Empires and Kings (A Mafia Series Book 1)

by A. C. Bextor

  Klara’s purse is open and her shoes lie forgotten near the door as if she took them off the moment she made it inside. Faina’s belongings are left mingled around just the same.

  They’ve been here. But when?

  “See?” Abram puts in at my side. “They’re here. They’re safe. Knowing those two hens, they’re probably drinking wine on the deck and just lost track of time. Nothing to worry about.”

  “No,” I deny. “Klara would’ve at least called to tell me they weren’t coming.”

  No matter how annoyed she knew I’d be in result of her blatant disregard for time, she’d get in touch to tell me when I’d be with her again.

  “Where’s Veni?” Abram asks. “His car is outside.”

  “I’m here,” my son announces, rounding the corner from the kitchen and meeting us at the front door.

  He’s dressed down, in pajama pants and an old ratty concert tee which is so faded the emblem has been lost with wear.

  “The girls? Klara and Faina. Have you seen them? Were they here?”

  “No, I haven’t seen them,” he answers, looking around at all their things. “I heard someone down here about an hour ago. I assumed they’d finally gotten back. I was in my room and the music was on. I didn’t hear anything else.”

  Grimacing, I grab my phone. No texts and no calls. Fury and fear churn my gut.

  Veni takes a step toward us, his eyes scanning the area as ours did. The look on his face now mirrors my own.

  “Dad, what’s wrong? What happened?”

  Turning to Abram, I order, “Stay here with Veni. I’ll check the rest of the house.”

  Sighing, Abram runs his hand through his hair. “Vlad, calm down. Check the house before you give yourself a heart attack.”

  “Dad?” Veni’s usual jovial tone falls to immense worry. “They were here. I know they were.”

  “Stay with Abram,” I demand before walking away.

  Thirty minutes later, the house has been searched. There have been no signs of either Klara or Faina. Abram’s contacted the others and they’re all en route to meet here.

  “Faina wouldn’t do anything to put Klara in danger,” Abram comments as if reading my mind.

  My fucking sister.

  If she’s done anything to put Klara in harm’s way, I’ll truly wring her neck.

  “Vlad?” Abram questions, pointing to a yellow paper bag filled with God only knows what.

  “What is it? I don’t have time to….” My words trail off as Abram raises the bag in the air.

  A small but worried smile spreads across his lips, and his eyebrows arch in avid attention.

  “Your woman has been keeping secrets. If not your woman, then it’s Faina who has secrets.”

  Not Faina. Not possible. If either of the two is pregnant, it’s Klara.

  “Holy fuck, Dad,” Veni whispers. “Is that…? I mean, did you know?”

  The stork on the front of the bag lends to the obvious hint as to where the women shopped today. As Abram pulls out a yellow blanket, followed by a yellow pair of infant shoes, my heart sinks.

  My beautiful girl is pregnant, and she hadn’t even told me.

  I don’t take the time to process what all this means to either of us. But the urgency to find her increases.

  Looking out the large bay window that covers the entire front wall of the room, Abram drops the bag and announces, “The men are here. Rueon is already armed.”

  “He’s worried for Klara,” I assert. “Gleb must have told him what’s happened.”

  “Nothing has happened yet, Vlad,” Abram assures.

  However sly he thinks himself to be, I turn my head to catch Abram standing above the bag wearing a frown. His hands move to his hips and an almost silent prayer falls from his mouth in the name of my unborn child.

  Where the fuck are they?

  “Wake up, little one,” a woman’s familiar voice hisses in my ear.

  I try to blink but my eyes are forced shut, closed by a dark blindfold secured tightly around my head. My already darkened vision blurs as cold water unexpectedly slaps me across the face.

  When I try to move my hands to clear the water and take a breath, I can’t; they’re tethered together above my head. The smell of an old and used mattress circles in the air from beneath where I’m lying.

  My legs, spread out and tied at the ankles, are numb, likely from lack of blood. My head throbs in painful beats in time with the panic of my racing heart.

