You Don't Know Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Georgia Le Carre

  Fuck them.

  Fuck you, Nikita.

  Every nerve ending in my body feels alive and on fire as I dodge the tall guy’s knife by ducking below his blow. As it whizzes by, I land a hard body punch to his solar plexus. It sends him flying to the ground, crippled, breathless, and in agony.

  The ruthless killer in me takes over.

  I yank his blade from his hand, step behind his arched body, and with neither thought nor mercy, pull his head back and finish the job some other man had started. I put the tip of the blade to the bottom of his ear and open him ear to ear. Hot blood flows down my hands. He makes wet gurgling sounds, gasps uselessly for air, then slumps.

  Two down. I let him drop out of my hands. He lands with a thud.

  One more to go, but he’s the boss. He’s the one I have to watch out for.

  Before I can turn around he attacks, and lands a hard blow to my ribs. It winds me temporarily, and leaves me gasping for air. Another man would have gone down, but not me. I summon every last bit of strength I have and straighten as he comes at me again. He is like a mountain, but I have agility on my side. I sidestep his lunge and catch him full in the face with my elbow, smashing his nose to a bloody pulp.

  His hands instinctively shoot up to cover his face, but before he has time to gather his senses, I grab his right wrist with both hands and smash my knee into his groin. With a near-soundless grunt of white hot pain, he stumbles and collapses to the ground cupping his junk. In a flash, I fall on his body and straddle him.

  He realizes his mistake and starts struggling, his arms flailing, trying to hit at anything. He is no match for my force of momentum as I plunge the knife he dropped deep into his chest. His eyes widen and he makes a muffled, slow choking sound. Blood bubbles in his mouth and runs out of the side. I sit on him, panting hard, and watch the light die out of his eyes. I thought I’d never have to see the life go out of another man at my hands, but Tasha is worth it. I’d kill hundreds more like him for her.

  I turn my head slowly and glance at the man with the broken tibia. He is still lying on the ground, white bone jutting through flesh, and staring at me with bulging eyes. Quickly, I rifle the pockets of the dead man underneath me, locate and retrieve his mobile phone. I scroll down to the last number and, sucking air in my lungs, walk over to where the first man is lying, looking at me with a mixture of hate and fear.

  I thrust the mobile into his face. ‘Call your boss.’

  He looks at me without blinking.

  ‘Call him or join your friends in hell.’

  He looks around at his dead mates’ blood-soaked bodies, weighs up the situation, and grimaces. ‘You might as well kill me. I’m as good as dead if I call him anyway.’ I underestimated him. He’s a good judge of character. He’d rather take his chances with me than Nikita.

  I press the button and hold the phone to my ear.

  ‘What?’ Tasha’s father barks.

  ‘Nikita, you’re losing your touch.’

  There is a pause, then he speaks. His voice is deliberately pleasant and unruffled even though I know he must be fucking furious. ‘Well, well, I wasn’t expecting to hear your voice, Noah.’

  ‘You must be getting old, Nikita, sending boys to do a man’s work.’

  ‘Listen you little upstart low life. Come near my daughter again and I'll fucking kill you myself.’

  The idea of Nikita killing me makes me laugh. As if he’s ever done his own wet work.

  ‘Let’s see how you laugh when your mouth is full of concrete.’

  ‘Well, if I were you I’d stop with the weird fantasies, and deal with the more pressing scenario you’ve got going on here. It might be a good idea to get your garbage disposal people over, like pronto, before the cops are all over it.’

  I hear his brain turning over.

  ‘You should pray that I don’t turn up dead, even by accident. Because the cops will be getting a USB stick detailing the exact money trail of that drug deal gone wrong. Remember Hammurabi?’

  He doesn’t say anything but I can feel his shock. Zane and I got a copy ages ago, and we just kept it for insurance purposes. You never know when you need these things.

  ‘I’ll be seeing you real soon, Nikita.’ I say, and hang up.

  I turn my attention back to the man on the ground.

  ‘Please, please don’t kill me,’ he begs. ‘It’s not personal. We had orders. I’m sorry.’

