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

by Alexis Abbott

  Unless he’s just got years and years of practice.

  My stomach turns at the thought.

  Maybe he’s only good at this because this is his job. He’s bedded a hundred girls at gunpoint, pretending to do it hesitantly, then showering them with tenderness to cushion the blow of what’s really going on, earning their trust, only to turn around and become the bad guy when they least expect it!

  I feel nauseous, my head dizzy and my heart pounding. To think I almost fell for it! To think… I could’ve caught something from him!

  Quickly, I grab the plainest shirt I can find, which is still an oversized, silky button-up shirt probably stained with cheap vodka and bodily fluids, and put it on. I wrinkle my nose at the thought that some nasty mobster has worn this at some point, but I have to suck it up. The last thing I need is to draw attention to myself by walking out in a bra.

  I spend the next few minutes anxiously standing at the door, listening intently to hear if there are any signs of life in the rest of the gigantic house. It was dark when Konstantin brought me here last night, so I’m worried that I might get lost or run into some hidden guard or trap on my way out. But I take a long, slow breath, reminding myself that I cannot let fear keep me trapped in this room. Not when I know Daisy and Sunny are back in New Jersey with only my father to care for them.

  My heart aches, realizing how hungry they must be.

  This thought gives me the spur of courage I need to slip out the door and tiptoe down a long hallway to the spiral staircase. I peer down over the banister and can’t see anyone else down there, so I decide it’s safe to keep going. As quietly as I can, I make my way down the stairs and into the magnificent foyer, glancing up at the sparkling chandelier hanging far above. The ceilings here are ridiculously high, and the whole place makes me feel dwarfed, even though I’m taller than average at about five-foot-six. It’s not often that I feel small, but this place definitely gets the job done in that regard.

  I sneak down a mirrored, grand hallway to the front door, amazed that I’ve found my way back so easily, without running into anyone. But then I recall that Konstantin dismissed the guards last night, as though he expected this. Like he knew I would leave.

  I feel a surge of panic at this realization, that he has so perfectly predicted my intentions.

  But regardless of the outcome, I have to try. I have to escape. If not for my sake, then for the love of my innocent little sisters. They need me.

  So I cautiously unlock the five different padlocks on the front door and slip out into the early morning sunshine, blinking in the light. I take a deep breath of free air — and then bolt for the road. The grounds aren’t anywhere near as elaborate as the inside of the mansion, with overgrown bushes and weeds everywhere. Still, I am relieved to find that there isn’t a gate or anything — I can just walk right out of the compound and onto the main road. I take off toward what I hope is the city center of Brighton Beach, thinking maybe I can find some way to hitchhike back to Jersey or something. People hardly seem to notice me, even in my oversized black silk shirt and slightly disheveled appearance, as though the folks of Brighton Beach have all seen much worse.

  I follow the signs and my instincts almost all the way to the bus station, where I hope I can somehow finagle or panhandle my way to a one-way ticket. But as I stand there on the sidewalk, I am suddenly overcome with a strange, overwhelming sense that I’m doing the wrong thing. I’ve made a huge mistake.

  I remember the apology, the genuine regret in Konstantin’s beautiful eyes as he made love to me on the boat. The way he held me, cradled in his arms, his lips soft on mine. A shiver of fear rustles through me. Perhaps he really was trying to help me.

  Or is he just simply a fantastic actor, well-versed in the art of seducing and deceiving young women? This has to be a trick of some kind. A test. To see if I’m worth keeping or… possibly just discarded. Maybe it’s a hazing ritual: giving me the glimmer of freedom only to have it heartlessly ripped away.

  Despite the pull back toward home, back to my little sisters who need me, I have to think straight and face the reality that I really, truly do not know enough about my captor to reasonably assume he will even let me make it home. He could be watching me right now, following my every move to see what I do next. The move I make from here could determine whether I live or die. I’ve only been thinking of Daisy and Sunny, worrying that I have to get back to them.

  But what if that’s what he wants? To watch me, and let me lead him back to my family.

  No. I can’t risk it. And it’s not like I even have a penny on me to pay for the bus anyhow.

  I stand on the curb, conflicted, watching the cars zoom by and the buses arrive at the station just down the block. I bite my lip and wonder if I should take this possible olive branch and run… or just face the music here in Brighton Beach. I have the distinct feeling of being caught in a trap with an unwinnable game laid out before me. Do I wait for the hunter to release me from the snare, or do I chew off my own leg to escape?

  9

  Konstantin

  “And you’re sure he’ll agree to meet?” I ask.

  “Nothing is sure, sir, I’ll admit. He’s a man who often lays low now. But something like what we’ve stumbled on might be the thing to get him back onto the radar, if anything will. Even after all this time, he’s elusive, so a shot in the dark is as good as anything.”

  “I see. Thank you, Dmitri. I won’t forget this.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Dmitri says as I lay down a wad of cash to pay for our drinks, the smoke-filled bar’s patrons starting to trickle out as closing time rolls past. “I didn’t join up for things like what I saw take place on that yacht. I’m glad to see someone in charge who won’t tolerate it either.”

