Mafia Romance

by Aleatha Romig, Skye Warren, Annika Martin, Natasha Knight, Kaye Blue, Michelle St. James, Renee Rose, Parker S. Huntington, Alexis Abbott, Willow Winters

  If we’re to survive this night, then I need to make sure I’m ready.

  I take a breath in and nod. “Where do I point?”

  “See the fence at the other end of the field?” he asks, and I nod. “Aim for the white picket between the two broken ones.”

  He helps me keep my stance as I aim, his breathing growing so shallow I can barely detect it anymore.

  “Now, before you take a shot, you inhale… hold your breath. Don’t let your breathing interfere with your aim, or else you will miss every time,” he explains, and I nod, doing as he instructed and holding my breath.

  “Now shoot.”

  As the gun’s bang resounds around us, I notice I missed.

  “In a fight, you won’t have time to check and see if you made a shot, and I don’t have time to teach you so you have trust in your aim. This time, I want you to take your shot and quickly pop off another round. Then another. Making sure to realign your shot each time. The kickback will ruin your aim each time you shoot, remember. Now go,” he says.

  It sounds like a lot to remember, but I do my best. I inhale, letting my shoulders relax a little so that I can get a better grip. I’m scared, the loud sounds startling me each time, but it feels powerful as well. The thought that this could save my life—or Mikhail’s—is what keeps me centered.

  And then I squeeze the trigger. I don’t even bother to wait this time, though. Instead, I keep staring ahead, my breath burning in my lungs as I pull it again. And again.

  As I release my breath, he squeezes my shoulders reassuringly.

  “Good, but don’t hold your breath for so long next time. Work on timing it better. You need oxygen in a fight to stay alert, hold your breath only as long as you need to. Now try it again,” he says, and we repeat the exercise a few times until I’m able to hit the target reliably at least once. That requires him retreating to his car to grab a couple extra clips, but he displays such impressive patience with me the whole time.

  “I’m gettin’ good, right?” I say, smiling up at him as I twist at the waist. He nods right back.

  “You’re a natural. But don’t get too confident. Standing there in a peaceful field and taking your time with shots is nothing like a fight. I know you can keep your cool in a crisis though, so now you’re going to practice shooting and moving. Your aim is always better up closer, and you never want to stand in one spot too long. It makes you an easy target to others. Watch me,” he says, and he pulls out his own gun.

  In an impressive display I can never hope to imitate, he holds his handgun out with one hand—not two, like me—and advances on the target. His even pace takes him closer with each of three shots, and I can’t help but marvel at how each of his bullets strikes its mark. It makes my record seem trivial.

  “Try it,” he encourages me, and my first attempt is a disaster. I miss all three shots again, just like starting over. And I must look a little crestfallen, because Mikhail squeezes my shoulder as he guides me back to my starting position.

  “Moving and shooting is rough, don’t let it dissuade you,” he says in that deep, calming voice of his. “If you can manage to hit the target at all, you’re better than most. Now try again, and remember what I said about your breathing? Try to take your shots on those brief moments your two feet are planted and you’re still. It’s all about timing.”

  It’s complicated, but I’m determined, and so I repeat the motions, trying to recreate the magic of watching him move. He’s a trained professional and has been doing this for…how long, exactly? I can’t expect to be as good as him in a single night, but his confidence in me is what spurs me on. If he’s an expert, and he has faith in me, then I should have faith in myself too.

  Besides, I did take down the guy who was going to kill us both. I did what I had to, when push came to shove, and if I could only just trust my instincts once more…

  We repeat the maneuvers again and again and again, until finally, eventually… I do it. And I literally jump for joy, wearing a grin two sizes too big for my face.

  “I did it!” I squeal, and he’s grinning proudly at me, looking on with a look that’s half fatherly pride, half manly appreciation.

  “Good work,” he says, swooping in and kissing me as his arm sweeps around my torso. His tongue pries past my lips as we make out in the middle of the field, until at last we break away, and I peer into his dark eyes.