  Yeah, sure he's sorry. He’s playing me for a chump. He's sorry I'm standing over him, he’s sorry his friends can’t help him, and he’s sorry his busted leg means he can't run away.

  I feel my adrenaline stop pumping as I stand above him, knife in hand. He eyes me fearfully and curls up like a child, sniveling, begging for mercy. Acting!

  ‘You’re a soldier, you knew the risks,’ I tell him.

  I squeeze the handle. I can’t kill a wounded, helpless man in cold blood. Anyway, he is more valuable alive than dead.

  ‘I’ll let you live so you can pass a message on to your boss.’

  He nods violently.

  ‘Tell him Tasha Evanoff belongs to me, and I will kill every man that is sent to come between us.’

  I reach down with one hand and grab him by his trembling neck. With my other hand I draw my blade slowly and purposefully along his cheek, from ear to mouth. As the blade tears his flesh he howls out an awful scream. It ricochets through the emptiness of the alleyway. When I am done I let him sink to the ground by my feet.

  ‘Remember,’ I snarl. ‘If I ever see you again. I will kill you.’

  I step away from him, remove a handkerchief from my jacket, and wipe the handle and blade clean of my fingerprints. That’s when I see the bright crimson stain that is spreading over my ribs and down to my abdomen.

  I wasn’t fast enough. I’ve been stabbed, and it looks pretty fucking bad. I chuck the knife to the ground and try to walk, but my legs feel like they don’t belong to me. I feel breathless after just a few steps. The adrenaline and fear kept me from feeling the pain before, but now it hurts like hell. Wincing, I lurch forward.

  I just need to reach my car.

  I’ll call Zane. I push my hand into my jacket pocket to pull out my phone, and shit, fuck, my hand won’t obey the commands of my brain. I don’t want to be here when Nikita’s men turn up. Life won’t be worth living. Now what the fuck do I do? Taking in a deep breath that feels like I’ve swallowed fire, I grab onto the wall and try to pull myself along, but the life is quickly draining from my body.

  Twenty more steps, Noah.

  You can do it.

  Come on.

  I think of Tasha and her warm sweet smile. I want to live. I need to live. Fuck, I'm not going to make …

  Come on, Noah.

  In my mind the sky is blue, the sun is shining, the ocean under Tasha and me is turquoise. ‘Look, Noah. We’re flying,’ she cries.

  Unable to stand upright any longer, I fold to the ground. I stare at the night sky. The stars above look so beautiful. Everything is still. Babushka’s face is looking down at me. She is calling me. Then I hear footsteps. Getting closer, louder.

  A face floats above me. Blue eyes. The bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. It is one of the saints or angels Babushka prays to. He has come to take me to her.

  Oh, Tasha. I don’t want to leave, not yet, I had so many dreams for us, but I can’t stay. They’ve come for me.

  I love you …

  Thirty-two

  Tasha Evanoff

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xwtdhWltSIg

  Losing My Religion

  The next day I call Noah’s phone numerous times, but it is switched off all day and all night. I try not to worry. His battery died. He lost his phone. But my heart knows it is not that. He would never switch his phone off. Not at a time like this.

  I call his club, The Matrix, put on an American accent, and pretend that I am Dahlia, Alexander Malenkov’s wife. I ask to speak to Noah, but the manager tells me nobody has heard from him sin
ce last night. He hasn’t called any of his other businesses which is very weird.

  ‘I’ll get him to call you as soon as he calls in,’ he says.

  ‘No. No need,’ I say quickly. ‘I’ll call him tomorrow.’

  I sit on my bed and think. I think of all the possibilities that are open to me. Then I lay my plans meticulously. I play with a best case scenario and a worst case. I make a list of every move I plan to make, then I make a list of everything that can go wrong on every single move. Then I think up things that can go wrong outside of my actions.

  At eight I go down to dinner and act normal. After dinner I go up to Baba’s room and I tell her what I want to do. Step by step. She doesn’t say a word. When I finish talking she puts her hand gently on my head. I know it is her way of giving me her blessing. I take her hand in my own and, bringing it to my lips, kiss it.