  The voice I hear belongs to Katrina Marx.

  Although the memory is fuzzy, I remember bits and pieces. I’d been home. I was talking to Faina and worried about being late for Aline’s party. Then, as I held her tight, our bodies simultaneously jolted when we heard gunfire close by. A few short moments passed before I caught a shadowed glimpse of a large man coming toward her. It was then that my vision went dark.

  Faina’s voice screaming my name through a loud shrill was the last I heard from her.

  The single punch to my face didn’t knock me out as I assume it had her. I could still hear voices, make out words, and listen to all that was being said between them.

  “She goes to the warehouse,” a man’s raspy voice stated.

  I assumed in the fog of my mind he’d been pointing to one of us.

  “She goes to Xavier,” he venomously continued.

  Our once-clean living room reeked of stale smoke and dirty bodies. The sounds of the men, moving together as they incoherently mumbled, faded in and out.

  Rather than challenge whoever had overtaken us, I stayed quiet with eyes closed as we were carried to separate cars waiting outside. I waited with bated breath for Steffan to make his presence known. I hadn’t thought something happened to him, as well.

  Until now.

  With the pain in my head too much to bear, I still prayed for both myself and my baby’s safety.

  I realized then that I was acting as an expectant mother, protecting her child from those who could harm it.

  “Do you remember me?” Katrina’s voice, sounding manic, sneers in my ear. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Yes,” I answer quietly, my voice raspy and almost inaudible as my throat is too dry.

  “Pay attention, Klara,” she demands, slapping my cheek so hard my head turns to the side where I’m met with a large, cold, and calloused hand that squeezes my jaw with so much force it aches even after it’s freed.

  Katrina’s fingers brush down my stomach, continuing on until she stops between my thighs. Thankful I’m wearing jeans rather than a dress, I exhale a heavy breath but she doesn’t stop her sickening assault. Her hand shifts to my waist, where she begins to work the button of my pants.

  Calm. I need to stay calm.

  “You really are beautiful,” she longingly whispers, her face drawing closer to mine in order to lick the lobe of my ear.

  When she bites down hard, I jerk the bindings and yelp in surprise.

  She sucks the flesh into her mouth with a venomous pull before saying, “That Russian bastard loves you.”

  Oh, God. Vlad.

  The last time he heard anything from me was to tell him that Faina and I were finally heading to Abram’s. We’d been running late. He was angry at us both. I had hoped once he knew where we’d gone and why, he’d be as excited as I was for the baby.

  “You think he’ll come for her?” Another voice, this time a man’s, interrupts my thought as I hear him standing at my side. “Blood is thicker than water, Kat. I know Vlad. Better than you. You’re expecting too much. The Russian won’t barter for those who aren’t family.”

  The touch of his finger caressing my jaw coils my stomach. I smell him. Too much cologne, but not enough to cover the stench of his body odor.

  “He’ll come,” Katrina promises.

  Her hand moves from my jeans once she’s secured them as low as they’ll go. In one single quick move, my shirt is ripped open. The sound of buttons clinking on the floor comes next. The chilly air in the dank r
oom I’m being kept in creeps along my skin, forcing me to violently shiver.

  “We’re supposed to wait for Ciro,” the man states, running his finger down my chest, circling my tightened nipple before trailing a soft line down my stomach. He pauses before looping his fingers into the hem of my panties.

  My baby, I want to cry out.

  His touch incinerates, insulting my unborn child with his intentions. They can’t know I’m pregnant. I won’t tell him.

  “Fuck Ciro.” Katrina laughs. “The old man is a fat fucking coward.”

  “Katrina,” the man growls. Offering a small relief, he takes his hands from my stomach. “We’re supposed to stay with her until we’re told which one of them to take first.”

  “We’re supposed to play her,” she snaps before my face slams to the side from the force of her fist. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.

  “Ciro didn’t give that order and you know it,” he barks back, wrapping his hand across my forehead and turning it back as it was.