  “How long have you been doing this, Mikhail?” I ask a little breathlessly, my heart thumping inside my chest so hard I swear it’s about to break free.

  His expression loses some of its soft warmth and goes back to its harsher, set-in-stone look.

  “Shooting? Since I was a boy, when my father taught me to handle an old service rifle,” he explains to me, ever patient with me, even if he is the merciless angel of death to others. “If you mean life as a criminal, longer still.”

  He hands me a clip and teaches me how to unload and load the gun.

  “Did you have a hard life then?” I ask, even if part of me says it’s probably not a thing to talk about.

  “My father was a criminal piece of shit from the day I was born. He only looked after me because of the benefits from the state it earned him. And then when the old government fell, he kept me around to help him rob homes, stores, and even graves,” he says, an obvious lack of love for his father in his words.

  “You robbed graves?” I say, my nose crinkling at the thought. As if that’s the worst thing I know him to have done.

  “Da,” he says, then instructs me to try my shooting again.

  “They were ugly times. Honest working people found themselves struggling to survive for the first time in generations,” he explains to me before getting me to go through the practice routine once more. “But my father was made for such times. He had never lasted a full day in a factory or office. He knew how to make a living from chaos and despair.”

  I frown a little at that thought. Making a living from chaos and despair?

  “So he’s what got you into organized crime?” I ask.

  “Not entirely. Now again,” he says, and I shoot once more, three more shots as I advance on the target. “I left home to get away from my father as soon as I could. Joined the army. Fought Chechens in a bombed out hole that was once their home. Saw war and ugliness that even my father couldn’t fathom,” he says, and I can see the darkness in his eyes, like tunnels into his soul gouged out by a hard life of pain. Received and given.

  It all kind of falls into place. I understand, now, how he can do what he does. Why he must. I lived a pretty cushy life, all told. Sure, I struggled and felt loss. I mourned for a long time when Dad died, and then I had to start caring for Mom, and I know I’ve complained about that to anyone who’d listen. My studies in college to become a doctor, or at least a pharmacist or chemist, were hampered by my need to look after my mom and pay the bills.

  But his life is like something I couldn’t even consider, and I have a newfound respect for how he did what he had to. He’s been so cold and hard throughout his entire life, betrayed by the people who were supposed to have his back.

  And then I waltzed into his life; maybe that can help him?

  Maybe, after all this settles down, and if we survive the next few days, I could really be a person that he can come to count on and respect.

  BANG! BANG! BANG!

  And I did it. I managed to hit the target twice as I advanced on it, leaving the long fence with a few less picket tips.

  “I–” but before I can declare my victory, he claims me in an embrace again, holding me in his arms, kissing me. He takes his time, his strong hands rubbing at my shoulders and spine until finally I melt. And only then does he relent.

  “When this is done, and your life is safe from Gregorovich,” he says, peering into my eyes with those two dark tunnels into his soul, “I will marry you. And we will live in a beautiful home, with the sound of many little feet running about us. And your mother will stay in a guest suite. I will make
a life with you, like I had no inkling of knowing I needed all these years.”

  I can feel a sob threatening me, happy tears springing to my eyes before I blink them away. I didn’t even know I wanted a life like that, a life with a killer, a life with him.

  But when he says it, I know it’s all I’ve ever wanted and never knew I did. Someone I can be totally honest with, someone who can share in all the pain and joy of life and never abandon me. Someone who can protect me and love me, no matter what happens.

  And if we could survive the last couple weeks together, we can survive anything that comes our way.

  His mouth presses in against mine, tender and soft, filled with such affection, and my tongue meets his in kind.

  When he breaks the kiss again, his words coming out gravelly and low, I’m stunned by what he has to say.

  “Man of power or simple means, I love you, will love you for all time, and I will protect you, Alicia.”

  There’s no way I can hold back the tears now, so I quickly swipe under my eyes as my lips tremble. I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  This murderer is in love with me.

