Vendetta

by Christine Zolendz

  Niko Jakov struggles against his wire ties, sweat leaking from every pore on his face. His eyes shoot to mine in frantic terror. “No, no. Corrado, don’t. Don’t listen to him.”

  “Niko. Niko. NeeeeeeKooooo,” Tony attempts to talk in a heavy Russian accent. I laugh because it’s funny and he sounds a lot like the Terminator. “Niko. Jakov. Jaaaaa. Koooooooov.” Tony’s glance darts up to me then back down to Niko. “Anybody ever tell you your last name sounds like Jack-off? Niko Jackoff.” He snips the shears in the air as he speaks. “Niko Jackoff-too-much.”

  Tony is jerking off the shears now like it’s his own dick. I’m finding it awkwardly funny and I wish I could take out my cell and record it. But then Tony would probably be threatening to snip off the tip of my dick next.

  “Why are you doing this to me, Tony?” Niko’s face is stark white, pleading.

  “Come on, Corrado, just take his dick out. Unzip him at least,” Tony says, gesturing to Niko’s pants.

  I shrug and chuckle. “Shouldn’t he buy me dinner before we get to third base?” I’ll unzip him but I ain’t touching no skin.

  Tony doesn’t seem to find me as hilarious as I find myself. I shake my head and yank down the front of the man’s pants at Tony’s knees. He’s not wearing any underwear and I vomit a bit in my mouth. “Niko, man. You don’t have much to work with here. You better tell him what he wants to know.”

  “Wha…What…What does he want to know?” Jackoff stammers.

  Tony starts pacing in front of him, opening the shears and snapping them closed, again and again. Metal scraping against metal, long and sharp, then SNAP! Making Jackoff cringe in his chair each time.

  I lean back against the wall, watching. Waiting for the answers Tony needs.

  He stops dead center in front of Jackoff and points the shears down, the sharp tips of the blades nicking into the wood of the chair between Jackoff’s knees.

  “I’ll tell you anything. Anything,” Niko cries.

  I’m not sure Tony is even listening anymore, he’s just torturing the guy, snipping the sheers and opening them, getting closer and closer to his dick each time.

  Jackoff’s eyes get wider and wider and he’s trying to press his body frantically back into the chair to get away from the sharp silver of the garden blades.

  “Why’d you kill my guys?” Tony asks, pausing for a moment.

  “Kill what guys?” Niko actually looks confused. I pull away from the wall and step forward, getting a closer look at his expression.

  Well now.

  He doesn’t look like he has any idea what Tony’s talking about.

  “My guys,” Tony explains, slicing the shears closed and ripping Niko’s pants. “Franco. Carmine. Paulie. John. Junior.”

  “I didn’t kill any of your guys, Tony.” His voice doesn’t even shake.

  “I’m not really believing in your words right now, Jackoff.” Tony shrugs pushing the shears right up to the guy’s shriveled-up junk.

  “I didn’t kill anyone, Tony,” he grunts through clenched teeth.

  “Five of my guys are dead, Niko. And I know you and your little Russian gang are the ones who did it.” Tony’s eyes are wild now. He really believes Jackoff and his men pulled the hit. He must not be telling me everything—he must have real proof that he ain’t showing us—but what the fuck could it be? “You and your guys ain’t ever taking over our territory. I’m not even sure you’re ever even walking out of my club alive.”

  “Tony, no, no. Why you pinning that shit on—”

  The rest coming from his mouth are incomprehensible screams. I guess Tony didn’t want to hear any more because he just snaps the shears closed on the tip of Niko’s dick. Niko’s eyes screw shut and he just howls in absolute agony.

  I never heard anything like it before.

  And like the sick fuck he is, Tony lifts the tool up to Niko’s face and shows him his own flesh, still stuck wetly to the metal. Vomit splatters out of his mouth, dripping in long dark streaks down the front of his shirt. Instantly, a dark red stain spreads across the legs of his pants and his head just lolls to the side limply as he passes out.

  Tony takes a deep annoyed breath. “It’s never like it is in the movies, you know? Real life’s full of pussies who pass out with the slightest sliver of pain.”

