Russian Mobster's Stolen Wife

by Bella Rose

  He shrugged, and she could tell that was a meaningless request in his book. “If it’s important, I’ll try to remember.”

  “Gee thanks. And could you excuse yourself so I can get dressed?” Then she remembered she had no clothing. “Dammit. How am I supposed to go to a meeting with my father when I have no clothes?”

  “I had Anson wash the clothes you wore last night.” He actually looked apologetic this time as he stood up and went to fetch the tidy pile stacked on a chair. “It’s the best we can do.”

  “That’s great. I appreciate it, actually.”

  He started to leave, and Flynn realized with a panicky sensation that she didn’t want him to go. “What do you actually do for a living?” she asked quickly.

  “I’m an assassin.”

  If Grigori hadn’t been looking her right in the eye, she would have thought he was kidding. “Like a hire-yourself-out-to-anyone assassin?”

  “No. I’m a mafia assassin. I’m specifically employed by the Russian cartels in both Moscow and the US. So I travel quite a bit.”

  “Oh my God.” She began to hyperventilate, even though she’d never done that before.

  “Hey now.” He sat on the bed beside her and gently rubbed her back. “It’s all right. You’re always welcome to travel with me when I go if you wish.”

  “You think...” She sucked in a deep draught of air. “...that’s why I’m freaking out?”

  “If you’re freaking out because I kill people for a living, then I might remind you that you kicked a man in the nuts so hard his grandchildren will probably feel it right before you stomped on his throat and complained that your shoes weren’t heavy enough to crush his windpipe. That’s brutal. At least I shoot people with bullets and make it clean.” He had the audacity to look disgruntled.

  “Yes, but that was a one time thing!” She tried to wrap her mind around this fact. “I married a killer!”

  “A paid one, but yes, I suppose so.”

  “How are you so normal?”

  He chuckled, his dark eyes sparkling with mirth. “Yesterday you accused me of being a sociopath.”

  “And you very efficiently shot that idea down.” She groaned. “Ugh! I’ll never use that phrase again. What if it’s true?”

  “Get dressed and come down to breakfast. You’ll feel better after you have some food.”

  “You’re just leaving me alive here with that knowledge? Don’t you have to kill me?” She was really starting to worry now. What had she gotten herself into?

  “If someone asked me what woman I admire most in the world, Flynn Pasternak, I would tell them that I admire you.” He gave her a wink and then left the room. She heard him heading down the stairs with an actual spring in his step.

  ALL THINGS CONSIDERED, Grigori was feeling pretty good this morning. He sat down to breakfast with Anson and Igor and offered them both a pleasant smile.

  Anson eyed him suspiciously. “Where is your bride?”

  “Flynn is still getting ready.” Grigori filled a plate with eggs and toast. Then he took two slices of bacon. He enjoyed American breakfast very much, though sometimes he still longed for the crispy pastry goodness of blini.

  Igor shoved half a plate of eggs into his mouth. “Ivan is still watching outside, boss.”

  “Thank you.” Grigori checked his watch. “I think we will have to keep an eye out for a few hours longer. Or at least until we meet with Flynn’s father and see what his plans are.”

  “You think he will try to take her back?” Anson sounded concerned.

  Grigori leaned back in his chair and gave Anson a long, slow look. “You’re getting awfully possessive of my wife.”

  “I like her.”

  “That’s understandable,” Grigori said. “But keep your hands to yourself.”

  Anson looked at Igor. “I think the boss likes her.”

  “Da,” Igor answered back in Russian. “He is becoming overly attached to a woman who was supposed to be a means to an end. That will be awkward.”

  “Plans change,” Grigori murmured.

  “What?” Igor screwed up his face. “Yuri will not like that. Did you talk to him?”

  “Not yet.”

  “And when you do?” Igor prompted. “He will cut off your nuts.”

