by Tia Siren
“Come and see for yourself. She's here.”
“Do you think I'm stupid? You and Natasha want to kill me.”
“Come and see for yourself whether she's here. You have my word that nothing will happen to you. But if she's here, as she is, you will watch me use her and then kill her.”
“ You're so full of shit. I'll be there at eleven.”
Grigori put his cell on the kitchen table and stared at Lenny. “You've just killed her,” Lenny said.
“No. I've just gained entry to his house.”
“But there will be so many guards there. You'll have no chance of freeing her.”
“I want him to free her in exchange for me. I can only negotiate that when I'm in the house.”
“You are willing to trade yourself for her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she's a good woman and doesn't deserve any of this.”
“You're in love with her,” Lenny said.
“Shut up,” Grigori said
*****
Grigori looked at the house he'd just pulled up in front of. It was one of the first mansions ever built in the New York area. It had belonged to a rich family of jewelers until Iakov had persuaded the only remaining family member to sell it to him. Iakov had paid around twenty-five million dollars for it.
He walked to the door and was greeted by one of Iakov's huge guards. All his bodyguards were Russian. Iakov hadn't ever made much of an effort to learn English—though most people knew what he meant when he was holding a gun to their head.
Grigori followed the guard through the hallway and down a long corridor toward the back of the house. Iakov was sitting in an armchair in a lounge. Natasha was sitting on the sofa. When she saw Grigori, she got up, walked over to him, and slapped him. He ignored it.
“So, you don't believe me,” Iakov began. “You think I'm a liar.”
“I don't believe the girl is here, no,” Grigori said.
“But you saw me take her,” Natasha said.
“That doesn't mean she's here. I know for a fact she's in the hospital.”
Natasha and Iakov laughed. “You're so dumb,” Natasha said.
“When I pull her from the basement, you'll look so stupid,” Iakov said. “Go and get her,” he said to Natasha. Natasha did as he asked.
“I can't wait for this,” Iakov said, rubbing his hands together. When he heard someone shouting, he got up and walked to the door.
Natasha came running up the stairs. “She's gone,” she said.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Iakov shouted. “She can't be,” he said, running down the stairs. Grigori, who was just as surprised but didn't want to show it, got up and followed Iakov. When he reached the basement he saw a small hole had been kicked in the wall. It was probably just large enough for Lucy's slender figure to get through, he thought.
“I can't see her here,” Grigori said. “I told you that you were telling me lies.”
“She was here,” Iakov said desperately. “She's escaped somehow.”
“See you later, liar,” Grigori said. He started to walk up the steps but stopped when he heard the click of a trigger behind him.
“You're going nowhere. I'm going to kill you,” Iakov said.
Grigori turned around and looked at him. “Why?”
“Because you were so rude about my daughter.”
“Come on, Iakov, you know what she's like. I only got involved with her to please you. I can't stand her anymore.”
“That doesn't excuse what you said. You insulted me, and you insulted her. Good-bye, Grigori.”
Grigori fell to the floor, rolled over, and produced a gun before Iakov had time to cock his gun and fire it. Iakov fell to the floor, dead, but it wasn't Grigori who had killed him. The shot had come from the hole in the wall. Grigori got up and looked outside. Lucy was laying on the ground with a pistol in her hand.
“So, you came to free me,” she said.
“What the hell's going on? Yes, I came to free you, but you were gone.”
“Come on, before all his men descend on you.”
“I can't get through this hole.”
Lucy put her feet to the wall and kicked a few more bricks away. “Big enough now, fatty?” she quipped.
Grigori squirmed through the hole and ran along the side of the house with Lucy. When he saw the coast was clear, they ran to his car and sped off up the driveway.
*****
“I killed him,” she said shakily. They'd just reached Grigori's mansion.
“He deserved it. He was going to kill you.”
“But what about the police?”
“They won't call the cops. They know you shot him in self-defense. Don't worry, nothing will happen to you. Would you mind telling me what he did to you?”
