The HiT Series

by Margaret McHeyzer

  “Come,” Dmitri says, offering me his elbow.

  The restaurant is upscale, and I’m dressed down in jeans and a sweater, nothing fancy. The moment the door opens, I understand why we’re here, even though we’re all dressed in nothing more than casual clothes.

  “Why is it men believe they need to book the entire restaurant out to eat with me?” I ask, remembering when Katsu took me to Pendulum Swings.

  “I don’t want anyone listening to what I’m going to say to you,” Dmitri says as his tongue curls around his accent.

  The dining area has been cleared of all tables, except for an oblong one in the middle. I look around and take in the deep colors, but also look to see if there’s anything out of place in here, too.

  “My men swept through the restaurant already, but you are more than welcome to look it over for yourself,” Dmitri indicates as he gestures with a swing of his hand across the floor.

  “No, I have no reason to doubt you so far,” I say as Ben pulls my seat out and waits for me to be seated before he pushes it in.

  We all sit and the waiter is already pouring drinks for us all from a bottle of Single Barrel Jack, neat.

  I lift the glass and smell the full, robust, and earthy smell of oak. I knock the first one back and let the waiter pour another into my glass.

  “No water or ice?” Dmitri asks.

  “Not needed,” I answer. I pick the glass up and swirl the amber liquid around.

  Ben downs his, and Dmitri follows. The waiter refreshes their drinks, and Dmitri shoos him away with a flick of the wrist.

  “What are you holding back, Dmitri?” I ask as I place both my elbows on the table and drop my chin on top of my laced fingers.

  “You see, Anna, it’s not exactly as it seems,” Dmitri starts as he picks his tumbler up and downs the second drink.

  “What isn’t?” I ask, curious though I’m quickly becoming infuriated at the slow rate at which this conversation is developing.

  “Siyalov Yakovich isn’t exactly what people expected.” He knits his heavy, gray eyebrows together and his eyes dart around the restaurant, avoiding the explanation.

  “Go on,” I urge.

  I look over at Ben. He’s remained quiet from the moment we left the factory.

  He’s rubbing his chin, as he sits and listens.

  “Siyalov Yakovich was never me. But that was how it was made to look, because it was expected a man be the head of the business.”

  “Well, who the hell is Siyalov Yakovich then?” Ben asks, leaning forward with enthusiasm in his voice.

  I feel the corners of my mouth pull up and I try to restrain the snicker that wants to burst through. Ben’s reaction is as questioning as mine.

  “Siyalov Yakovich was my sister.”

  The head of the Russian Bratva was a woman? Impressive.

  “You said ‘was’ your sister. What happened to her?” Ben asks before I have the chance to say a word.

  “She fell sick three years ago, ovarian cancer. It was not caught in time. I looked after her because that is what we were taught to do. Look after each other. She never married and had no children. She was the real head, but I played the part in public. Our father knew the Bratva would never accept a woman as its leader.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say as I cut him off from further telling us about my great aunt.

  “What is that?”

  “Why were you not the head and she was?”

  He chuckles to himself and shrugs. “Because she was better at killing than me. First woman in the family to love the kill. She had a gift.”

  “How did that work?” I asked, amused and somewhat surprised by his admission.

  “When we were kids, maybe ten, eleven, we went to market for fresh bread. We found a dog who was limping. I wanted to take him home to fix him, but she snap his neck and walk away. She said, ‘Grow up Dmitri, you need to learn to kill’.”

  Sounds like a woman I could certainly look up to.

  “Tell me about my mother,” I change the direction of the conversation.

  “Your mother,” he says as he shakes his head. “Her mother was woman you pay for sex.”

  “My grandmother was a prostitute?” This surprises me.

  “Da, she worked as prostitute who I could have whenever I wanted. My father found out she was pregnant and sent her to America. I only found out I had a daughter when my father died. He told me in a letter Natalia existed.”

  Information overload, but I still need to know more. “And what happened?”

  The waiter wheels over a silver serving cart and begins to fill the table with various dishes.

  “Perog, Pelmeni, Syrniki, Goulash. Whatever you like. Please, help yourselves.” He starts serving himself and stacking his plate up.

  I follow suit, and Ben does the same, putting a little of everything on our plates.

  When we all have food in front of us, Dmitri continues. “I came to America and found Natalia had married and had a baby – you. She left you in hospital and disappeared, for what reason I don’t know. I never talked to Natalia, I found out she got involved with drugs shortly after abandoning you and had your sister after she turned to prostitution to support her habit. I came looking for you but you had already been taken by those men, those Hunter, Inc. men. I got to your house while it was still hot from fire.”

  I haven’t taken a bite of the food. Instead I’m engrossed by the facts he’s revealing.

  “You were there?” I whisper, not really understanding the magnitude of it all.

  “Da, but you shot the two men who came to take you, and you disappeared. But not for long. Lukas had worked for us and he began to shoot his mouth off about a young girl he found and was training. You were on a lot of people’s radars, including mine.”

  What the hell?

  “Why didn’t you come and find me instead of leaving me to fend for myself?” I ask, clearly angry.

  Calm down, Anna. Just breathe.

