than the usual macho alpha Russian brute. Not to mention the fact that he’s huge.

  A shake runs through my thighs like a cold stream of running water. The voice he used, telling me to get behind him, made me move to obey him instantly. I hate him for that so bad I could shout. Along with all of the other things I hate him for. I think about him and I can’t stop.

  Marco says, “We go to his club tonight. You make nice. Okay?”

  ~~

  Under Marco’s urging and nagging, I’ve dressed myself up like a presentation box of Godiva fucking chocolates. He had Emil come in to the salon to fix my hair, powder, blush, lipstick, and mascara. I’m tall in the Gucci shoes, long in the slinky Prada dress. The shimmering Thai silver necklace and earrings. Givenchy scent.

  My body quakes at the thought of seeing him again. My legs get weaker and my feet are more unwilling the nearer we get to his club. The bouncers on the street-level entrance greet Marco like he’s a visiting prince or something. As they show us to the glass elevator, they give me small inclines of the head, sweep their arms, wide and gallant. Their courtesy toward me is impeccable.

  The high-speed ride up the side of the glass tower would have set my knees zinging even if I hadn’t been dreading seeing the man at the top. Hundreds of feet fall away fast beneath us as we rise up to the neon skyline.

  The sweep of glass steps at the entrance to the club itself is no less impressive. The doors slide back and he’s there. Big as ever. Big hand out, the size of a church Bible, teeth bared.

  When he stretches out his massive arm to sweep us inside, part of me wants to nestle in the crook of it and stay there forever. The other part, the thinking, reasoning side of me, wants to gnaw through it and chew it off.

  As our eyes connect, the pull makes my blood pound. He’s as angry to see me as I am to be in close proximity to him. But a part of him is pleased, too. I see the unmistakable sign of one part of him that’s very glad to see me indeed. And, like his men downstairs, he is as courteous as a perfect Russian aristocrat. Though I very much doubt that would describe his background.

  Vassily guides us through the bar. A shudder runs through me as I catch sight of Bruno’s best man Alex and his sidekick. Their faces loom in the shadows at the far side of the bar. Alex nudges his crony and they toss a leer in my direction. Vassily is still talking and he leads us up a few steps to a booth that’s railed off to give some privacy. Our seats are near enough to the edge of the dance-floor to give us a sensational view. Dancers stalk, throw shapes and pose in the lights and they glisten as they move. It’s all sinuous and muscular with glamour.

  I tell him, “You have a beautiful club,” It’s no lie. He nods acceptance with a modesty that surprises me. He takes care over our drink orders, offering suggestions, asking about our tastes. He knows Marco well enough I’m sure, so I suspect his elaborate hospitality is more of a show for my benefit.

  Vassily makes arrangements personally with the wait staff to have our drinks delivered to us. I hate the easy way his lip curls, just enough to let you know he’s grinning. Little enough that it could be a secret, just you and him. But so confident it’s going to make your panties wet. And he does it again.

  Yes, you arrogant fuck. My panties are wet. Soaking, if you must know. But his eyes narrow as his nostrils flare. I wish I could just tell him to fuck off. I really want to throw a drink in his face, but Marco would be unbearable if I did that.

  Then he sits with us to ask Marco about the salon and the repairs. Marco waves his hand and acts like it’s something he’s practically forgotten about already.

  Marco says, “I don’t know who would want to do something like that to me. Everybody loves my business. I don’t do any harm to anyone.” Vassily’s eyebrow stiffens. I think he’s making an effort to keep it from rocketing up his forehead like the elevator outside.

  He tells Marco, “Konstantin’s wife might take issue with you there. A few other men’s wives, too, maybe. All those beautiful girls, all those afternoon business meetings.”

  Marco looks like he’s considering it seriously. Vassily smiles and says he’ll be back. Marco gives him an encouraging nod and a smile. “Don’t be too long. The poor girl is desperate to talk to you.” He means me.

  When Vassily looks at me I know that he’s thinking the same thing that I am. Or at least something that means the same thing. I’d sooner eat my cocktail glass. But there is something that I do want to tell him. I need the right moment and that’s going to be hard to find.

  Vassily asks a girl over and he tells her to look after us. Tatiana is a tall, beautiful Ukranian. She’s friendly and I like her straight away. I ask her, “What’s this bullshit that people keep telling me about all the girls who work here being really happy?”

