by Nic Saint
“What about my place?” he offered, as he searched around for a cab.
“And where might that be, David?” she breathed, slurring her words a little.
“Lower East Side. I have a pad there.”
“Ah. Lower East Side.” She nodded seriously.
“That’s right.”
The street was glistening, the downpour just letting up. The streetlights cast their diffused light on empty streets and deserted pavements. Shouts and subdued music from Benita’s Bar drifted into the street. For a November night, it was not as cold as could be expected. Still, when he noticed her shiver, he quickly removed his overcoat and draped it over her shoulders.
“Chivalrous, aren’t we?” she murmured.
“We try to be,” he agreed dryly.
They started walking, and passed the alley he’d planned to dump her body. He took a firmer grip on her shoulder. She was still shivering, and he wondered if this was all part of her act. If it was, she was good. Better than he’d expected.
As a contract killer for the Russian Mob, he knew how to investigate his targets before taking them out, and his research into the life of Emily Fox had taught him she was a dangerous woman. A killer herself, only in the employ of a rival family, she was a hard-nosed bitch who didn’t shy away from marking her victims by planting a stiletto heel on their chest and applying pressure until the diamond-shaped spike was impressed in their flesh.
Known as Stiletto Tonya, she was one of the most effective killers of her generation.
The way she was acting now, her voice slurred, her eyes drooping and her legs buckling, was not what he’d expected. Her MO was to seduce her victims, then lead them to a hotel and jam her trademark stiletto into their chest, shoe or dagger, depending on her mood.
On two points she’d already wavered from her routine: she hadn’t introduced herself as Tonya, and she hadn’t suggested they go to a hotel. It was erratic, and suspicious, and he decided to keep a close eye on her.
She looked up, and her eyes were so guileless he had a hard time believing he was really in the company of Stiletto Tonya. She gave him a watery smile. “You look nice, David. In fact you remind me of my first boyfriend. Do you know what happened to my first boyfriend?”
“No, I don’t.” She was teetering now, and he was on full alert, watching her every move. If she brought out a knife, he’d deflect it easily.
“I killed him,” she said simply.
The confession surprised him. Not that he hadn’t known this about her, but he hadn’t expected her to blab about it. He arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“You don’t believe me, do you? It’s true, you know. I killed him.” She mimicked holding a gun and pulling the trigger, then made a sound like an explosion. Her eyes were empty, staring straight at him but not seeing him. “Johnny, his name was, and he was as handsome as you.” She gazed up at him, her hand gripping his arm. “Green eyes…strong body…” She played her fingers over his face. “Hot sexy lips…” She closed her eyes, leaning in, and he caught a whiff of her perfume. Something spicy and exotic, he decided, and thoroughly intoxicating. “Kiss me…David…”
Before he could stop her, she’d slanted her lips against his, and he was drowning in her wetness, the tip of her tongue darting into his mouth. He couldn’t control himself any longer, and he claimed her, the heat and moisture numbing his senses and his professional vigilance. He clasped her close, curving her softness against his hard frame as their tongues tangled.
A soft sigh escaped her throat, and she went limp in his arms. When he lifted his mouth from hers, he found that she’d passed out. Alarmed, he touched a finger to her neck, feeling for a pulse. He was astonished when he found none.
Emily Fox aka Stiletto Tonya was…dead.
CHAPTER 3
There is a darkness that is as black as the darkest night, and Emily found herself plunging into it now. There was a trace of warmth on her lips, a hint of softness and wetness, and then she remembered the kiss. Of course. David had kissed her, hadn’t he? Had placed those wonderful lips of his on hers and had kissed her. She smiled a little, like a girl who’s never been kissed before. Then she frowned, a strange smell assaulting her nostrils. It was dank and nauseating. So nauseating in fact that her stomach roiled. She shot up in a flash and bent over to heave. Even though nothing came, the reflex returned, and she retched again. Nothing.
