Hitman - the Series: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Collection (Alexis Abbott's Hitmen #0)

by Alexis Abbott

  There’s a long table in a decorated room, a white banner hanging on the wall that says GOOD WORK! It’s all a little cheesy, but it’s still sweet of them to put this together for us. The table is populated mostly by familiar faces, colleagues I train alongside every week, but there are several exceptions. The high-class men and women from big cities stand out like sore thumbs in this crowd. Even dressed in our modest best, we native residents look like country bumpkins next to the sleek black suits and designer makeup jobs of the talent scouts and recruiters. For a moment, I feel slightly embarrassed. I have a feeling these big-time folks look down on us just a little bit. After all, they’ve probably never been to a town with a population this small, in a place this far off the beaten path.

  I take a seat between Holly and Ashley at the table, my parents sitting closer to the far end with the other parents and the coaches. After we all place our orders, I sip my homemade sweet tea and glance idly up and down the table at the unfamiliar people. Right across from me is a rather severe-looking, yet handsome man with olive skin and sleek dark hair. His eyes are a striking grayish-green, standing out in his serious, dark features. He looks to be at least five to ten years older than me, but he’s considerably younger than the other out-of-towners. He also looks less like a gymnast himself and more like… well, like a secret agent type. It’s the only way I can think to describe him. He has a grave, calculating expression, like he’s deep in thought the entire time, despite all the lighthearted banter surrounding him. I wonder what’s on his mind.

  Then, just as I’m blatantly studying his face, those expressive jade-colored eyes turn toward me, locking gaze with mine. I instantly feel my cheeks burn, as I’ve been caught staring. I quickly look away, smiling at some silly remark Ashley is making to her coach. I try to play it off like I wasn’t just openly gawking at the attractive older man in front of me.

  Smooth move, Olivia, I think to myself.

  Our food arrives and the conversation quiets down a little as we all eat, but I can’t shake the sensation of being watched. I can feel those intense eyes burning a hole in my head from across the table, even if I don’t dare to look up and check. I focus on my chicken parmigiana and green beans instead, occasionally laughing at a joke someone makes.

  And when the meal is over and we’re all transitioning into the schmooze and mingle part of the banquet, my parents sidle over to me to whisper in my ear what kind of intel they’ve gathered about the talent scouts and agents in the room.

  “That woman down there used to train with former Olympic gymnasts,” Mom says softly, pointing to a butch-looking woman in a pantsuit.

  “That guy over there is a talent agent from an elite studio out in California,” Dad tells me, nudging me toward a snivelly-looking man with a mustache.

  “Wh-what about him?” I work up the courage to ask, gesturing subtly toward the green-eyed man who sat across from me at the table earlier. My mom shrugs.

  “No idea. Never seen him before and nobody else seems to know him,” Dad comments, shaking his head. “But he looks European, doesn’t he?”

  Mom nods and whispers, “Maybe he’s just a spy for the Russian gymnastics team. They’re always neck and neck with the Americans at the Olympics.”

  My parents both chuckle to themselves and I roll my eyes, sighing. Their laughter halts abruptly as the subject of our conversation turns to look toward us from across the room, his smoky gaze startling all three of us.

  Then, the tall, severe-looking man comes sauntering over to us, looking like a lion stalking up to his prey.

  My heart races, wondering if maybe he has supersonic hearing or something and he’s miffed that we’ve been talking about him. He stops just in front of me, and now that we’re standing so close together, I’m overwhelmed by our size difference. I’m barely over five feet, and he’s well over six. While my frame is petite and slender, everything about him is imposing and powerful.

  I gulp, and I can feel my parents bristling uncomfortably behind me.

  “You’re Olivia Greenwood,” the man says, and I realize now that it’s the first time I’ve heard his voice all night. In fact, a lot of other people have stopped their conversations to glance over at the surprising sound. His voice is deep and somber, with just a lick of an accent I can’t quite place. Every word from his lips seems to vibrate in the air.