  I raise my eyebrows, finishing off my drink. “Don’t praise a fish for swimming, Dmitri. We have a lot of work ahead of us yet.”

  Dmitri nods, and we stand up, heading out of the bar. He takes a deep breath as we leave the thick air behind us, and he looks at me as I start heading towards my car. “Anyway, what happened to that young woman who was with you? Where is she now?”

  I glance back at him, a frown on my face. “That, I look forward to finding out shortly.”

  Understanding, the man gives a wave. “Take care, boss.” Moments later, I’m back in my car, driving down the thinly-populated roads back to the manor.

  In hindsight, leaving Rosie alone at the manor might have been an oversight. There was still much uncertainty surrounding the place and those who would be frequenting it. There’s been so much confusion and haste tonight that it was the best option, though. Bringing her with me would have been too much for her to bear, and dropping her off somewhere else would have been even riskier.

  Nevertheless, as I pull up the manor’s driveway — my own driveway, now — I can’t help but wonder whether there would be anyone inside upon my arrival.

  The house is quiet when I push the door open. As I do, my heart sinks as I realize the door is unlocked. The door has many padlocks from the inside, but only one on the outside that I’d locked on my way out, and she didn’t have the key. If the door is unlocked now, that can mean only one thing — she left the house. She must have taken my offer and headed for the nearest public transport she could find.

  I step into the silent house, and I feel a mix of emotions. To my surprise, the first is merely guilt that I didn’t leave her money to pay her way home, but I suppose there’s some money to be found lying around the property that she might have had time to take. But maybe I should have encouraged her to stay longer, let me help her get back on her feet from...whatever she went through before me. Maybe I should have warned her that it would be safer here. Maybe I should have kept her company for the night, at least.

  Or maybe I was just thinking of excuses so that I’d enjoy her a little longer.

  But it was the right thing to do, in the long run, I decide as I head down the hallway on the ground floor. She’s an adult
, if only barely so, and restoring her independence had to be the first thing I did with her under my care. My first few weeks as the leader of Brighton’s Bratva will be marred by blood and fear, and I cannot force her to go through all that against her will, regardless of the fact that she may be the closest thing to a friend I have right now, aside from Dmitri.

  I step into the kitchen, wondering if the men guarding the place have left anything around to eat. Beer and bar popcorn was an unusual introduction to American fare, but I tell myself I’ll stock the house with some more suitable Russian food tomorrow morning.

  Once I’m inside, though, an orange glow catches my eye. I glance at the stove and notice one of the burners still red-hot from use, but all the dials are off. Instinctively, my hand goes to my concealed gun, and I spin around at the sound of a little gasp.

  And I freeze at the sight of a terrified Rosie holding a cup of freshly brewed tea in her hand, leaning back against the counter.

  We stare at each other in silence for a moment before she tentatively holds her cup out to me. “...did...you want some?”

  My hand leaves my gun, and I let myself laugh a little, even as she only manages a faint smile.

  “I apologize,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck and letting my hand slip around to my tired eyes. “I thought you were gone, and my reflexes, they…” I start to say that it’s been a long night, but it seems like an insulting thing to say to a woman who was recently forced to have sex with me, so I fall silent.

  “It’s okay,” she says, “I’m kind of surprised I’m still here too, to be honest. I’m just glad you weren’t one of the guards coming back for something.” My eye catches the kitchen knife on the counter near her for the first time, and I raise my eyebrow as she moves to obstruct my view of it with a sheepish look in her eye.

  “Do you know how to use something like that?” I ask, crossing my arms, and she frowns.

  “Well, unless it’s some vegetables or a pork chop try to break into the house, not really,” she confesses. She’s silent a moment longer before raising her eyes to mine. “How did your ‘calls’ go? Learn anything worthwhile?”

  My eyes haven’t left her since I stepped into the kitchen. She has impressive resilience to still be here. If the door was unlocked when I left, that means that she did go through the door, but she must have come back inside. She did indeed leave, but something brought her back, of her own free will. What, though?

  “It went well,” I finally say. “I’ve only been to America once or twice before now, so there is a lot to get a hold of as I get settled in here.”

  “Brighton does seem nice,” she says to my surprise, crossing her arms over her stomach and looking out the kitchen window. “Nice views, hopping nightlife, perfect place for clandestine meetings and mafia plotting, huh?” She offers a smile at her own joke, and I return it, starting to catch on.

  One does not go far in my line of work without gaining a sharp ability to read people in any situation. Knowing the difference between a coward and a desperate man or between a bluster and a sincere threat is essential to evaluating targets and threats. And that skill helps me understand what Rosie seems to be doing now.

  She’s been pushed to her limits tonight, but even so, she’s trying to make light of the situation after I nearly pulled a gun on her. She’s the kind of person to try to make a joke to her captor, which is what I know she still sees me as, despite her willing return. A less attentive eye might dismiss the behavior as merely being cocky, but I recognize the coping mechanism. She probably comes from a rough household. Trying to appease an abuser no matter what is not something that comes naturally to any personality, it is something that is learned. And in her case and at her age, it’s probably a honed skill.

  It’s also a shame to realize that she feels the need to use it with me, but I don't question her.