  Using this information to my advantage, I whimper, “Please.” When no one answers, I beg, “Please just let me go.”

  Another punch comes, harder than the first. This time to the gut. The power behind it forces my body to jolt in place as far as my restraints will allow. The skin at my wrists tears open and shooting pains rip through my shoulders. My legs scream in agony as I rock my body from side to side, testing the boundaries of my movement.

  “I’m calling Vlad. He’ll come, and then we’ll be finished with this for good,” Katrina snaps. “We’ll be finished with all of them.”

  With a quiet tsk, the man replies, “You’d better get to him first, then. Or he’ll kill us all.”

  A quick and sharp stab to my neck comes before all the pain, threats, and finally the world fades away.

  The abandoned warehouse Katrina baited me to find sits along an open road not far from my cabin.

  The area surrounding the dilapidated, black-painted building is wooded, and there is very little light we’re able to use to our advantage. Several windows in the front, once painted black as well, are left hanging from being broken. The lack of glass fallen to the ground attests to how long it’s been this way. Seven or eight older-model cars which look to have been parked in their spots for decades line the side of the yard.

  As irrational as it is, with the chill in the air my first thought is to concern myself if Klara has been kept warm. Which leads to my next thought, going to how cold I’ll ensure Katrina’s death for taking her will be.

  “You’ve never killed a woman,” Abram states, keeping his gaze to the dark road ahead.

  “I may as well have killed Klara’s mother.”

  “Doesn’t count,” he denies. “You, personally, have never killed a woman.”

  “I haven’t,” I reply. “But if Katrina does have Klara as she says, I’ll be creative in torturing and then killing my first.”

  Ignoring my last comment, Abram questions, “Suppose it’s too much to hope that Faina is in there, as well?”

  After I hung up the phone with Katrina, I turned to Abram and Gleb. The expressions on their faces were venomous and bloodthirsty. Rueon looked fiercer than I’d ever seen him. His young soul vanished as I explained where my beautiful girl could be.

  “No, my sister isn’t here. Katrina wouldn’t waste her energy on Faina.”

  “She despises her.”

  “This isn’t about her, Abram. Katrina took Klara for one reason. She wants to get to me.”

  During her phone call to me, Katrina made it clear that in exchange for my dismissing her from my life as violently as I did, Klara would be used to serve as my penance. She informed me that, so far, Klara hadn’t been harmed; however, if I didn’t make it to where she held her in time, the woman I love would be fed to the same savage men to whom Katrina paid a high price to take her.

  “No way Katrina did this alone, Vlad,” Abram notes. “We’re walking into a trap.”

  “Then it’s a trap she set for herself.”

  “Gleb is taking Rueon and the others through the woods in back. He’ll do as you’ve asked, but we’ve got to be careful. We’re going in blind. We don’t know how much reinforcement Katrina brought with her.”

  The others except for Steffan. He’d been checking the outside perimeter just as he’d been trained to do after he saw the girls inside the house. He was found with a gunshot to the chest. The intruders were stupid enough to presume he was dead. I’m thankful for their stupidity, as the hospital doctors have reported that Steffan will eventually be okay.

  “Gleb and the others will do whatever it takes,” I assure him. “Gleb’s clear on the plan. He’ll die for Klara if he has to.”

  I’ve never been so certain of my men’s loyalty. Taking one of our own is a stupid act against our family, but taking an innocent woman who belongs to us is absolute suicide.

  Pulling up next to the warehouse, Abram kills the lights and shuts off the engine.

  “We need to wait until we know Gleb’s in place,” Abram advises. Looking at his watch, he adds, “He should be ready any minute.”

  “We’re ready,” I confirm. “The boys know what they’re doing.”

  “If something happens, we move to Plan B.”

  “Plan B?” I question. “We don’t have a Plan B.”

  “We don’t yet,” he returns. “But if Plan A doesn’t go as it’s supposed to, go with whatever I find to come up with.”

  “Fuck,” I mutter to myself.