  Flynn swept into the breakfast room, smelling like flowers and looking as if there had been no insanity the night before. “I think we should all stop doing bad things to people’s nuts. There is entirely too much nut discussion going on lately.”

  “Agreed.” Grigori pointed to her. “Listen to the lady. She knows what she’s talking about.”

  Igor muttered something dark and crabby in Russian.

  “No,” Flynn said slowly. “I don’t think that’s physically possible.”

  Grigori and Anson burst into laughter, pointing at Igor who was now actually blushing. Even the tips of his ears were turning red. Grigori slapped his old friend on the back, trying to bring back the sense of comradeship that used to exist between the three of them and Ivan.

  “Who cooked?” Flynn gazed at the table laden with food. “It looks amazing and smells delicious.”

  “That’s Ivan who cooks,” Anson explained. “He’s outside.”

  “So you’re Anson.” She pointed at him, and then did the same to Igor. “And you’re Igor.”

  “Yes,” they said in unison, nodding their heads.

  “Are you brothers?”

  “Cousins,” Anson answered.

  “That explains the resemblance,” she said. “May I sit?”

  Grigori stood and pulled out a chair. “Please.”

  “The assassin has table manners, go figure,” she muttered.

  “Are you still angry about that?” Grigori wondered why that was such a hang up. “If I was in your military and my job was labeled Sniper, would you bat an eye?”

  “Well, no.”

  “What’s the difference?” Grigori demanded, beginning to feel insulted that she didn’t respect his position within the organization.

  Igor looked at her suspiciously. “Grigori is a very important man in the mafia. Nobody can do the things he can. He is highly respected.”

  “I’m not arguing that,” Flynn said quickly. “I suppose it’s just difficult to reconcile the fact that I married a professional killer.”

  “Silly woman will change her mind when she sees his bank account, I bet.” Igor said the words in Russian, forgetting again that Flynn could generally understand every word he said. Then he got a clue and groaned. “Why do you not kick me or something?” he asked Anson.

  “Probably because he’s letting you learn a valuable lesson on your own,” Flynn suggested. “And I have a bank account of my own. I don’t need Grigori’s, but thanks.”

  “You keep saying that,” Grigori mused. “You said it last night, that you have a job and money of your own. Are you loaded or something?” He wondered if there was some secret he hadn’t yet uncovered about his strange and hasty bride.

  She seemed to be fidgeting as though she didn’t want to answer. She put eggs on her plate and then began carefully buttering her toast.

  Finally, she heaved a quick sigh. “If you must know, my sister and I don’t have the same mother.”

  Grigori felt his eyebrows shoot up in shock. He couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t uncovered that fact while doing his research.

  “Don’t look so shocked,” she chided. “It’s not a well known fact or anything. My mother died when I was three. My father remarried right away. But my mother was an heiress in her own right.”

  “So you have an inheritance from her,” Grigori guessed. “So why the freedom speech last night? If you have the funds, you can do what you want.”

  “Not exactly.” She shoved half a piece of toast in her mouth. “I don’t get control of my trust until I’m twenty-one.”

  “Ah.” Grigori realized now why she had gone along with his plan. “So you ne
ed me to help you stay independent until you can claim your inheritance.”

  “Exactly.”

  For some reason, that didn’t sit well with him. Had they been alone, he would have asked her why she’d bothered to fuck him if she only wanted his protection. But now was not the time for that discussion.

  She cleared her throat. “So is anyone going to tell me what we’re going to do when we meet my father?”

  “We’re going with you?” Anson asked eagerly.

  She patted his hand. “I hardly thought to go by myself.”

  Grigori narrowed his gaze, noting that she once again used a bit of physical contact to reinforce an emotion that she was essentially implanting in someone’s mind. It was brilliant in its own way, but he couldn’t tell if it was intentional.

  “We’ll leave as soon as we’re done here,” Grigori told her curtly. “He wants to meet in front of your university.”

  She didn’t look surprised. “Of course he does. The ass.”