  “Y-yes, that’s me,” I reply awkwardly.

  He nods. “I have seen videos of your training and competitions and read your stats. You have a few achievements under your belt,” he explains. Coming from anyone else, it might have sounded like a compliment, but in his grave tone it sounds almost like a put-down. Or a threat.

  “Thank you,” I murmur, blushing.

  “May I speak to you in private for a moment?” he asks, glancing briefly at each of my parents behind me. All three of us nod in response and the man gestures for me to follow him to the little outside patio. I’m half-afraid that my father is going to demand to come along, but to my relief, he doesn’t. I need to be able to handle whatever this guy has to say. On my own.

  So I follow Mr. Mystery outside, where the air is slightly chilled. Goosebumps prickle along my arms and bared legs, but I suspect that may be less due to the weather and more about the fact that an intimidating stranger has cornered me alone.

  “My name is Maksim Pavlenko, but my colleagues often call me Max. I have come on behalf of an elite gymnastics company with a close affiliation to the Sorbonne in Paris. After reviewing your progress as an athlete and sending me out to review your last performance live, the company has chosen to offer you a place in their highly competitive program. You would study at the Université de Paris and train under the tutelage of world-renowned instructors, such as myself,” he explains, his expression never lightening up for even a second.

  I am stunned and overwhelmed by this barrage of information, and apparently it shows, because he then gives me an even colder, impatient look.

  “This is an opportunity to die for, and it is not offered lightly. If you wish to accept, it is imperative that you tell me now,” he commands. My mind is racing, my heart pounding. How am I even supposed to respond to something like this? I had no expectation of anything so serious happening tonight — especially not to me!

  But I quickly stammer, “Yes, I-I would love to. I just —”

  “Very well,” he interrupts, guiding me back into the restaurant and toward my waiting parents, who both looked utterly bewildered. Without another word to me, Pavlenko describes the details of the arrangement to my parents, leaving me standing stock-still and silent the whole time. Holly and Ashley shoot me concerned, questioning looks, but all I can do is give them a strained smile and shrug. I know they’ll be happy for me, but it also means that I’ve bested them. We’re all friends, but we’re competitors, too. Besides, if I go away to Paris — which still seems like an impossible pipe dream — who knows if I’ll even ever see them again?

  Still, I tell myself as Pavlenko arranges my travel and schooling plans with my parents, he is right. This is an opportunity I cannot pass up. On the ride home from the banquet, I don’t say a word even as my parents chatter excitedly about Pavlenko’s offer. It’s all happening so fast, but it’s definitely for the better, isn’t it? Gymnastics is my passion, and I will never fulfill my ambitions if I just languish away here in Toast.

  Paris is the place to be. Even if it means leaving behind everything I’ve ever known or loved.

  Right?

  But then I remember what happened the last time I flew anywhere...

  2

  Liv

  I’ve only been on a plane once in my life, when I was ten and we flew to Orlando for a family vacation at Disney World. I was so scared that my parents had to give me a special medicine from the doctor to chill me out and calm me down for the flight. Every slight turbulence felt like instant death to me. I just knew we were going to drop out of the sky and plummet to our doom at any moment. My mom spent the entire flig
ht stroking my hair and reminding me that it’s more likely to get in a car accident than a plane crash.

  Which only had the effect of also making me terrified to get in the taxi waiting for us when we landed in Orlando.

  I’d like to think that I’ve matured a little bit since then. Mellowed out, even. But when the day of the flight arrives, I’m trembling yet again. It looks like my old phobia is still going strong, unfortunately. And this is a scarier flight than just hopping on a plane to Florida: this time I’m flying over the Atlantic Ocean.

  And I’m doing it all by myself.

