But fortunately for my client, I want to send a message. I want it to be clear that this kind of practice will not be tolerated any longer. Not in my city. So I took it upon myself to complete the contract, and I did not conceal the fact that I am affiliated with the Bratva.
There are more thoughts haunting my mind, though, even as Andrei and I position ourselves to sweep the city clean of these monsters who trade human flesh. What Diego said back at the hotel still creeps inside my mind, plaguing me with suspicion. Maybe what he said was just a passing remark. In the short time Brighton Beach went without leadership, it’s reasonable to think that some of the Russians might have started branching out to the other mafias to get work. They might have even needed to cozy up to them for protection in their time of weakness. Yet when I probed my informants for information about this Italian collaboration, they turned up very little to nothing. Circumstantial evidence, nothing hard. It was supremely frustrating.
But the lack of information is telling in and of itself. If there are Russians working with the Italians, and the Russian slave trade is persisting despite our constant vigilance, then the pieces point toward a troubling implication: there are traitors in the Bratva funneling slave trade through the Italian mafia.
That’s a weighty accusation to level, and I have nothing but a few scraps of evidence and no suspects. Anton has dropped off the map, scampered back to Russia for all I know. Or he could be here in Brighton, right under my nose. He knows to keep his distance after the stunt he pulled on the yacht.
So what I do today is as much a challenge to my enemies as it is a job.
Around 8:00 AM, I hear activity outside. A few male voices talking amongst one another, a few laughs here and there. I press myself against the back of the compartment, keeping my body still.
Heavy footsteps get onto the boat — my target Pavlychko, his bodyguards...and someone much smaller, I realize.
I hear the door to the cabin open, and two people enter. A deep, stupid voice says, “You know where to go. Get in there and don’t come out until I knock. It’ll be about an hour. If I hear so much as a whimper until then, you’ll feel it across your face tonight, bitch.”
There’s no response, but the larger person leaves the room, and I hear a small set of footsteps approach the hidden compartment. A moment later, the door slides open, and I’m faced with a small, dark-skinned woman in swimwear, her eyes widening to the size of dinner plates at the sight of me. Her mouth opens to scream, but I reach out and yank her inside, covering her mouth with one of my large hands as I close the door, sealing us in darkness together.
She’s too paralyzed by fear to move for a moment, and I whisper into her ear. “Be calm. You’re safe. When he knocks, I will go. You stay.”
There’s a pause as I feel her trembling under my grip, pressed up against me, but after a few moments, I feel her nod. I wish I could trust her enough to release her, but there’s too much at stake for that right now, so I hold her against me, one arm covering her lips while the other arm wraps around her body, pinning her arms to her side as I listen to the activity on the boat.
In time, everyone seems to be on the boat, and I hear the engine start up. I speak once more to the woman in my arms as I hear someone approaching the cabin again. “I promise, you will be safe. But you must be still. Nobody else will touch you today.”
Another nod, and I fall silent as the door to the cabin opens, and I hear the guard step inside as the boat starts to move.
The next forty-five minutes pass in noisy silence. The smell of salt grows stronger as we head far out onto the water, feeling the waves roll under us as we stand in that dark room together. Over time, the woman starts to relax, if only a little, and after some time, I feel safe enough to release her. To my relief, she makes no noise, nor hardly moves. She just presses herself against the opposite wall, and I can feel her eyes on me in the darkness, even though we can’t see each other.
Voices from outside. It’s mostly idle chatter, and I catch a few words about fishing, the weather, and how the weekend has gone. It’s remarkable, how callously the rich can carry on their daily lives while paying no regard to the heinous evils they perpetrate on a daily basis. You’d never think the affable man above deck would engage in slavery.
The boat finally comes to a stop, and I imagine we’re a fair ways away from the docks, well out into open water. A few minutes later, I hear the sounds of lines being cast as my target begins to fish. There’s a tap at the window, and the guard inside the cabin stands up, clearing his throat.