  “I’m in love with you, too,” I say back, before I can even think about it.

  His chiseled face breaks with a genuine smile, unlike any I’d ever seen him bear. But the touching moment is all too short, as the sound of crunching gravel and the lights of an approaching vehicle light up the unpaved back road, and I raise my gun with a newly blossomed instinct for survival.

  I’m not going to fall in love moments before death.

  Mikhail

  I hear the approaching car a moment later than I should have, as evidenced by the fact that my girl jumped to attention first, despite my lifetime of study. She’s a natural at this, I guess, but when I look, I immediately see the vehicle make and know who it must be.

  “It’s okay,” I tell Alicia, putting my hand on her arm and guiding her aim away from the approaching vehicle. “It’s an old friend.”

  The car comes to a halt and it shuts off, leaving just the dark silhouette inside.

  Though I cautioned Alicia, I keep my own hand near to my gun. Petyr is an old friend alright, but old friends can become new enemies. And anyone can be tailed. Especially now, when tensions are running high. Who knows who could’ve gotten to him, and what other enemies I’ve made.

  “Mikhail,” comes the familiar voice as he steps out of his car, and I give Alicia a nudge to stand back as I step forward.

  “Petyr,” I say as we move to meet in quiet inspection of each other. He’s put on some weight.

  “Comrade!” Petyr exclaims, and I can feel some of the tension lift as we embrace.

  “You’ve lost none of your strength!” I say in English for Alicia’s sake, and it’s true. Bigger he might be, but beneath that layer of added padding, he’s as strong as a bear.

  “You’ve lost nothing, I can see,” Petyr says as he pulls back in his thick, expensive suit and overcoat. Too warm for the time of year.

  “Only gained enemies,” I reply, and Petyr nods in return.

  “Is always the way for men like us, nyet?” he says, casting nary a glance in Alicia’s direction. He’s all business as usual. “What is the problem you drag me out here for in the evening, Mikhail? You could have been boss of your own territory, need turn to nobody.”

  “That is the problem. I turned down the offer when I shouldn’t have. And Gregorovich has made a mess of things,” I say.

  “That sounds very serious,” Petyr says, glancing in Alicia’s direction for the first time. “Does this have something to do with your lady?” he asks in Russian, but I answer in English.

  “In part, it does. As you know, Gregor had that hit against the Chechens and that congressman, and all has spiraled out of control. He sicced Vasili on me and my girl to cover the tracks, as if I can’t be trusted,” I tell him, a bit of a bending of the truth, but not an outright lie.

  But Petyr looks confused.

  “Wait,” he says, hands up, “a hit against the congressman? What- you mean… you and Gregor did that?” he asks, sounding increasingly agitated as time passes. He curses in our mother tongue. “Mikhail, do you have any idea what you fucked up? Those were no Chechens! Those were our men! That massacre fucked up our business royally!”

  Now it’s my turn to be confused, my brow furrowing.

  “Gregor said the hit was sanctioned by you and the Bratva,” I say, and for a moment I can tell Petyr is studying me. Trying to find out if I’m lying. Even old friendships face their tests in this business.

  “Mikhail,” he says in a low, tempered voice, “we were comrades in arms through war. New York City would be yours for the taking if you only asked. Are you playing games with me now?”

  “Nyet!” I say, falling back into Russian, leaving Alicia out of the loop as I speak, “I passed that chance up, and did Gregor’s orders as was my place. That is the only mistake I have made!” I say, but it wasn’t quite the only mistake. Just the biggest.

  I can feel Alicia behind me, shifting her weight from foot to foot restlessly. She can feel the tension, even if she doesn’t understand our tongue.

  “Brother, this is serious, if Gregor has done this he is attempting to make a move on the whole bratva,” Petyr says. But then my attention is drawn away by the sound of a crack, like someone stepping on a branch. Petyr hears it too, because the two of us grab for our guns and dive at about the same time. Only I dive for Alicia to throw her to the ground. Except she’s one step ahead of us two old war buddies even, popping off a shot just before I fling us to the ground.