A soft voice spoke. “All the toxins are gone now, Emily. Just lie back. It’s all right.”
She tried to open her eyes but her eyelids weighed a ton. When finally a blurred sense of her environment appeared on her retinae, she saw that she was in the presence of a small man in a white coat. Toad-faced with a trim white beard and small glasses, he was staring at her intently. “You were very lucky, Emily. Very lucky indeed. Five minutes later, and you wouldn’t have made it.”
“Made it…where?” she croaked, and found that her voice was as difficult to operate as the rest of her body.
“You’re in a private hospital,” the man said, then glanced over to another person she couldn’t quite make out. She could only see a blurry profile, her eyes unable to focus. He was standing in the corner, cloaked in darkness.
“Private hospital?” she repeated, her mind a jumble of emotions and thoughts, one more confused than the next.
The other man spoke, and she recognized the voice belonging to the man she was supposed to kill tonight. David. No, not David…Scott. Scott Speedman. “You’re in Yulian Gornakov’s private hospital,” he spoke. “I brought you here because you were unresponsive.” His voice lowered. “I thought you were dead.”
“She was,” the man in white said. She thought he could be a doctor. “If you hadn’t been there she didn’t stand a chance.”
“But what…how…” Her head spun, and she lay back down, darkness once again enveloping her.
She felt more than saw the man leaning over her, then his rumbling voice echoed through the darkness. “Rest now, Emily.”
Then she was drowning in the sea of blackness and collapsed on a sigh.
Mike eyed the woman carefully before addressing Doctor Farmiga. “You said she was poisoned?”
“She was,” the physician confirmed. “It’s a miracle she survived. The poison was a slow-working one, but very potent, and must have been in her system for hours. Long before you met, in fact.” He shook his head, a frown marring his brow. “A terrible business. Truly terrible.”
Mike nodded, wondering what the hell was going on. And why the hell hadn’t he left her to die? He was supposed to kill her, and when he’d found her unresponsive in his arms, instead of doing the smart thing and popping her into a dumpster, he’d begun to revive her, doing whatever he could to save her life instead. He’d hailed a cab, and urged the driver to step on it.
Arriving at the medical facility, the emergency crew had taken her off his hands, and had managed to bring her back to life while he paced the waiting room, raking an agonized hand through his curly mane like some worried lover.
His behavior was absolutely irresponsible. He had a job to do, and instead of doing it, he’d done exactly the opposite. Instead of taking a life, he’d saved one. And now he would be facing the consequences. Word would go out that he’d disobeyed orders, and then he’d face Roman’s wrath.
He didn’t mind. The man was, after all, his friend as well as his boss. What he feared most was that he wouldn’t be able to explain his actions reasonably.
What had induced him to go against a direct order like this?
He decided it was something she said. Something about the boyfriend. He remembered the story. The boy had been a member of a rival family, and when her own father had issued the kill order, she’d learned about it and had defied him by running away together. They’d hidden in the woods, but it hadn’t taken her father’s goons long to come after them.
Finding themselves cornered and running out of time, the boy had urged Emily to leave him and return to her family. Too late
. The dogs had picked up their scent and a small army descended upon them. The boy had made a run for it, trying to lure the thugs away. But then he’d slipped and tumbled down a slope. When she found him, he was half dead already, having hit his head on a rock.
While she sat watch over him, he’d slipped away, and had died in her arms.
When her father’s men found them, they’d had to drag her away, kicking and screaming.
The tragic episode had broken her heart, and she’d never been the same again. Soon after, she’d run away from home, and had found her true calling working for the Demiakov family. Now an artful and cold-hearted young woman, she killed for money, carrying the moniker Stiletto Tonya with pride.
So why had he fought for her life? Because for the briefest moment he’d caught a glimpse of the woman behind the mask, and it had touched his heart. Wanting to save her was not something he’d decided on rationally. It was pure instinct, and he knew he was usually right.