  “Lukas gave reports. He told me the passion you had for work. And I left you, watched you, and had him look after you. But…” he stops talking.

  “But what?” I ask.

  “Your thirst for blood was beyond anything I’d ever seen. You killed Lukas just before he was going to bring you to me. That last hit was a test to see exactly how precise you were with sniper rifle. I knew then you weren’t ready for this.” He gestures between the two of us. “Yes, I left you alone, but watched you from afar. You’ve never been in serious danger. I always knew where you were and what you were doing.”

  I look at Dmitri and try to piece together the one element I can’t quite understand. “How?” I ask in a lower tone, not really meant for Dmitri’s ears, more for my own curiosity.

  “The boy,” he answers my question, although it wasn’t really meant for him.

  I turn to Ben and look at him. “You?” I ask as I lift my finger to point at him.

  “Fuck no,” replies Ben.

  “Nyet, nyet. Your Agent. You met him on the steps of library. The minute you left, I approached him.”

  What. The. Fuck!

  “He was selling my information back to you?” I angrily stand and can feel the chair topple over behind me as I smash my fists down on the table.

  “Nyet, he never sold anything to me. He was instructed to keep you safe. If you were ever in danger, I was to be notified. I never interfered, until now. I needed to get Ben in place to save you; that is the only time I ever interfered with your work. You’ve always handled this on your own.”

  “So why the hell didn’t you send in the cavalry when I was strapped to a bed and Katsu was injecting me with that shit and selling me into the sex trade?”

  “You are strong. You would’ve found way out. But the police put an APB on you and were circulating Ben’s photo. I needed to step in before they found you and took you away. They don’t know who you are yet, but they are still searching for him.” He points to Ben.

  “Why Ben?” I
ask.

  “Because they think he’s dirty cop.”

  Well he is, or should I say, was.

  “How was he found out?” Dmitri’s henchman picks up my chair. I sit back down and calm myself so I can gather all the information I need.

  “Because of Ethan Martelli.”

  What? For fuck’s sake.

  “That happened over a year and a half ago,” Ben says, raising his voice. “Why now?”

  “They were keeping an eye on you, but Katsu came into play and the investigation on you was put to the side, but not entirely disappearing. One of your own officers is FBI. Matter of fact, Katsu had FBI on his team too.”

  “What?” both Ben and I yell in unison.

  “Yes, but not about you,” he says, pointing to me. “They just think you were fucking both boys.” Well I was, sort of. One of them for intel and the other because I love him.

  “So who are the FBI agents?” I ask the obvious question.

  “Tyler on Katsu’s security team.”

  Damn it, I knew there was something about him. He tried to warn me to get me away from Katsu. He was protecting me, from both Katsu and the FBI.

  “And what about at the station?” I ask.

  “Yes, this is where it may become, um -,” he stops talking. “Well, da, this is definitely going to be difficult.” He rakes a hand through his gray hair then over his face.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Because it’s Ophelia,” he says and looks between Ben and myself.

  “Ophelia?” Ben spits. “But I researched her. I did a thorough background check on her because I didn’t want another Ethan situation on my hands to make the FBI suspicious. She was clean.”

  “Yes about that, it appears FBI actually do know what they’re doing.”

  There’s a strained, pained look on Dmitri’s face.

  “What else aren’t you telling us?” I say, deadpan. Judging from his face, it’s something big.

  “Ophelia’s real last name is Petrov.”

  Silence blankets the room.

  I can feel the intense, concerned stares of both Ben and Dmitri as his words tumble around in my mind.

  The stress squeezing my body is enough to cause sweat to roll down my temple.

  “As in Dmitri Petrov...” I point to him, and feel my shoulders slump in complete resignation.

  “As in my other granddaughter…and your sister.”

  “What the…” Ben speaks, but I most certainly think those words.

  What the hell?!

  Ophelia

  “Momma, I’m home,” I announce as I come through the front door. I can smell something delicious cooking. I think she’s making stroganoff. The sweetness of the sautéed onions and garlic gently waft through the entire house, assaulting me, making my mouth water the moment I’m inside the house.

  “Back here,” she yells from the kitchen.

  “Hey, Momma,” I say. I round the kitchen island counter where she’s kneading the pasta dough and give her a kiss.

  “What brings you home? Everything alright?” she asks, concerned.

  “I’m fine. Today’s my day off and I thought I’d come home to see you. Where’s Dad?” I ask, looking around the lush green backyard where he usually putters around.

  “He’s out with one of his friends,” Mom replies as I snatch a raw mushroom and eat it. Mom looks up at me from the pasta dough as I sit on the stool and just watch her. “What’s on your mind, Ophelia?”

  “Nothing,” I answer, without a lot of conviction.

  “Alright, if you say so.” Mom’s smart. She’s not going to press me because she knows I can’t say anything about my work, although sometimes I do talk to Dad so he can give me advice. He was a police officer for two years back in his home town before he and Mom moved here. Now he works security at the local mall. But his advice has always been invaluable to me.

  “Tell me about my birth mother.”