  Slightest sliver of pain? He just sliced the tip of some guy’s knob off and he wanted more of a dramatic display of suffering. Jesus.

  He covers his mouth with the crook of his elbow. “And he smells like shit.”

  His eyes dart around the room quickly. I can tell he’s trying to plan something in his head. “What the fuck are you looking for,” I ask.

  He’s pulling open drawers and rummaging through shelves. “I need something to wake the son-of-a-bitch up. I need him talking.”

  I start looking along with him, but neither of us finds anything.

  Tony slaps him until his cheeks are streaked red with handprints but he still doesn’t wake up.

  I don’t blame Niko. I wouldn’t wake up either. What guy would want to with the tip of their dick gone?

  Suddenly there’s a knock at the door followed by a small click and Enzo walks in, nodding toward me. “Got something for you,” he grunts, taking in the scene in front of him. He doesn’t even bat an eye, it’s not the first time he’s seen something like this, not by a long shot. He actually smiles wickedly.

  “Looks like Tony’s having some fun for himself.” There’s a big manila envelope clutched in his hand and the moment I lay eyes on it I want to yank it out of his hands and rip it open.

  “Hey, Tone? Give a few minutes?” I say, glancing at Tony with a quick nod.

  “Yeah, yeah. Enzo, you stay down here with me. I need to wake this pussy up. You know how to wake up a sleeping pussy?” Tony says, laughing.

  I close the door behind me and lock it, not even waiting to see how the hell Tony’s going to get the guy conscious again. I don’t care. All I care about it what’s inside the folder.

  Sofia Monroe.

  That’s who’s inside the folder.

  Well, not her chopped up or anything, but whatever Enzo could find on her name, her background. Enzo’s the best at that stuff. Following people and getting a background check on them without using anything traceable. The envelope is too thin to be happy about but my hands are itching to open it.

  I climb the stairs two at a time. I don’t want to be interrupted by Niko screaming when Tony wakes him up. And believe me, if Tony wants it, Niko is getting up.

  I burst through the basement door and Carlo’s gun is on me instantly. “Fucking hell. You douchebag,” he says shaking his head and lowering his weapon back into his waistband. “I almost killed you. What the hell are you blasting through the door like that for?”

  I hold up the envelope. “Just need to get this open. Hey? Tony needs something to wake up Jackoff. You got anything that smells or something?”

  “Who the fuck is Jackoff?”

  “Jakov. Niko Jakov?” I laugh. “That’s what Tony’s calling him down there. Well he was until he passed out from pain. Tony just snipped the top of his dick off with a pair of gardening shears.”

  “Oh shit!” he laughs. “Seriously?” He rubs at the back of his neck and chuckles more. “Yeah, yeah. I think I got something,” he mumbles as he jogs toward the bar and I head in the opposite direction for some privacy.

  The first room I hit is the lounge and I sit on one of the couches, the same one Felony—Sophia—and I fooled around on, and tear open the package. I feel sick, my stomach rolling in waves of nerves—what if he found nothing—or worse, what if he found out something that goes against Tony and the family?

  Enzo warned me. He warned me the Russians could have planted her here. She could be Jakov’s girl for all I know. He was always in here, especially when Felony danced, watching her spread her legs on stage, thinking it was just for him.

  I pull the papers out. My knee is bouncing.

  There are on
ly two things inside.

  One is a high school transcript for Sophia Louise Monroe from an all-girls boarding school in Concord, Massachusetts. The lowest grade of all four years of her high school was a 98, and that was in a history class her freshman year. The tuition for the school was $56 K a year. So she came from money, got rid of a Massachusetts accent, and what? Just decided to become a stripper for Tony Fretolli?

  That just doesn’t make any sense.

  Especially when the information about the school says 97% of their graduating class goes on to an Ivy League college. How did she become the 3% that ends up being a stripper, hundreds of miles away from her home?

  I peek back in the envelope to take out the last piece of paper. It’s small and wedged in the bottom corner. I can tell it’s a picture printed out on a regular piece of computer paper.

  Fuck my life.