“Alright, cunt,” he mutters, “Captain needs a little something to help him relax. It’s showtime for you,” he says as he slides open the compartment door, and half a second later I stab with precision, blood is running down the hilt of the knife blade I just shoved up under his jaw and into his head, and I hear a stifled gasp from the woman behind me. The burly man’s eyes roll up into his head as I withdraw my knife and let him crumple to the ground, dead.
“Wait here,” I order her, seeing her in full light for the first time. She can’t be a day older than Rosie. I feel my blood boiling under my skin. My target will suffer for what he’s been doing.
I close the compartment door once more before stepping towards the exit. Outside, I see two other guards, guns at their side as they patrol the ship. I need to act quickly.
Holding nothing more than a bloody knife, I kick the door to the cabin open right in front of one of the guards, who looks at me, startled. Before he can gain his bearings, I move in and twist his arm behind his back just as the other guard shouts out in alarm, and my target whirls around, dropping his fishing pole in surprise, and his eyes widen at the sight of me.
The second guard is already drawing his pistol, so I turn the first guard in my grip around right before the first few shots go off. The scream of the first guard is silenced when his comrade’s own bullets sink into him as I use him as a human shield, and I let him fall to the ground with bullet holes in his head.
Furious, the second guard starts to fire again as I move quickly, but my reflexes are just slow enough for one of the bullets to graze my left arm just as I use my right to hurl the knife at him. I take cover after it leaves my grasp, but the gunshots stop, and I raise my head in time to see the second guard falling to his knees, my knife deep in his throat.
All of this within seconds.
Calmly, I turn my eyes to Pavlychko, who’s hardly had time to react. When he realizes what’s happened, he starts backing away from me, holding up a hand and shaking his head as I stride towards him, slowly.
“I’d like to see you swim, Peter,” I say as he glances at the water, his face white. “But I suspect even the sharks that infest these waters would find your taste too foul.”
“Konstantin,” he gasps, his hands shaking, “Konstantin listen, you don’t have to do this. Wh-what did I do wrong? Okay, I haven’t paid my respects, I get it — Sergei was always the type who liked that kind of thing, I just didn’t realize you’d be the same, I’m sorry!”
“This is a Bratva matter,” I say as I draw closer, “but not that kind. Simpering won’t save you today, Peter.”
“I-I- I have money!” he splutters, “Girls! Hey, I hear you got a taste of that your first night, and I’ve got a gal with your name on her in the cabin. Please, just let me go, and the Bratva will never have any trouble in Brighton again, I swear! Name a rival, I’ll have the NYPD busting down their doors within hours.”
“You’re getting closer,” I say, chuckling as I reach him, grabbing him by the scruff of his collar, “but I’m afraid bribery won’t save you. I wonder, do you even know the names of all those women you’ve burned through over the years?”
His hands are twitchy, and I’m ready for it when he pulls out the knife he was hiding in his pants, catching his wrist easily and squeezing, hearing it break under my grasp, and I toss him to the back of the boat as he howls in pain over his broken wrist.
“You don’t know wha
t you’re doing,” he hisses at last, glaring daggers at me. “You’ll have the whole fucking city hounding you for killing me. Do you even know who I am?”
While he’s been speaking, though, I’ve picked up the spare anchor on deck, holding the weighted metal in one hand while coiling up the rope in the other as I approach Pavlychko, kicking him in the side as I reach him.
“A dead man,” I say candidly while I wrap the rope around his legs and tie it.
As he realizes what I’m doing, he starts stammering incoherently for a moment before he gets his bearings to splutter out, “Anton! You want Anton, don’t you?”
I raise my eyebrow at him in question. He’s right, but I don’t want to look too interested, or he might start making demands.
“I-I don’t know where he is, I swear! He’s been off the radar ever since he started working with the Italians!”
There it is.
I smile at Pavlychko as I pick him up and take him to the back of the boat, turning the engine on, blades spinning under the water as the boat moves. “I know, Peter,” I say in a low growl to him. “And don’t worry. He’ll answer for twice again as much as you have.”