  She sits alongside me, squeezing herself between Marco and me. I like the easy way she edges Marco out. Not rude but still dismissing him, like he has served his purpose. I’d like to learn how she does that.

  “It’s true,” she tells me, earnest and bubbling with enthusiasm. “All of us, we love it here. My first contract was ended almost two years ago. Originally my plan had been that I was going to go back to Odessa and open a bar. Then, when my contract was about to end, I asked my mother if she would mind me staying on, if she wanted to come out here and join me or what. She told me that she was happy. The amount of money I send her back, I think she wouldn’t speak to me if I went home anyway.”

  A laugh lights up Tatiana’s eyes as she talks. “You should come here. You’d be happy here, too.”

  “Please,” I touch her hand, “Let’s not talk about it now.” I don’t think I could stand another pile of pressure from Marco about Vassily. What does it matter, why does he keep telling me? I wouldn’t have any say in the matter either way.

  His man, Mikhail moves to stand near. After handsha
kes and pleasantries, he turns, then he and Vassily move with a promise to be back ‘shortly.’

  ~~

  I saw the start of the attack. Two men in heavy armor came out of the elevator. They looked like black beetles. They had short machine guns and they fired short bursts, up into the roof. Like they were getting everybody’s attention. They got that alright. There was smoke then and I didn’t see what happened, because that’s when I was taken.

  he’d sounded sincere when she told me, “I really did want to come here tonight. I wanted to thank you. And to apologize. There is no excuse for me being so rude. You were trying to save my miserable life and I’m grateful. And I’m sorry that I didn’t appear that way and show it earlier on. You probably think I’m a pig. And you would probably be right to think it, too.”

  “No apology needed. I know you have to make a show for Marco. Seriously.” She studies me. She has the most intelligent eyes I ever saw. Maybe there is something inside the doll after all. I tell her, “I appreciate the thought. I don’t think you’re a pig at all,” and I lean a little closer, “and I’ll hurt anyone who does.”

  “I want to explain.” a bloom colors up her cheeks and her neck.

  I put a hand on hers. “Really, there’s no need.”

  She looks steadily in my eye, “But I want to.” and she gripped my hand as she said, ‘want to.’

  “Okay.”

  Her lips tighten. “I’m not used to having a man speak to me in that tone. That exact way. I’m sorry. But it was a shock.”

  By reflex, I’m about to say that it was all fine and I understand and that there isn’t anything to worry about, but I stop myself. I’m certain she means something more than that she isn’t used to hearing hard words. Or to being instructed. It’s something much more than that. Something very particular. I wait to let her go on, but she doesn’t. Has she told me what she came to say? If she has then I’m sure that I haven’t understood it.

  Right now, I need to be a lot less interested in what the Russian princess is thinking and feeling. It’s a distraction that I can’t afford. I know that Marco is going to start in again about me buying her from him. He hasn’t mentioned it since they arrived, but I doubt he can hold himself back too much longer. Before he can start up, I tell him that the drinks I had brought over are on the house. Then I tell them I’m pleased to have them here and that I will return to see them later on.

  Mikhail stays with the table to make sure they’re taken care of. And it’s a good vantage point to watch over the club.

  And that’s when it starts. I’m still not far from Marco and the Russian doll’s table and I notice the short, bullet-headed guy from last night. He’s leaving. I still only see the back of him. As he gets in the elevator, the two men come out. In Kevlar body armor. I hit the floor.

  I’ve got my Beretta out and ready. Under knitted hoods, they have helmets on. They move out of the elevator together. Up the steps and into the bar area.

  Murmurs around the room turn to shouts and a couple of screams. The two men are both heavily armed. Small machine guns, AR-15 style weapons, pointed at waist height.

  They move together, shoulder to shoulder, they’ve got combat experience. As soon as they’re in the bar, they raise their guns. High. Above their shoulders. For show. A fast rattle of shots spit from their weapons. Straight upward. Crystal explodes in the ceiling. Sparkling dust and shards of glass rain down on the room. More shouts from around the room.

  How the fuck did they get past Armando and Ras? They’re shouting, “Everybody down! Down on the floor!” Club guests are already heading down under the tables.