  “If you think New York is a good place for that, you should see Moscow,” I say, turning to rummage through the pantry and finding what seems to be some packets of crackers with cheese and tearing into them. “But there are some good people here.”

  “Oh, I’m sure,” she says, feigning sincerity rather well. I make quick work of the food. I notice an empty pizza box at her side on the counter — she probably finished off whatever the guards had for dinner.

  “I’ll tell you more in the morning,” I say, deciding that she’s had enough to process for tonight. “Head on upstairs, I’m going to get something for you.”

  A few minutes later, after I run back out to my car and come back, I push open the bedroom door to find Rosie sitting on the bed with the sheets over her legs. “Are you sure you don’t want this bed for tonight?” she says in greeting, setting her now empty cup aside.

  “Quite,” I say, regarding the gaudy bed again. “I’m used to more...simple accommodations.”

  “Well, we have that in common,” she says, “but I’ll take what I can get.” Her eyes fall on the laptop that I now have in my hands, and I step to her side to lay it on the mattress.

  “I thought you’d need something to occupy your mind in the morning,” I say, reaching into my wallet and rifling through it while she blinks at me, confused. “So I’m going to leave my laptop with you. I don’t use it for work, so feel free to do with it what you will.” I pull out what I was looking for — a sleek credit card, which I set on top of the laptop, and I watch her eyes widen further. “There’s no limit on that. Take me on my word when I say that money is no issue with me, Rosie. Feel free to buy a few things for yourself in the morning.”

  She appears to be speechless, confirming what I suspected about her background. In truth, I just don’t know how else to try to make her comfortable, so I suppose letting her decide that for herself is the best way to go about things.

  “I’m going to be meeting with someone in the morning, out of the house, so I’m going to get some sleep. Is there something else I can get for you?”

  Rosie blinks a few times, then looks up at me with a half-smile. “After giving me free access to the outside world and more money than I’ve ever thought of in my whole life? I don’t know, a glass of water?”

  I smile at the request as she pulls the covers a little higher over her, and I head out the door, slipping my jacket off. I know it to be a joke. But it’s worth the walk downstairs to see the look on her face when I come back a few minutes later with an actual glass of water.

  “Oh! Oh my god, I didn’t actually mean-”

  “It’s okay, Rosie,” I say, offering a smile. “I can’t sleep without it either, personally. You’ve more than earned a comfortable night’s rest. Me, I could go another day or so without sleep.”

  She smiles at me, and this time, I can tell that it’s sincere, at least in part, and that’s enough to satisfy me. “I...really appreciate it, Konstantin,” she says. There’s a pause. “So, I won’t ask again, but if I’m going to be staying with you for a while, I just wanted to ask — I can look at you and guess a hundred different things you might do for the other Russians around here, but…”

  I can sense her question, and my smile fades, even if I know I owe her an answer. Finally, I nod. “I carry out the will of the Bratva or my clients, Rosie, through quick, precise action. I earn my living by being given targets, and I do what needs to be done.” I look her in the eye, those sapphire eyes that seem to have their fear again fanned in them every bit as fiercely as I’d worried.

  “In your tongue, I’m called a hitman.”

  I’m used to five or six hours of sleep per day, and this morning was no different. I sit at an outdoor table at a small cafe in Brighton Beach proper, pretending to thumb through some book on a Kindle.

  This is the place Dmitri said he’d try to arrange as a point of contact for me and this Andrei. Among other things, it was revealed to me that the man in question is almost singlehandedly responsible for Sergei Slokavich’s death, meaning that he’s partially responsible for my presence here. I find it only fitting that I have a wo
rd with him myself. But it all rides on whether or not he’ll show.

  An hour passes, and I’ve ordered a coffee to keep the staff from eyeballing me disdainfully. I start to suspect that today will be a no-show. In any case, I suppose, it will be good to scout out the city I’m supposed to be in charge of.

  This was not going to be an easy transition. The similarities between assassination and leading the local Bratva are scarce, save that I’ll be using my people skills and keeping eyes and ears everywhere. From now on, I realize, the contracts I take will have to be more measured. More precise. So the more hidden assets I have, I suppose, the better.

  And just when I’m ready to pay my bill and leave, the potential asset I’ve been waiting on all morning strides up to my table and takes a seat without a word.

  Andrei is hard to miss. He’s as large as I am, with a look that only the Siberian winter can breed. Where I’m wearing a tight-fitting tank top and jeans, my Bratva star showing proudly on my muscled chest, he wears a dark leather jacket, the collar on it pulled high. I turn to face him as he regards me, and we size each other up for a moment before he speaks to me in Russian.

  “So you’re the one they call The Bull.”

  “I’m in Brighton one day, but my reputation preceded me?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

  “You were an interesting choice to replace the last pakhan,” Andrei says, leaning back in his chair, “who happened to be a man I worked very hard to remove. I did a little homework on you as soon as Dmitri said you wished to meet. Have to make sure I’m not walking in on my own assassination,” he says with the faintest hint of a smile.

  “Oh?” I say, folding my hands behind my head, “I’m interested in what you learned, then.”