Problem was, he couldn’t explain all that to Roman. No way would he understand.
His phone rang. Checking the display he saw it was the big man himself.
“Roman,” he rumbled into the phone.
“Mike. What’s all this nonsense I’m hearing?”
“I saved a life tonight, Roman.” His gaze swiveled to the woman lying unconscious on the bed. “A life worth saving.”
There was a moment’s silence, then Roman snapped, “What the hell are you talking about? I never issued an order to kill Stiletto Tonya!”
CHAPTER 4
Light and color slanted across her field of vision, and when Emily opened her eyes, she noticed she wasn’t stationary anymore. She wasn’t in a bed, and she wasn’t in the hospital. Opening her eyes further, she saw she was in a car, and she was mobile. With a frown, she turned her head, and found herself looking at Scott Speedman. The man’s eyes were focused on the road ahead, and she was struck again by his strong features, and the resemblance to the boy she’d known and lost so many years ago. When she’d still been Emily Fox.
Detecting movement, he glanced over. “Hey, you awake?”
“Barely,” she muttered, her head still spinning. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “What happened?”
“You were poisoned. The doc gave you an antitoxin. That’s how you survived.”
“Poisoned?” That didn’t make any sense. “Who poisoned me?”
“Beats me. I was actually hoping you might have an idea.”
She shook her head. “I don’t.” Then a horrifying thought struck her. “That drink at the bar.”
“Wasn’t the drink. Doc said you were poisoned hours before you even set foot in that place. Something in your food.” He grimaced. “They pumped your stomach. Do you remember eating shrimp salad?”
She frowned, trying to recall her last day. It was all a blur, a maelstrom of colors and sounds, all tumbling in a confusing turmoil. She groaned as a shoot of pain slashed through her head.
“You’ll feel like this for a couple hours more.”
She remembered something the doc had said and gave him a curious look. “You saved my life?”
“I guess I did.”
She reached out a hand and laid it on his arm. “Thank you…Scott.”
“Not a problem.” She noticed he was gritting his teeth, his eyes suddenly hard. “Now if you can please explain to me what you were doing in that bar?”
She blinked, her cheeks suddenly flushed. “I—I was just having a drink after a long day, you know. Like I told you.”
His lips tightened. “Jackie Collins, analyst at Barclays, huh?” He shook his head. “Cut the crap, Emily Fox. We both know very well who and what you are. Or should I call you Stiletto Tonya?”
A shock galvanized her system. “You—you know about that?”
He barked a short humorless laugh. “Of course I do. Just like I know that you were hired to take me out last night. And I don’t mean on a date.” Panic rolled through her, her eyes glued to his face. His lips were a malevolent slash, his voice soft with unveiled threat. “Just like I was sent in to kill you.”
Her eyes went wide. “You? But—but you’re a banker. You’re not—”
“A killer?” He shook his head disgustedly. “Oh, but I am, Emily. You might know me better under my real name. Mike Petrov.”
It was as if the car suddenly swerved, everything spiraling out of control. “Mike Petrov…” Of course. The chiseled lines of his face. The body hewn from granite. The green eyes. He had all the hallmarks of the famous family of enforcers. But why hadn’t she known? The people who’d supplied her with the information about her target hadn’t even mentioned the fact.
His next words confirmed her worst suspicions. “I think you were set up. Not only were you poisoned, but you were also sent after me to make sure that if the poison didn’t do its lethal work, I would finish the job they had started.”
Her voice shook as the full impact of his words crashed into her consciousness. She was a target. “They? But who’s they? Who’s after me?”
“Take your pick,” he snarled. “I for one was sent a contract.”
“You? You were trying to kill me? But then why—”
“Why didn’t I finish the job? Good question,” he muttered. “It’s a question I’ve been asking myself.”
Fear suddenly gripped her heart. “Where are you taking me?”