  At the same time the bright light behind the warehouse shines once, announcing our arrival, Abram turns to me and smirks. “And there’s our boy now.”

  “Then let’s move.”

  Before I’m able to step out of the SUV, Abram reaches over to grab my shoulder. I don’t want his prayers. Not yet. I shrug from his grasp, and he sighs.

  Walking with hasty steps, I make it to the wooden double doors first—which have been left slightly open. Abram removes his gun from the holster and clears the way. When the door opens wide, followed by a loud creaking sound, we’re not met with any resistance. Abram moves inside.

  A bright light coming from down a small corridor shines toward us. Klara’s cry of pain bounces off the walls. Abram gives me an affirming nod and then puts his hand to my chest, signaling me to stay behind him. He takes one step, then two in her direction.

  A man I’ve never seen before stands over Klara, staring down at her battered and bloodied face. It takes all my energy to remain calm and collected in the wake of what’s already been done, but knowing Katrina’s death will release all my pent-up fury, I use this to motivate me into doing what I need to do.

  When the man looks up, his mouth falls open.

  “I told you he’d come.” The catlike smile that follows Katrina’s ridiculous assumption is telling.

  This woman is not only as stupid as I once thought, but she’s also not as harmless.

  Katrina is standing near a window, looking out into the back of the warehouse where I know my men to be. It’s true that I brought a small army, if for no other reason than to ensure every single backup plan Katrina put in place would fail.

  “I’m here,” I state the obvious. “Now you’ll tell me what you want. Then I’m taking Klara home.”

  “Home?” she mocks. “She’s not going anywhere with you again.”

  “Katrina,” I call, my tone sounding bored, but my heart heavy. “What the fuck do you want?”

  “What do I want?” she sneers, turning in place to look back outside. “I want you to call off your dogs. Gleb is hiding behind a tree. He hides no better than a ten-year-old about to lose a game of hide-and-seek.”

  Gleb is playing to the plan. I’ll leave him exactly where he is.

  “Katrina,” I snap, and her eyes jump to mine. “Why am I here?”

  “You’re here because I love you. We’re going to be together.”

  “Bat-shit crazy,” Abram voices low.

  “Katrina
, we’re not going to be together,” I say calmly. “Now stop this before it’s too late.”

  “It’s already too late, my love,” she responds, turning her gaze outside once again. “Ciro will be angry at what I’ve done.”

  “He’ll be livid,” the man standing near Klara states. “Fucking hell.”

  “I wanted to give you another chance.” Katrina pouts.

  A motion from the window captures our attention. Gleb’s face, already broken and bloody, comes into view. His mouth is gagged, and his eyes are closed. He’s been caught, just as he was supposed to be.

  “Well, there’s that,” Katrina chides, motioning through the window to inform the man holding him to bring Gleb inside.

  The man wearing a mask holds up a finger, I assume to signal that Gleb was working alone.

  Perfect. None of the others have been seen.

  “You’ve got him,” I assert. “You’ve captured the only man I brought with me. Now what?”

  “Was I only worth one man?” She smiles, points to Abram, and adds, “One or two?”

  “You’re worth as many as will put you down,” I tell her, tiring of her game. “Now talk. Tell me what you want to do now.”

  “We play roulette. You like to gamble, don’t you, Vlad?” she questions sardonically.

  “Tell me who goes first.”

  “She’s insane,” Abram mumbles, keeping his gun trained on the man hovering over Klara.

  If he makes a move on her, Abram will kill him if it’s the last thing on this Earth he does.

  “Insane?” Katrina laughs. “No, Abram. To fuck Ciro Palleshi, a woman has to be lucid. The old man doesn’t know what he’s doing. I had to show him his way around a woman. Not like your friend here.” She points to me, scanning my body up and down.

  From behind us, Gleb and another of Katrina’s men enter. Gleb’s eyes come to mine as blood drips from his openly split eye and swollen nose. He gives nothing away as far as count of men outside, which means there aren’t any more. This is a standard practice we’ve used in the past and will serve us well here.