  Chapter Eight

  The Commons area of Georgetown University was buzzing with students and faculty going about their daily routines. Flynn felt odd standing in the middle of the quad waiting for her father to show up for a very public meeting in a very public place. To anyone watching, she seemed alone. But her squad of trusty Russian mobsters was actually within shouting distance.

  She also had a class in ten minutes. It was so tempting to just turn and walk into the building. She could sit down in the lecture hall and forget that any of this was happening. Except her class was all about the history of political science in America, and it was the most boring ninety minutes of her week.

  “There she is, my darling daughter.” Her father approached with a smile glued to his face. Unfortunately, the expression didn’t quite make it to his cold blue eyes.

  “Hello,” Flynn said with cool indifference. Then she looked at Teller. “I’m rather surprised to see you up and walking around this morning, Teller. Last time we met I recall you were rolling on the ground.”

  Her father flung out an arm to stop Teller from lunging. Obviously the guy was still sore about that nut shot she’d gotten in. Literally, she would bet.

  “Enough, Teller,” her father said pleasantly. He passed deliberate smiles to anyone who gave their group a curious look.

  “What do you want?” Flynn demanded. “I don’t want to play games. Why are you here?”

  “Pasternak is nothing but a piece of lying scum.” At least her father didn’t pull his punches or waste time. “He wants you for one purpose and that’s all.”

  “Yes. I know.” She waved her hand to indicate she’d heard it all. “He needs a wife to stay in this country so he can get a green card, then eventually become a citizen and figure out a way to get his brother back over here.”

  Her father looked as surprised as he ever did, meaning the skin around his eyes tightened just a hair. “He’s nothing but a mafia financed hit man.”

  “Yes. I know. Paid killer. Got it.” She gave him a hard nod. “Anything else?”

  “What are you doing?” Now he was pleading. It was an interesting choice considering their history together. “You’re throwing your life away on this man! Teller claims you said you were there of your own free will. Have you lost your mind?”

  “Maybe?” Flynn shrugged. “It’s hard to tell. I’m so lightheaded with the joy of being out of your house that I’m just not sure what to do with my time.”

  “You spoiled child!” he snapped.

  “And the real District Attorney Callaghan comes out at last,” she taunted. “Do people know what you’re really like? I often wonder.”

  “You’d better not be telling tales,” he threatened. “It won’t matter who you have protecting you, if you try to smear my reputation for your own selfish goals, I will tear you apart.”

  “I’m your daughter,” Flynn told him sadly. “That’s really how you talk to your own child?”

  “I’m never sure, you know.”

  “Yes. I know.” She’d been hearing this since she was old enough to understand it. “That’s why you love Cynthia so much more than me. It’s why she doesn’t get your ugly moods or your random beatings.”

  She hadn’t realized she’d said it out loud until Grigori appeared at her side. He was tall and broad and powerful. In fact, he reeked of male superiority. Teller reached for his weapon, but Grigori put one finger in the air and shook it side to side.

  “You kill me, my friends kill you and your boss. Got it?” Then Grigori put his arm around Flynn.

  It was odd, but it actually felt good to nestle against his side. He was a port in a storm.

  “I’m done with you, father,” she told the man she had always secretly referred to as her sperm donor. “You’ve never wanted me anyway. I don’t know why you care now.”

  “Careful,” her father said slyly. “You’re throwing away the family connection that made this man want you in the first place.”

  “What are you blowing about?” She was tired of his double talk. “Would you just say what you mean for once?”

  Grigori sighed. “He’s trying to tell you that I was hoping to force him into bringing my brother back here by holding you as collateral.”

  It was like a bucket of cold water thrown in her face.

  Flynn swallowed the lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat. “So I’m not enough to satisfy your goals?” she asked Grigori.

  “That’s not what I said.” Grigori nodded to her father. “That’s what he’s saying.”

  “But it’s true,” her father insisted. “Ask him about the note he sent to me yesterday.”

  “Did you?” she asked quietly.