“To a safe place.” He gave her a hard stare. “I’m not the one you should be worried about. Since there seems to be people out there trying to take you out, I figured you’d be safer at my place.” He returned his eyes to the road. “Should give us some time to figure this thing out.”
She knew he wouldn’t say more, so she sank into silence. Slumping in her seat, she nursed her aching head. What was going on? Why had they tried to kill her? And who were ‘they’?
The order to take out Mike Petrov had come from her own boss, so he must have set this up himself. But why would the Demiakovs want to kill her? It just made no sense. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She was a good soldier and had always followed orders, had done everything they’d ever asked of her. Like a second family, the organization had taken care of her after leaving her family. She’d rewarded them with her loyalty.
She gazed over at the stony profile of Mike Petrov, and realized why he reminded her of her first love so much. He wasn’t only built along the same lines as Yuri had been, he had the same strength of character, and the same kind heart lurking beneath that irascible exterior. Why else would he have saved her? He’d been under strict orders to kill her, but instead had saved her life. No doubt this would land him in a heap of trouble, and for what?
She shook her head again. Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing at all.
CHAPTER 5
There is something to be said for traveling in the company of a burly Russian enforcer, Emily thought as she stared out the window into the night. At least she was in the company of a man who thoroughly understood who and what she was. Who didn’t require small talk, or pretenses. He probably knew all about her anyway. Just like she knew all about him and his family. The Petrovs had waged a holy war on their enemies for decades now. Had devoted their lives to the service of the Gornakovs the same way she had devoted her professional life to the service of that other great Mafia family.
She wondered if the recent war that had broken out between the two had something to do with the fate that had befallen her.
“Who do you think could be gunning for me?” she asked again. Who could be out to get her? She was, after all, only a small pawn in a much bigger game.
“Beats me,” he grumbled, and she looked over to study the man again. He must be mad, she thought. Reduced to babysitting the woman who tried to kill him. It couldn’t sit well with the proud man.
“Look, I didn’t ask for this, you know,” she burst out. “I was only doing what I was told. Carrying out orders same way you were.”
“You were trying to kill
me,” he pointed out tersely.
“Well…yes, I was,” she agreed. “You know how it is. You’ve been in the game long enough to know there’s nothing personal about these assignments.”
He glanced over, and she saw the simmering rage. “Nothing personal about trying to kill a man? I’d say it’s as personal as it comes, baby.”
“You know what I mean,” she muttered.
“I do know what you mean, but that doesn’t make it right. What do the Demiakovs want with me anyway? They never put out a contract on a Petrov before.”
She shrugged. “Who knows. I didn’t ask any questions.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You never stop to think why you’re doing this?”
“Do you?” she shot back.
“As a matter of fact I do,” he riposted heatedly. “I’m not happy being a mere cog in the wheel like you seem to be. I wanna know what’s going on. And when an assignment doesn’t feel right to me, I simply throw it back in Roman’s face.”
She’d heard that about the Petrovs. Loyal soldiers to a degree, but they still retained the discretion to refuse assignments.
“So much has changed,” she murmured. “This profession used to be more honorable. You knew you were doing the right thing. Now?” She hitched up her slim shoulders. “Now I don’t know what’s right or wrong most of the time.”
“I don’t think the Demiakovs ever knew what was right. They never had any business muscling in on Gornakov territory in the first place.”
She rolled her eyes. “Let’s not even go there, Mike. Demiakov was the first family to arrive in New York or have you forgotten? It was the Gornakovs who muscled in on Demiakov territory and not the other way around.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he grunted, but didn’t argue.
The turf war had begun such a long time ago neither of the two rival families knew who started the whole mess in the first place. Perhaps the truth lay somewhere in the middle, along with the responsibility. In any case, if you really thought things through, it was ridiculous to fight each other tooth and nail. They could have been collaborating all these years. Dividing the cake. But then she figured mob families operated according to a different logic than ordinary folk.