  Two smoke grenades bounce and puff thick smoke to fill the air in the club. The attackers aren’t wearing gas masks as far as I can see. That means it’s probably smoke, not a gas. Darkness and confusion. But not poison or a drug.

  I can get a shot at one of them. As soon as I shoot, I know I’ll draw fire. I’ll have given away my position. I aim carefully at the nearest one’s wrist. I hope Mikhail is targeting the other one. I expect he will. We work in synch that way.

  Under the body armor, elbows, knees, ankles, and wrists are the most productive targets. They’re covered but nothing that’s flexible is ever really bulletproof. I have to be quick before the smoke gets too much thicker. The way these two move makes me think they’re clearing a path for a third man.

  With my arms extended, pointing the Beretta, I roll to get a decent aim. Mikhail is on the floor, too, rolling the opposite way. Both of us are trying to get near to some cover.

  I put a series of three tight shots fast into the nearest gunman’s wrist. Then three more into the other arm, inside his elbow. He’s shocked, and his grip is weakened. He sweeps the barrel around, looking for me. He sees me.

  My Beretta has eight bullets left. He aims. I roll into the open. A string of shots follows me. I can’t hit his wrist or his elbow, but I punch three shells at the knuckles of his right hand. He flinches and loses aim. He fires, wild. As his right arm goes out wider, I drill three shots into his armpit. That hurt him. He’s reeling. As he turns I send three rounds up under his chin. His head snaps back.

  I stand. Feet apart. Strong stance, no rush. First, I put two rounds into the center of the other one’s face. He’s been Mikhail’s target up to now but standing up, I’m offering a target. Anyway, my man is down. I have two seconds, maybe two and a half.

  While number two flinches and swings his aim to me, Mikhail rises. His Colt is extended. He’s firing with one arm. His other hand reaches behind him for the other gun in his belt.

  I move fast to stand over number one. He’s still moving. I only have three bullets left. I don’t want to use them on him if I can help it. I kick away the AR-15. He has a pistol on his hip. One under his arm. Blood seeps out from under his right armpit. I stamp on his left hand. In his right, he’s found a nasty looking knife.

  I waste another bullet in his right forearm. He drops the knife. His arms won’t do much now and not for a while. He’s disabled enough that I can get his sidearms. Looking down at the fucker as I take his Ruger and his Sig Sauer automatics, I’m pumped and I’m angry. I want to smash him.

  Under all that Kevlar, I’d hurt myself more than him. Mikhail’s got number two pinned in a corner. I take number one’s machine gun and run at number two, firing steadily into his neck. I should stop as soon as he goes down. I know it. I’m still sure there’s a third man. Somewhere. I’m on top of the bloody, twitching corpse before I can make myself stop firing.

  I take his AR-15 and throw it to Mikhail. Looking around through the smoke, all I can see is dark shapes and all I can hear is shouts. I’m sure that when those two somebody came out of the elevator, there was another one behind them. I didn’t see him, I haven’t heard him, I just know it.

  I shout. “Everybody stay down. Keep still.” then, “We’re nearly done.” That won’t calm or reassure anyone, but it might act as a challenge. Mikhail comes near. He’s sweeping the room with his arms extended like I am. A gun in each hand. Staring into the smoke. We’re standing now, almost back to back.

  I ask Mikhail, “Did you see him? The other one?”

  “No. But I know there is another one.” I nod, peering, hard. the smoke stings my eyes. People are starting to move.

  “Stay down! Everybody! Leave this to us!” I shout.

  I can see a group, huddled and making a bolt for the elevator. Three of them, low to the ground and close together. I should stop them, but I can’t blame them.

  A movement on the far side of the room. Somebody dashing to the stairway that goes up to the offices. A flight of metal steps leads up into the glass DJ booth. A man in black is on the bottom rung of the steps.

  Milo, our best cocktail barman, slides along the wall, staying out of view from the man at the steps. He’s taking one hell of a chance. If I had a way to stop him I would.

  He jumps at the guy. He’s got two cooks’ knives, pointed out. The guy catches the movement. Turns.
Pulls out two machine pistols. I run at him, firing two guns at once and shouting. I have to stop him. And I really wanted this one alive. Not much chance of that now. But he’s shot Milo before I can finish him.