  Later, when the household goes to sleep, Baba comes to my room and I slip out of the house and climb the wall. I tell the cab driver to take me to Noah’s house. As we drive up to the road I see it in complete darkness. I don’t react. It is something I have already planned for. My whole body feels cold. I don’t think about what has happened to him. If I do, I will just want to give up and die too.

  The car comes to a stop. The driver turns to look at me.

  My stomach is in knots. ‘I’ve changed my mind. Take me to Rusaki.’

  Rusaki is Dimitri Semenov’s club. It is a Russian stripper club located in the underbelly of the city.

  This is it now, Tasha. There's no going back.

  I know I have to see it through to the very end. I turn my attention to the night traffic whizzing by until the cab driver pulls up outside its gaudy red and gold awning.

  ‘We’re here my love,’ the taxi driver says.

  I feel my heartbeat rise a notch as I take a deep breath and step out of the car. I pass the driver his money and thank him. Gathering my coat tightly around myself in an unconsciously defensive gesture, I turn around to face the club’s neon lights. As I walk up to it, I realize what I am doing. I let go. Tilting my chin and letting my hands swing confidently, I go up to the entrance. There are three bouncers in black suits watching me approach with various expressions, leering, admiring, and expressionless.

  I’m met by the large outstretched palm of the expressionless one. ‘Dancers to the side door,’ he says in a strong Russian accent, jerking his head towards a grey side door.

  Beside me an obviously wealthy Russian man in a camel hair coat and an icy blonde on each arm is respectfully ushered in.

  ‘I’m not a dancer.’

  The leering one comes forward. ‘What are you then?’ he asks. His accent is English.

  ‘I’m here to see Dimitri Semenov.’

  The leering guy sniggers. ‘Sorry darlin’. Even if you suck my cock you can’t hope to see him.’

  I stare at him as haughtily as I can, as my father would have done.

  Keeping my expression blank I issue my instruction. ‘Tell him Tasha Evanoff is here to see him.’

  ‘I don’t care if you’re the Queen of England, you’re not going in, little pussycat.’

  ‘Did you say Evanoff?’ the expressionless bouncer cuts in suddenly.

  ‘Yes.’

  The bouncer who was laughing at his own joke stops abruptly.

  ‘You’re Nikita Evanoff’s daughter,’ he repeats incredulously.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Got any ID to prove that?’

  I hand over my driver’s license.

  He looks at it. ‘I’ll just hold on to this for a minute.’

  ‘Of course,’ I say coolly.

  He unhooks the red rope and stands aside. ‘I’m sorry about my colleague’s behavior, Miss Evanoff,’ he says in Russian. ‘He didn't know who you were and meant no harm. He’s English.’

  ‘Of course,’ I say graciously.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like a drink while I tell him you are here.’

  ‘Thank you, no,’ I say.

  As I follow him I hear the rude bouncer ask the admiring bouncer, ‘Who the hell is Nikita Evanoff?’

  I don’t hear his reply.

  ‘Please wait here,’ he says, and disappears into a dark door.

  I look around me. I’ve never been to a strip club. There is something sad and desperate about the women and the men. Both moving towards each other like magnets but connected only by the currency of money. I watch a woman on a pole.

  ‘Come this way please,’ the bouncer says close to my ear.

  I follow him and we walk in silence along a darkened hallway, the sounds of our footsteps on the wooden floors creating an eerie feel. I feel my stomach churn again. At the end of the hallway we take a lift to the top. The door opens to a large room that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a French palace. It is a startling contrast to the rest of the club.

  ‘I’m going to have to frisk you, I’m afraid,’ he says politely.

  I hold my arms out as he brushes his hands down my sides, under my breasts, around my waist, and down my thighs. He stops at my knees. He is very professional about it, and I feel as cold as ice.

  ‘This way,’ he says. He opens a set of double doors and we enter a large, expensively decorated room.

  Dimitri Semenov is sitting on a long sofa with two topless blonde girls wearing thongs. They look frightened. I imagine them to be girls trafficked from Ukraine or Russia. He is carelessly fondling the breasts of one of them as he watches me with small, curious eyes.