“He put me in that horrible damp basement. You saw it. It wasn't fit for a pig to live in. In the middle of the night, I felt something that really freaked me out. Something fury crawled over me. I thought it was a rat, but it turned out to be a cat. It hadn’t been there when I was put down there, so I wondered how it had gotten into the basement.”
“How?”
“Through a hole in the wall. I hadn't seen it the first time I looked because it was dark. The hole was quite small, but the house is old and the bricks are rotten, so I managed to make the gap big enough to get through.”
“I ran to the road, managed to get a ride, and eventually got back to my dad's house. He told me you'd gone to Iakov's. He pleaded with me not to leave, but I had to make sure you were okay.” Lucy reached for him and pulled her to him. “I need you. I never intended to fall for you, but I did, despite your brutality toward my father.”
He held her and kissed her gently on the lips. “And I need you. Is the gun your father's?”
“Yes. When I insisted on going, he gave it to me.”
“You're quite a lady. Tough as old boots,” he said. “I came to the house thinking you were still there. I was going to offer myself in exchange for you,” Grigori said.
“I saved you a job then, didn't I?” Lucy said as she put her arms around his neck.
“Yes, you did.”
They embraced, and he kissed her passionately. The thought that he might have lost her hadn't really hit home until now. Now that he held her in his arms and smelled her scent, he realized how lucky they had been.
“You'd better call you father,” he said.
He walked upstairs and left Lucy to call Lenny. When she was finished, she shouted to Grigori.
“Where are you?”
“Upstairs, waiting for you.”
When she got to the bedroom, he was lying naked on the bed.
“Grigori, you don't seriously expect me to screw you after the night I've just had? I'm tired, and I'm filthy.”
“You know where the bathroom is. Go and clean up. You can sleep after I've finished with you.”
She looked at him and began to undress. His cock seemed to grow with each piece of clothing she took off. When she was naked, he was hard and throbbing. “I love your body. It's so sexy,” he said.
“And dirty. See you soon,” she said as she headed for the bathroom.
“Don't be too long. I'm desperate to fuck you,” he commanded.
Lucy stood under the shower and thought through what had happened. She'd been lucky. Thank heaven for cats, she thought. Despite escaping, she'd killed someone, and that didn't feel good. She was also worried about being charged with murder. Listen to Grigori, she told herself. He's probably right. After all, Lord knows how many people he's killed.
When she was finished, she walked back into the bedroom and knelt on the bed next to him.
“What do you want, Grigori? What do you want with me?”
“I want to fuck you.”
“No. I mean do you want a relationship or just sex now and then?”
Grigori didn't hesitate. “I want a woman in my life who I love and who I can take care of. I want that person to
be you.”
Lucy felt a lump in her throat. He'd said exactly what she'd wanted him to say. “Take me, Grigori. I'm all yours.”
He pulled her down onto the bed and entered her immediately. He didn't want foreplay; he needed to feel her body wrapped around his as he made love to her. His lovemaking drove her wild. His thrusts were so strong, she came time after time, clinging to him like a limpet to a rock.
When he took them over the edge, he shouted her name and she whispered “I love you” into his ear.
They spent the day in bed. He managed to satisfy her twice more before she was so exhausted she fell asleep for hours. When she woke up, she heard voices downstairs. She put on a robe and went down to see who it was.
“Dad,” she exclaimed.
“Thank god you're safe,” he said as he embraced her. “You have no idea how much I love you.”
“I know, Dad. Me too.”
“I only stopped by to see how you were,” Lenny said. “I'll be on my way. I know you two have something going on, so I'll leave you to it.”
“Lenny, before you go,” Grigori said, “I'm sorry about the incident the other day. It was stupid.”
“I don't think you would have cared if I hadn't had such a wonderful daughter,” Lenny said.
Grigori thought for a while. “No, you're right. If it hadn't been for Lucy, I would have blown your brains out.”
Everyone laughed, and Lenny departed.