  “You’ll be just fine, sweetheart,” my mother assures me, her voice wavering. Both of my parents have been excessively hovering over me for the past few weeks, fussing over every little thing and wanting to spend all their time with me. I understand why. This will be the first time I’ve ever lived away from home, and Paris is a long, long way away from North Carolina. I’m an only child and my parents have always been like my best friends, so this is going to be very difficult on all of us. I can’t imagine what it will be like not seeing them every day. Don’t get me wrong, in some ways I am looking forward to the freedom and independence of my new life.

  But I’m also scared.

  What if I get there and I can’t make any friends? I don’t even speak French! What if I get lost? Or mugged? I know frightening things can happen in big cities, and I’ve spent my whole life living in a place where nobody even thinks to lock their doors.

  “It’s not just the flight, Mom,” I admit, sitting on a bench in Raleigh-Durham International Airport. My dad puts an arm around my shoulder and squeezes me tight.

  “Don’t let the city intimidate you,” he says. “Livvy, you’re a tough cookie and I know you can handle whatever comes your way.”

  “It’s just that… well, what if nobody likes me?” I ask meekly, my voice very small. Both of my parents rush to reassure me.

  “Honey, I don’t think you’ve ever met a person who didn’t like you,” Mom says.

  “What’s not to like?” Adds my father.

  I can’t help but think of Pavlenko, remembering the way he regarded me as though I were just some small annoyance, a gnat buzzing in his face. He delivered the Paris offer almost begrudgingly, like he didn’t agree with the company’s assessment of my talent.

  Like he didn’t think I was good enough, but he didn’t want to say anything.

  But that’s not a problem I want to worry my parents with. So I keep it to myself. Then a woman’s voice comes over the intercom and announces that my flight, Raleigh to Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris, is boarding in thirty minutes. My parents exchange heartbroken, desperate looks. I know they’re going to miss me. I hope they don’t fall apart without me around to keep them busy. They’re both so involved in my life that I wonder how they’ll manage living their own lives now that I’m leaving.

  My father is already in tears, wrapping his arms around me and rocking me back and forth. Mom joins in the group hug, petting my hair and kissing the top of my head.

  “Oh, we’re going to miss you so much,” Mom sniffles.

  “Promise you’ll call every day, no matter how much it costs,” Dad blubbers, his tears staining my sweatshirt. “We love you, Liv. Please be careful.”

  “Text us the second your plane lands, okay!” Mom adds.

  As they finally release me from their combined embrace, I assure them that I will keep in contact and that I will love and miss them more than anything. And it’s true. While I’ve always had casual friendships here, no relationship has ever even come close to the tight-knit dynamic of my little family unit.

  They walk me as far as security will allow, and then I’m on my own. Waving tearfully to my weepy mother and outright sobbing father, I pass through the security checkpoint and proceed nervously on to the terminal. When I board the plane, I feel that old fear settling in again. The plane is so cramped and warm inside, and I feel slightly claustrophobic. And this time I don’t have my mom to reassure me the whole way.

  But I can do this. I have to.

  My seat neighbor is a rather attractive guy who looks to be in his twenties, and when he notices me fidgeting, he asks if I’m a nervous flier. I sheepishly confess that I am, and he pats my hand, giving me a wink.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe,” he tells me, smiling. I blush, not accustomed to a lot of male attention. Every guy I interacted with in my hometown I’ve known since I was a little kid. When the population is that low, you kind of get to know everybody more intimately than you’d like. So no matter how objectively cute a guy in my graduating class might be, I would always remember him as the kid who picked his nose in first grade. Besides, gymnastics has always superseded any interest in romantic entanglements, for me.

  So I am about as experienced as a nun.

  The guy introduces himself as Will and says that he’s also going to Paris to study at the same school as me! Of course, he’s going as a graduate student, whereas I will be a lowly undergrad. Still, he flirts with me in a non-threatening, easy going way, and we spend the whole flight chatting about how excited we are. Will explains that he’s been to Paris many times before, and he offers to help show me around and get used to the place. I can’t believe my luck!