  ‘Come in and sit down, Tasha,’ he invites cordially.

  Then in a completely psychotic about-turn, he harshly orders the man who had shown me in to get out.

  My eyebrows rise in surprise and he smiles. A sly, ugly smile. A shudder goes through me. I have heard this man is an utterly ruthless monster. I also know that other than me, no one hates my father more than him, and I have come to see him because of the old maxim.

  The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

  ‘So what can I do for Nikita’s beloved only daughter?’ He says the words as if he is slurping them. He can hardly hide his delight that I have come to see him. He understands exactly what it means when your enemy’s daughter comes to see you.

  ‘I cannot speak to you in the presence of anyone else,’ I say quietly.

  He slaps the breast he was just fondling. ‘You heard her. What are you waiting for?’ Both women jump up and literally run out of the room.

  He picks up his glass of amber liquid and takes a sip. ‘There you go. Just you and me. Now speak.’

  ‘I need to hire two of your most silent men for a day.’

  His eyes narrow. ‘All my men are silent.’ Then to make sure that he has not misunderstood the situation, he asks, ‘Does your father know you are here?’

  I shake my head.

  He smiles slowly. ‘What sort of … expertise should they possess?’

  ‘Heavy lifting. They must be able to lift, help transport, and completely dispose of a heavy object.’

  His smile widens even further. ‘Do you know I have a pig farm? Those greedy beasts will eat anything. Back in Russia we used to feed them sawdust. Naturally, they enjoy a change to their diet as much as the next man.’ His eyes glitter with cruelty.

  ‘How much will it cost me?’ I ask.

  ‘For Nikita Evanoff’s daughter … nothing,’ he declares grandly, then he laughs again with the glee of knowing he is looking at the face of the instrument of his enemy’s downfall.

  Thirty-three

  Tasha Evanoff

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W_rZ9rHFwGY

  You Ruin Me

  It is not I, but Baba who invites my father to join us for dinner. He might have thought it suspicious if the invitation came from me, but since it is Baba, Baba who has loved him ever since he was born, Baba, who would have walked over hot coals for him, it never crosses his mind that she is inviting him to his last supper. He simply assumes she is trying to make peace between her warring kin
.

  To seal the deal, she tells him that the Chef is preparing his favorite pork shashlik, chunks of barbequed meat marinated in pomegranate juice.

  He comes in smiling, confident … happy. Not a thought for the harmless, innocent dog he butchered. Not just any creature. My baby. It’s not even like he didn’t know how much I adored that dog. I look up at him in wonder. This is my father. Incredible how he had completely brainwashed and manipulated me into accepting what he did to my mother.

  It is almost as if the love he deliberately withheld from me put me under a spell where all I wanted to do was obey him and please him. Or perhaps my sub-conscious mind assimilated that scene with my mother better than I properly understood it. Fall out of line and get kicked out of the house forever. So I became the bird in a gilded cage. The world assumed I sang, but I was gray inside.

  If I hadn’t had the courage to turn up at Noah’s office that night, I might still be under his spell. But I’ve had a taste of what lies outside the cage. He crossed the line when he murdered my Sergei. I will never forgive him for that.

  He looks at me directly and smiles. ‘You look well, Solnyshko.’

  ‘Thank you, Papa,’ I reply with lowered eyes.

  He asks our server to bring him two bottles of Tsimlansky Black. Baba approves. The smoky, dusty red redolent with the smell of forest floor is perfect with chargrilled meat.

  The wine is uncorked and left to breathe, and our glasses are filled with anisette. My father raises his glass and makes a toast.

  ‘To the wealth of this family.’

  I dutifully throw the drink down my throat.

  He looks directly at me. ‘One day, you will understand me.’

  We stare at each other and suddenly we are locked in a vortex. There is no one else but us in this spinning world. The powerful bonds of love, hate, fear, loyalty, duty, deceit keeps us joined together as we swirl inexorably. Surely it must be clear to him that I am the child who has turned against its own father? It is impossible that he has not guessed his meek daughter and loving mother are about to kiss his cheek and betray him. I can’t breathe. My lungs feel as if they are bursting.