*****
The newspapers reported the death of “A Russian Businessman,” but that was the end of it. They heard no more. Natasha was killed a few months later in a motorcycle accident.
Grigori and Lucy were married, and when their first child was born, Grigori stopped all his illegal activities and went straight. He built up a huge real estate portfolio, which he willed to his son and daughter.
Lucy spent a happy life painting and seeing to her family. She was such a good painter, she managed to sell many pieces to collectors from all over the world. But her biggest love wasn't art. It was Grigori, her children, and her father.
*****
THE END
MAFIA Romance – Bought by the Hitman
1
It was Saturday, and it was my first off day on a weekend in a really long time. I couldn’t remember having a Saturday off since I started working for Mr. Black. That wasn’t his real name, of course; I was pretty sure there wasn’t anyone in Russia with the last name of Black, and my boss was as Russian as they got. His accent was so thick it was hard to understand him sometimes.
I was Russian in the sense that my great-grandfather came over and built a life for himself. His name had been Pitor Anismov. He did pretty well for himself, the old guy. My own grandfather told me a lot of stories about him. Grandpa was Alan Anismov. Alan was as American a name old Pitor could come up with. He wanted his son to be American. He hated Russia. It was cold; it was hard living. America represented something to him: an opportunity.
Grandpa had two daughters. My mom he named Rebecca, and her sister was Rose. I never met Rose; she died when she was only five. My mom married a guy named Mike Jones, and they had me, Peter Jones. Doesn’t sound very Russian, and it took me a while to convince Mr. Black that my family came from there. Having Russians, it was important to him.
I was named after Pitor, but with the American spelling. When he came over, he made money any way he could. I’ve taken that up too. I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of, and a lot of things that could land me in jail, but hey, a job is a job. I keep my head down, steer clear of cops, and make sure the guys I rough up really have it coming to them.
Mr. Black is a fair guy, believe it or not. He’s big and round, with a bald head and a fat stomach, but he calls it like he sees it, and he plays everyone straight. There’s something honorable about that, really: a criminal who tries to do right by his own ethics and moral code. I’m the same way. I won’t knock over some mom-and-pop shop unless they’re laundering money for another guy or something like that. My boss is the same way.
But he works us a lot. I do this, I do that. I’m on call twenty-four seven. That’s why I was looking forward to that Saturday.
I slept in. I didn’t wake up until after noon. I lounged in bed for a bit until my stomach told me I needed food, and then I got up. I was halfway through my second bowl of Frosted Flakes when my cell rang. I grabbed it and sighed. It was Mr. Black.
“Peter, my boy,” the old man grumbled, “I need you.”
I knew better than to argue. “What can I do for you, Mr. Black?” I asked.
He gave me an address and told me I was working security at nine that evening. I hung up and finished my cereal. Nine wasn’t so bad. Of course, if Mr. Black told me nine, he expected me there by eight thirty. But I at least had the day. I went back to bed.
At six I climbed out of bed and slowly got ready after wolfing down a sandwich. By eight twenty I was parking across from the address I had been given. It was a place downtown, in a seedy-looking neighborhood. The building was squat and wide, just one story, with no windows that I could see. It was all gray and closed off. The door was large and metal, and a man in a suit was loitering outside it.
I locked my car and made my way across the street. I realized I knew the man standing by the heavy door, and he nodded to me as I got closer. His name was Marco, and he worked for David Zinga, a Mexican arms dealer Mr. Black was friendly with.
“Marco,” I said, stopping for a minute to chat with the guy. He was smoking, and he took a long drag on the cigarette he held between two fingers before answering.
“How goes it, Peter?” he asked, his voice low, like a tiger’s growl. He was a big guy, muscles upon muscles, with a scar running down one cheek.
“All right. It was my day off,” I complained, and Marco laughed, but his eyes were sympathetic.