  The thunderous sound of guns firing, bullets whizzing past us as we hit the dirt just in the nick of time.

  To her credit, Alicia doesn’t scream, and she moves her gun away from my gut so it doesn’t accidentally go off. Her mind is quick, even in the thick of it, but all three of us are at a disadvantage. The lights are behind us, and the gunfire is in the trees. The only shelter is the shed a few yards away and the car. I don’t have to tell her or Petyr—we all start shimmying towards our cover in near unison.

  Petyr hides behind his car as we make for the shed, there are some close calls, and I feel a pinch in my calf as a bullet grazes me. But there’s no time to see the damage. I rise up as we get behind the shed and my leg holds, so it’s good enough. I pull the switch, shutting off the lights so that we’re all at an equal sight advantage.

  “Keep a low profile, harder to hit you that way,” I mutter to Alicia as the gunfire becomes more sporadic now that the men after us have been deprived of the light advantage. “Stay here and pop off a few shots to give me cover. But never fire from the same exact spot twice,” I caution her before slipping around the corner behind us to come out the other side of the shed.

  “Wait, Mik–” Alicia starts, but cuts off, doing her duty like a real soldier, after only just one training session.

  She fires that first shot, and it does the trick—the gunmen shoot in her direction but she’s a clever girl who waits behind cover. And I’ve never been so damn proud in all my life. Not of any medal or accomplishment I ever earned, that’s for certain.

  With the shots focused on her and Petyr, I slip under cover of darkness into the tree line. There I’m at my best. Under cover of night, brush and tree, I’m a wraith. I know how to move through such terrain without making a sound, and I creep up on our attackers, their muzzle flashes a dead giveaway as I get nearer.

  I reach down, taking my hunting knife out of its sheath, because tonight, I’m going to hunt the deadliest of prey.

  Ducking low, knife in one hand, gun in the other, I come up on the first man. It won’t be as smooth and calculated as my hit on the hotel that night I met Alicia; things are moving too fast for that, her life on the line with every moment more we spend here. But I spring forward, knife lancing into the back of one gunman, driving right between his ribs and into his heart as I lift my gun over his shoulder and blow the head off another thug.


  There’s a third man here, and he turns towards me, firing a shot. But the man dying in my arms serves as a shield of sorts and buys me time to kill him too. That’s three down, but I know there’s at least one more.

  I hear the sound of Petyr crying out in pain as he’s hit, and I dash for his car in the dark. Bullets whizz by me but miss.

  “You okay?” I ask Petyr, but before he can answer, a man with a submachine gun comes out of the bushes, blazing away at us. I crouch behind the car as the bullets shred its metal doors. I roll along the ground and pop up over the trunk of the car, blowing the man’s head off before he can turn his gun towards me.

  Everything goes silent as I duck back down and take a breath.

  “You alive, comrade?” I ask my old friend, and there’s only silence. I move back beside him and I find out why. He’s busy tying some torn piece of his expensive suit around his arm with his mouth, to prevent the blood from draining out of his wounded limb. I’m relieved, I’ll admit. Few buddies of mine have survived this long.

  “Good work,” I tell him, but all relief drains away as the most distressing sound ever rises up behind us.

  “Mikhail!” Alicia’s voice rises in panic.

  Alicia

  What am I doing?

  I’m in a gunfight at an old baseball field in the middle of nowhere. Just months ago, I was a college student, wanting to earn enough to look out for my mom’s care.

  What scares me most is how I’m keeping it together. For so long, I watched Mikhail and wondered how he could do it. How he could shoot and kill others. And here I am, doing just that without hesitation. When it came down to it—them or me—I chose me without blinking.

  I can’t see things clearly, but the cries of pain and then the two distinctive sounds of Mikhail’s gun firing let me know he’s claimed some lives in our defense. And then I see him dart from the edge of the forest to his friend’s car like a ghost in the night.