  The picture is grainy, whoever printed it out needs a new ink cartridge, but it’s clear as day Sophia is in the picture. She’s in someone’s house. There’s an enormous chandelier in the background, the dangling crystals hang like a pure white shimmering halo above her. There’s a blurry winding staircase behind the couch she’s posing on, smiling at whoever took the picture.

  On one side of her is Lev Jakov, Niko’s youngest son, and on the other side of her is Viktor, his oldest. The three of them are smiling like they’re old friends, each of them holding a drink in their hands. Niko’s in the background looking at someone off to the side I can’t see.

  It doesn’t hit me at first, the anger. At first I’m numb, like pins and needles in my chest, my brain.

  She’s part of Jakov’s family?

  Was she fucking one of them too?

  My pulse speeds up and pounds through my ears. My hands crush the picture and heat flushes through my entire body.

  I run through the hallway and bolt back down the stairs, tripping and stumbling over my own feet. I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill all of them. Every one of them that touched her. Any of them that got to know her the way I did.

  Fuck what Tony’s playing out now, when I’m through with this piece of shit, his dick will be shredded into tiny ribbons.

  The key to the back basement room fumbles out of my fingers. They’re shaking. Every part of my body is shaking, quivering with deadly rage. All I see is red. How the fuck could she think she could get away with any of this?

  Tony’s going to kill her.

  And I don’t want him to.

  I can’t let him.

  How the hell could she do this to me?

  I have to get inside this damn room. Jakov better not be dead yet. I need answers. I need answers right now.

  The stupid key isn’t working. My fingers feel too thick and clammy. So I pound and kick at the motherfucking door until Enzo opens it with his motherfucking gun pointing right at my motherfucking head.

  Chapter 13

  Felony

  My hands are wrapped around the warm mug of coffee on the table in front of me. The waitress just refilled it and the smell of cinnamon hits my nose with a bad case of memories. Childish memories too hard to think about—thoughts better left in the past—better off staying buried and long dead.

  I sip at the cup, my mind tugging at the new memories I’ve made, breaking them down, tearing them piece by piece to shreds. What did I do? How could I have been so careless with my feelings?

  Another sip and I close my eyes. Someone three booths away orders a plate of cheese fries and a Coke, somewhere farther down the loud clang of a fork hits down against a dish. I block it all out, quieting everything in my head.

  I can still feel him.

  Corrado.

  His cologne still lingers on my shirt and I breathe in, smelling him all around me.

  Maybe it’s the heat from the cup in my hands—but for a moment I can feel us again, together. The mattress dipping as he crawls over me from behind. The cool sheets under me and the warmth radiating from his body right above me.

  The aching anticipation of his touch as he hovers there, no more than an inch away. Teasing me. When will he touch me? When will his fingers touch down? I want his tongue in my mouth—his hands all over me.

  Hot skin, heavy and tense, presses down against my back. I can feel every inch of his skin on every inch of mine, both of us naked, open. Smooth, hot skin. His erection, hotter than the rest of his body, is hard pushing and straining against the back of my thigh. I need him inside me. Filling me.

  Light fingertips push my hair from my shoulder, sending a tingling sensation that trickles heat down my spine. His lips, warm and wet, press against the curve of my neck and slowly slide and kiss and lick their way across each of my shoulder blades. Between my thighs becomes slick, aroused.

  His teeth graze over the shell of my ear and I hear his breathing as it falters and heightens from his exploration of my body. The taste of my skin turns him on.

  Strong knees push my thighs apart and his mouth teases the back of my neck until I’m squirming beneath him. His cock finds his way between my legs and my body trembles with a needy ache. He teases me like that for so long, until I’m begging him, pleading and lifting my bottom up to try to reach him. Then he’s deep inside me, everywhere, all at once. Fingers, cock, tongue, all of him dipping over and over inside me until I’m breathless and writhing under him, whimpering out his name.

  A throat clears in front of me, pulling me out of my daydream. “Why did you want to meet me here?”