“What’s a day off?” he asked, and it was my turn to laugh. I slapped him on the back and stepped inside. I expected the building to be dark, but it was well lit. There was a small hallway right at the entrance, a door propped open at the end, and beyond that was a large open room. Lights hung from the ceiling, buzzing softly as I passed underneath them. At the far end of the room was a small stage of sorts, a raised section of flooring that came up to my waist. There was a door there, built into the wall on the rear of the stage. A friend of mine stood there, another guy who worked for my boss, someone I had pulled a few jobs with. His name was Vlad, and he was about ten years older than my twenty-five. His last name was Nikitin, and he was like Mr. Black, right from the mother country. His accent wasn’t as pronounced, however. He had apparently moved to America with his family when he was only three. He was tall and angular, with a long crooked nose that had been broken more than once.
“Hey, kid,” he said to me as I found the steps to the stage and moved up to greet my friend. He always called me kid.
“Hey, Vlad,” I said. “Mr. Black coming?”
Vlad shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows,” he said. “I think a lot of big hitters will be here, though.”
“What is this?” I asked. “Arms deal?”
Vlad laughed and shook his head. “Not quite, kid,” he said. Then he nodded to the door that stood off to the side, leading from the stage. “Go check it out.”
I looked at him, wondering if he was trying to get me in trouble. I was just working security. Mr. Black, and the others like him, they didn’t like us small-timers getting our noses where they didn’t belong. I was muscle, plain and simple, with my gun in a shoulder holster under my suit jacket. Mr. Black always had us in shirts and ties.
I made my way to the door at the back of the stage and then looked over my shoulder, back at Vlad. He laughed and waved me on. “It’s fine; just us grunts here so far.”
I nodded and opened the door. It was dark in the back room, and it took my eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light. There were fewer lights here, their bulbs orange and slight instead of bright and yellow. In front of me was
a cage, big enough for a man, but it was empty. I moved on.
I found another cage, but this one wasn’t empty. It was six feet high and four feet wide, and two women stood in it, holding one another and crying. They looked young, both of them no older than twenty. They had fair skin and dark hair, and their eyes were dark and hard to see in the low light. They looked at me and shrank away. It made me feel terrible. I was a bad guy—I did bad things, I knew that—but these two women, as scared as they obviously were, seeing me and reacting physically like that, it made my head swim with shame.
“I won’t hurt you,” I said as I walked by. Beyond that cage were others, each with one or two or sometimes three young women inside. I felt nauseous, and I hurriedly turned back to the door, rushing out onto the stage.
Vlad saw me and laughed. I felt a wave of anger roll through me. “First rodeo?” he asked.
“What is this?”
“What do you think, kid? Come on, you’ve done too many bad things to be naive.”
I knew what it was of course. Those women were going to be sold—sold to rich weapons dealers and drug kingpins for their beds. They were sex slaves. Young women, twenty, nineteen. God, one had looked fifteen. I shook my head. I wanted to leave then and there, just walk out the door. I would have if I hadn’t stopped and thought about what Mr. Black would do if I did. If I walked out on a job, there was a chance my legs would be broken. And broken legs was the best-case scenario. I could also wake up at the bottom of a river, cement blocks strapped to my legs.
I didn’t say anything to Vlad. I didn’t know what to say. I moved to the edge of the stage and sat for a moment. My adrenalin was pumping, my heart beating a thousand miles a minute. I had been calmer in gun fights. Something about those cages, those women, it really got me. I didn’t know what to do, so I just sat.
Half an hour passed and men started streaming in. Not grunts like me, but rich guys. Mobsters, crime lords, all in expensive suits. Old guys, fat guys, one guy with a giant scar running from eye to chin that made Vlad’s look like a scrape a kid got falling off his tricycle. These guys were big time, though I noticed none of them were good looking. They were the kind of guys who had to throw their money around to get chicks. And what was an easier way than just buying a woman outright? I tried not to think about what was about to happen around me as I stood off to the side of the stage. Vlad was at the other end, and a few guys from different crews were dotted around the room. I didn’t expect trouble. In all it would be an easy job, if not for the fact that I was about to see women sold into sexual slavery.