  When the flight attendant comes down the aisle, Will purchases a miniature bottle of champagne and sneaks me a sip. It’s the first time I’ve ever had champagne — or alcohol, period. It burns in my mouth a little bit, but I actually enjoy the taste once I get past the bubbles.

  “You’ve really never had a drink?” Will asks in an undertone, his eyebrows raised.

  I shake my head and shrug. “No. For a long time my hometown was in a dry county so people still don’t really drink a whole lot. Plus, you know, I’m underage.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, that never stopped me.”

  As we share the champagne, I start to feel a little giddy — definitely more upbeat and optimistic about my Parisian experience than I was when I boarded the plane. I mean, I’ve been excited all along, but until now my anxieties have kept my elation to a minimum. But now I just want to jump up and down and turn backflips!

  The rest of the flight passes by much more quickly than I expected, probably thanks to the booze and Will’s pleasant company. It’s exciting to have a cute boy so interested in me, and when we finally land in Paris, he suggests that we share a taxi together. I agree happily as it’s nice having an older guy to guide me through the massive airport, and the two of us collect our luggage and walk out into the French sunshine.

  “We did it!” I exclaim, breathing in deeply as the sounds of the big city whirr around me.

  “You’re in Paris!” Will says, nudging my shoulder. “How does it feel?”

  “Like a dream,” I breathe, my heart soaring. I cannot believe I’ve made it all the way here — little Liv Greenwood, all the way from the middle of nowhere to the almost mythical city of Paris! It almost feels like I’m watching a movie starring myself, and at any second the end credits will pop up and transport me back to Toast, where I’m a nobody once again.

  Will and I take a taxi to the University, where we get out and walk around on campus for a while. It’s mind-blowing to be somewhere so deeply entrenched in history beyond my own nation, the white walls of the old school nearly vibrating with centuries of memory. Then we simply stroll along the streets, dragging our luggage along behind us. I feel so small in this massive, beautiful, vibrant city — like an ant crawling on the face of a gigantic marble statue. Every building tells a story, every corner we turn reveals another architectural masterpiece I’ve only ever seen in the pages of an art history textbook.

  This is a fantasy, a wild daydream — but it’s also my life now!

  Around noon, I check my phone and realize I forgot to text my parents, I have been so distracted. I finally reply to their barrage of concerned texts, assuring them that the plane landed and I’m perfectly fine. I’m more than fine, though, I’m floating on c
loud nine.

  “Oh, I believe I’ve got to head back to the campus to meet with my gymnastics coordinator,” I tell Will, a little sadly. I am excited to meet the trainers and my fellow gymnasts, but I’m also reluctant to leave Will. It’s so nice to have found a friend already, especially one who seems to genuinely care about making me feel welcome.

  Suddenly, Will catches me in his arms and dives in to kiss me.

  I’m so shocked that I actually yelp in surprise, barely managing to dodge out of the way before his lips collide with mine. His kiss lands awkwardly on my cheek instead, and when he releases me, he looks a little miffed. “Did I misread something?” he asks, ruffling his hand through his blond curls.

  “Oh, uhh, I just — um — I need to get going,” I tell him quickly, backing away to hail a cab. On the one hand, I am flattered that such a cute boy has deemed me worth trying to kiss, but at the same time I am taken aback by how forward he is. After all, we barely know each other! Does everyone move this quickly in France?

  Thankfully, a taxi pulls up and I start to hastily climb inside. Will rushes forward to ask through the window, “Wait! When will I see you again? How will I contact you?”

  I shrug and say, “Oh, um, I’m sure we’ll see each other around campus!”

  And with that, the taxi peels off down the winding Parisian streets toward the school. I slump in the back seat, my heart pounding after such a strange, sudden encounter. I’ve only been in the city for a few hours, but it’s already been a much different experience than anything I ever had in North Carolina. If this is how quickly things can happen in just one morning… what all will happen in a year or two?

  3

  Liv