Pavlychko lets out a nervous laugh, nodding. “Right! So, you let me go, I help you go after the Italians, and we forget this ever happened, right?”
I glare at him with a stony gaze. “You rich people. You always expect that your crimes can go away with a gesture, a wave of your cash, that you can buy innocent lives and pay your way out of the consequences.”
Pavlychko gasps as I lift him up, and I hurl him screaming into the water near the engine, and blood darkens the water around the boat as the blades slice him to pieces while the anchor carries his remains deep down to the ocean floor, the dark figure of his body vanishing from sight after a few seconds as I stare after him.
“Not in my city.”
14
Rosie
It’s been a few days since Konstantin took me to Luna Park on our first real date, and every day has been full of surprises. I can’t believe how bizarrely like a real relationship this feels, like we’re a normal boyfriend and girlfriend who just happened to meet under unfortunate circumstances. It’s not like we spend every moment together, which is kind of a relief, since I am still getting used to living with him in the first place. Besides, I don’t think I will ever really be the kind of girl who wants to spend every waking second glued to my partner’s side, even under the best conditions. Konstantin gives me my space, allowing me the freedom to feel independent even though I am essentially still his captive.
It’s getting difficult to think of him as my captor, though, especially when I think about how sweet and relaxed our day at Luna Park was. The two of us walked around the brightly-colored amusement park, breathing in the sugary-salty air and taking in the whirring machinery and laughter mingled with exhilarated screams. I had never been to an amusement park in my life, and my only knowledge of them came from years of watching television. I was totally overwhelmed with everything going on around us. Luna Park was like every color, smell, and sound all dumped into an ear-splitting blender of chaos. It was strange how I felt more nervous on a date with Konstantin than I’d felt during our high-risk jewel heist.
But luckily my date remained cool and collected, taking me on the milder rides like the spinning teacups and the seaside swings before we moved on to the roller coasters and thrill rides. I never expected I would be afraid of something a child would ride on, but since this was a totally new world for me, I was oddly anxious. As we strapped ourselves into the decades-old, rickety Cyclone, my heart rate picked up and I found myself instinctively reaching out to take Konstantin’s hand across the seat. His fingers found mine, sending a shiver of warm comfort, just as the ride jolted us forward to begin.
After that, we laughed at each other’s exhilarated ruddy cheeks and tousled hair, then walked hand-in-hand to get drinks and a funnel cake to share. It was a testament to Konstantin’s suave persona that he somehow managed not to get a single smear of bright white sugar on his black shirt. I, however, ended up with powdered sugar in my hair and down my jeans. But the Bull only gently laughed and shrugged it off, telling me it was “all just part of the experience.” I am continually impressed by just how down-to-earth he seems to be, underneath that big, bad mafia mask. It’s almost like he’s a real person with real feelings and thoughts instead of a brutish robot trained to obey.
And I am finding myself powerfully, unintentionally growing fond of him.
Konstantin possesses the unique superpower of making me forget my usual stressors. He is so kind, so intent on listening to me and making me feel comfortable, that he manages to steal my full attention. It’s difficult to think about being anywhere else, doing anything else, when he’s with me. I don’t think I have ever been so single-minded in anything besides my all-consuming responsibility to take care of Sunny and Daisy.
Of course, whenever Konstantin leaves me to my own devices, I spend nearly the entire time obsessing over how I will get back to them, worrying incessantly about whether they have food to eat, if they’re remembering to take their baths and brush their teeth. So many times I have almost brought them up to Konstantin, their names balancing just on the tip of my tongue. But something always stops me. Almost as though I am terrified to shatter the near-fantasy that my life has turned into since coming to live with the Bull.
And then, of course, I am wracked with heart-shattering guilt for thinking that.