  “Da.” He didn’t bother to hide anything, which actually made her feel better.

  She laughed bitterly. “Thank you once again, Dad, for making sure that I doubted my own worth. It’s a really great talent you have actually.”

  “Flynn, think this through,” her father said urgently. “You really need to stop and think. He’s an assassin. We’re going to kill him eventually.”

  “Or maybe he’ll get you first,” she shot back. “Everyone dies. I learned that pretty young. Remember?”

  Teller cleared his throat. “Miss Callaghan, you’d best rethink this course of action. We have a team ready to close in on you now.”

  “So?” She gazed at Teller as though he were something she’d discovered on the bottom of her shoe. “Like we didn’t expect that or anything, you snake.”

  “Miss,” Teller began.

  She shushed him, pinching her fingers together and making a zipping noise with her mouth. “God, I’ve wanted to do that forever! I think I should thank you, Teller. You’ve made it possible for me to understand why the job of hired assassin is a necessary one. If I had the funds, I would hire someone to bump you off right now.”

  “That’s a statement of intent!” Teller said eagerly. “We can arrest her based on that.”

  “Nope. I said if I had the funds.” She smiled sweetly. “We all know that I don’t yet. Remember?”

  GRIGORI THOUGHT HER father’s reaction to her statement was exceedingly odd. Why should the man care if his daughter was coming into her inheritance in a little less than a year? He had his own money, right?

  “Enough,” Grigori told Flynn, keeping his voice low. “It’s time to go.”

  Her father actually looked panicked. “Flynn, wait!”

  “I’ve waited.” The quiet finality in her voice seemed to have a deep impact on the DA. Callaghan actually looked in danger of crying.

  Grigori felt horribly exposed out here in the open. He knew his men were armed and watching, but any assassin worth his salt knew that didn’t matter. A commotion across the quad caught his eye. It was Anson. He was running, sprinting in fact, and heading right in their direction.

  Adrenaline surged in Grigori’s veins. Anson was yelling something in Russian, but Grigori couldn
’t quite make it out. It didn’t matter.

  Grabbing Flynn’s hand, he bolted away from her father and Teller. To her credit, Flynn didn’t balk or hesitate. In seconds she was running flat out beside him, long reddish-brown hair streaming out behind her. Then Grigori heard what Anson was yelling.

  “Shooter!” Anson shouted. Now he was pointing to a rooftop.

  Grigori angled away and began zigzagging between benches, waste cans, and shrubbery. But it was too late. He didn’t hear the sound of a rifle, but he felt Flynn stumble beside him.

  What?

  She whimpered, nearly dragging him down with the death grip she took on his hand as she tried to keep running. Her green eyes were huge in her face and a red stain began to spread over her shoulder.

  Scooping her into his arms, Grigori continued to run.

  He’d never felt like this before. Her blood was soaking his shirt. The warm, sticky wetness caused the fabric to cling to his chest. He ducked around the corner of an old brick building. There were screams everywhere as students and faculty ran for cover. No doubt the DA had hoped to disguise this shooting as just another act of homeland terrorism on a college campus.

  Keeping himself disguised in a knot of men and women hiding around the corner from the quad, Grigori used the civilians as cover while he tried to decide what to do. He had to get medical attention for Flynn. She had passed out in his arms, her head lying limply against his chest.

  “Oh my God!” someone cried out. “That girl is shot!”

  Someone else had their phone out and was trying to text and talk at the same time. “I already called 911. Their circuits are slammed.”

  “How many shots did you hear?” another student said.

  Her companion whimpered. “I don’t know. Like a dozen?”

  Perfect. At least Grigori didn’t have to worry about this incident being somehow linked to him. The stories were already going to be so varied and fantastic that law enforcement would never be able to figure out what had really happened.

  “Can I help?” A young man standing close by reached toward Flynn.

  Grigori curled his lip. Nobody was going to touch her if he had anything to say about it.