  I open my eyes and place my mug back down onto the table. My fingers were gripping it so tightly it almost tumbles out of my hands when I let it go. Damn fantasies. Now I have to sit here in front of this idiot with my panties practically melted into my thighs. I squirm uncomfortably.

  Lev Jakov slides into the booth across the table from me, grunting and mumbling as he tries to shove his overflowing gut into the small space. He should be used to being uncomfortable in front of me by now. I smile at him, knowing how much he gets off on the humiliation of it.

  “You couldn’t pick a table?” he wheezes.

  “You love feeling caged in, so stop.”

  His eyes roam around the diner, avoiding mine. “So why all the way out here in the middle of nowhere?”

  I shrug like it’s no big deal, and lie through my teeth. “I needed to go back home for something.”

  “What’s the something?” he asks. He’s always so curious. Him and his brother, Viktor. But Lev is way easier to deal with. Especially when I dangle free drinks and lap dances from the other girls at the club for him. He loves Lace. And when I told her he was a special friend of mine she let him cum for free in the front seat of his Porsche the first night he came to the club.

  I had to pay for the rest of the times he came on her.

  I might have put her kid through college already. I’d give her the money anyway, she needs it. But for some reason Lace needs to feel sexually exploited too.

  “Hey, stop worrying so much about me, okay? I just needed to visit my parents for the day.”

  “I worry about you working for that no good piece of—” The waitress comes over, stopping his words dead.

  “What can I get you, hun?” She snaps a bubble at him and smiles down at the gold rings adorning his pinky fingers, each sparking with diamonds. Her eyes roam up his hands. Greedy girl.

  He loves the attention. Slides his sleeves up a little, letting his Rolex peek out. “Just coffee,” he says, sliding the menu he never opened to the edge of the table.

  Bullshit. You’ll order more, you stupid glutton.

  “Wait. Wait. You know what, I haven’t eaten at all today. Um, you got any cheesecake?” he asks, curiously.

  “We sure do. I’ll go cut you an extra big piece, be right back,” she says, winking at him.

  He watches her ass while she walks away and I’m slapped in the face with disgust.

  “You come here a lot? You know that waitress?” His eyes still haven’t left her backside and he wets his lips rep
eatedly.

  “No, I don’t, Lev, sorry.” I want to stick a fork in each of his pupils so he’ll stop with the eye fucking. I should give her my sunglass for protection. “Lev, stop mentally humping her in front of me.”

  His eyes dart to mine and he’s wearing some angry expression like I’m actually taking part in cock blocking him with this waitress. “Just give her a nice tip and maybe she’ll slip you her number.”

  He glares at me.

  “Look, let’s just make this a fast visit, okay. And you can get all snuggly-blow-jobby with the wait staff here,” I whisper.

  The waitress comes back with a huge smile on her face and plops down a gigantic slice of cheesecake, dripping with raspberry sauce, right between us. “You two going to share?”

  “Um, no.” I smile up at her, and push the plate toward Lev. “This is all for him. My very single, rich brother.”

  Lev smiles at my fib. Well, he is definitely single and rich, the brother part is false, of course, but seriously, who cares as long as the woman gets the fact he isn’t with me.

  She walks away, smiling back over her shoulder at him.

  “You suck at being a wingman. Next time add in enormous cock,” he says, shoving a forkful of cake into his mouth. “What do you have for me, anyway?”

  I dig into my purse and pull out a folded piece of paper. “Stole it off Tony’s desk last night.” Another lie. I haven’t been at the club in two days. I take a quick sip of my cocoa when Corey’s face pops into my head. Why can’t I just stop thinking about him?

  It’s the way he looks at me, I think.

  The way his hands feel on my skin.

  No, it’s more than that. I just don’t want to admit to it.

  I can’t ever admit to it.

  “What’s this?” Lev asks, unfolding the papers.

  I watch his eyes scan quickly over the document and grow wider and wider.

  “It’s the entire list of Tony Fretolli’s contacts. Every person he associates with. Every business he involves himself with. Every piece-of-shit criminal he works with. And all the other family members having to do with his organization.” It’s not, though, it’s only a quarter of the list, and the majority of the people on it are dead. I smile at him like a giddy schoolgirl.