  Mom stops kneading and looks at me from beneath her eyelashes. This is the very first time she’s ever hesitated to talk to me about it. I’ve always known I was adopted when I was eleven by the two people I now call Mom and Dad.

  Eleven years old is pretty late to be adopted. I bounced from foster home to foster home, never really belonging anywhere. When Mom and Dad came along, I didn’t even get to meet them. All I was told was they wanted me.

  I thought it might have been because I was their last option, but I never really worried about it. They’re terrific parents and I’ve never felt more loved in my life.

  “We don’t know much about her,” Mom says as she lowers her eyes, wraps the pasta dough in cling wrap and puts it in the fridge.

  I take the picture I’ve carried around out of the back pocket of my jeans and stare at it.

  “How is it no one knows anything about you?” I ask the woman in the picture. “Who are you?”

  I hear Mom clear her throat as she gets the pasta maker out of the cupboard and attaches it to the kitchen counter.

  “Mom?” I ask with a slight tenderness to my voice. “You do know something, don’t you?”

  She shakes her head and frowns. I can sense she’s not telling me something important.

  “Mom…”

  “I don’t know anything. Maybe your father knows something. Wait ‘til he comes home and ask him.”

  I let it go for now, not wanting to confront and possibly upset her.

  But I know she’s hiding something.

  Anna

  “It’s kind of strange,” I say as I lie back in the deck chair and stare up at the moonless sky.

  “Kind of?” Ben asks as he turns his tablet off and looks at me.

  “I have relatives – a grandfather, and a sister. My sister is a cop and my grandfather was the front, though not the mastermind, of one of the biggest criminal organizations in the world.”

  “And you said ‘kind of strange’.” He chuckles.

  “Can my relatives be any more different? We’re all opposite ends of the scale, a cop on one extreme, assassin and mafia on the other. And if we add you to the mix, arms dealers too.”

  “I’m out of that. I’m going to leave it all to Emily. We’ve always been a tight family, but now, with Claire gone, I don’t want it anymore, and I doubt Emily will either.”

  “You can’t just let it go like that. Your parents gave their lives up for it. And now you’re letting it go? That’s quite…” I search for an appropriate word, “…irresponsible of you.”

  “Irresponsible? I’m shutting down a huge part of the illegal arms trade, and you’re saying I’m irresponsible?”

  “Yes.” I sit up in the deck chair. “It’s completely irresponsible of you. You’re throwing away all the hard work your family has done because your sister was killed. Are you such a pussy about everything? What if something happens between us, are you simply going to turn your back and walk away from us too?”

  Ben mimics my pose and leans his elbows on his knees.

  “It’s not like that with us, and you know it.”

  “Why? Because you say so? To me you’re coming across like a damned wimp. Grow some balls and take responsibility for what your family worked to build.” Although I can certainly understand Ben’s decision to leave it all behind, it bothers me how he can walk away so easily.

  “I am taking responsibility. I’m getting out of the arms business.”

  “And what do you propose to do now? You clearly can’t go back to your fake life as a cop, and you’re refusing your position as an arms dealer. So what are you going to do?”

  “If it’s money your worried about…”

  “You’re a dick. A real dick. Of course I’m not worried about money. I’ve got enough to see us through ‘til the end of time, but you’re simply giving up on your responsibilities.”

  “Well this is just fucked.” He’s visibly stressed as he stands and starts pacing across the deck, running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to be killed. I want to be th
ere for you and for our family,” he says, angry now.

  Whoa…hold up there. Family?

  “What damned family are you talking about?” I stand and move over to the edge of the deck, leaning up against the wooden railings. Putting distance between us, so I don’t rip his damn head off and play football with it.

  “I’m… this is… Fuck!” He shouts the last word and punches a hand into the railing on the other side of the deck. The jolt reverberates through the wood all the way to me.

  “Ben,” I say as I take a deep breath. He continues pacing and muttering, pissing me off further. But he always does that. He rakes his hands through his hair and paces when he’s frustrated or upset with something. “Ben,” I say more loudly.

  The ass is in his own little world having his own little pity party.

  He’s seriously pissing me off.

  With controlled steps, I walk over to him, standing with my feet planted firmly on the deck. He doesn’t even notice I’ve moved, until my fist connects with his jaw.

  “What the fuck?” he shouts as he rubs his jaw.

  “That’s for lying, and I’m about to freaking kill you if you don’t grow some balls and act like a damned man. You’ve been great so far, but right now, you’re reverting back to gentle Ben.”

  “Gentle Ben?” he asks. Out of everything I said, that’s what he heard.

  “He was great when I thought he was just a cop with a hit out against him, but that’s not you. You killed a man because I wanted him dead. You helped me torture Katsu, because I wanted it. Now you’re willing to throw everything away for fear of leaving me alone.”

  He sticks his chest out and lifts his chin.

  There we go.

  I’m getting my alpha back, not the pussy-whipped wimp.

  “Good. Now before you decide what you’re going to do, you’re going to discuss it with me. And what’s this business about a family?”

  I take Ben’s hand and lead him back over to the deck chairs. Maybe now we can talk about whatever is going on in his head.

  “What do you think about us having a family?” he asks me, more reserved.