I can’t help but feel terribly selfish for enjoying my time here, not knowing whether my sisters are okay or not. More than once, after Konstantin has retired to his bedroom and I am sitting alone in my own giant bed, I have pulled the computer onto my lap and searched for my house on Google Street View. I know the images haven’t been updated in years, but I still sit there and stare at the peeling white siding of our tiny, shotgun-style home on the computer screen as though I might be able to teleport there just by staring at it hard enough.
It’s not like I’m exactly homesick; my house has never been a safe place for me or my sisters. A house is just a house, unless the memories you’ve made there are powerful and bright enough to generate their own kind of spirit. Our trailer in Mississippi was imbued with my mother’s shining soul, present still in faint traces even after she died. But the Jersey house is nothing but an empty shell, a crash pad for an alcoholic deadbeat and his three daughters who live in fear of his every homecoming.
I wish there was a way to check in on the girls. If only I could ask Konstantin to let me visit home or even just call the house. But I don’t have my own phone here, and part of me is still afraid to trust Konstantin with my address and the knowledge that I have two tiny, vulnerable little sisters there. I want so badly to trust him. He has certainly done everything in his power to convince me he can be trusted.
But the thought of the sadistic fuckers who sold me like a hunk of prized meat finding out about Daisy and Sunny chills me to the very bone. I can only hope that my dad hasn’t told anyone about them. Last night I had a nightmare that the lead mafia guy from the yacht broke into my house and kidnapped the girls. I woke up hyperventilating, tears sticky on my cheeks.
I think Konstantin caught onto my anxious mood, because he has arranged a kind of platonic date for me — with the young wife of his business partner, Andrei. I am a little nervous about meeting her, as I have not had a lot of close friends in my lifetime. I mostly played by myself growing up, and once the girls were born, I essentially aged several years in an instant, making me a strange companion for other carefree kids my age. It’s hard to maintain a friendship when every waking moment of your life revolves around taking care of two small children. A bit difficult for other pre-teens to relate to.
So today, Konstantin gave me a wad of cash and dropped me off at an outdoor shopping outlet, stating that my play date would arrive any minute. He handed me a disposable cell phone just before he drove off, giving me a wide, reassuring smile as he
rolled up the window. I know there’s no reason to feel nervous, really — I am fiercely independent and if there’s one thing I should be able to handle, it’s a girls’ day out.
Even if my date is probably the hardened, tough-talking wife of a hitman.
Of course, I am totally surprised when the young woman who approaches me with a big smile on her face is actually a petite, dainty-looking blonde in a white sundress and floppy hat, a grinning baby boy on her hip. She waves at me and then sticks out a tiny white hand for me to shake. I can’t help but feel like a tall, black rain cloud next to this luminescent ball of sunshine.
“Hi, my name is Cassie, and I’m assuming you are Rosalie?” she asks, her voice just as sweet and soft as her appearance. The little boy giggles and reaches out for me instantly. “Oh, I think Max likes you!” Cassie laughs.
“You can call me Rosie,” I tell her, letting the toddler wrap his pudgy hand around my pointer finger. “Forgive me for saying this, but you are so not what I expected,” I admit.
Cassie shrugs and gestures for me to follow her. “Oh, I’m used to that. No offense taken. I gave up a long time ago on trying to be what other people expect me to be. Nowadays I’m just myself, and that seems to work out just fine,” she explains candidly. I am immediately drawn to her. She is so upbeat and gentle, she reminds me of my mother. Max lets out a little whimper and reaches for me again as we start strolling down the promenade. Cassie offers him to me and I instinctively accept, used to carrying babies.
“Huh, you’re a natural!” she exclaims. “You’ve got to have a little one at home, right?”
“Well, actually…” I begin, trailing off. Perhaps two seconds into my first encounter with this woman is not the best time to jump headfirst into a narrative of my complicated, fucked-up life. But she only looks at me expectantly, and I get the sense that maybe there is something dark in her past, too. Like she might just understand what I come from.
Hitman - the Series: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Collection (Alexis Abbott's Hitmen #0) Page 103
