Surviving Shane: Volume One

by Saxon, Raurie

  Please note this is the first installment in a serial with multiple parts.

  Surviving Shane, Volume One

  Raurie Saxon

  Chapter One

  Mia glanced at her phone when it chimed to let her know she had a new text message. She was unsurprised to see her father’s number listed. As she started to delete it without reading, she saw part of the message: Must see you now. Urg… Devoid of a flicker of guilt, she removed it without reading past the preview. He’d been texting and calling for several days, and he would eventually realize she wanted nothing to do with him.

  Slipping the phone back into her purse, she considered changing her number before discarding the idea. He’d be able to find it again if she did. Her father had a number of dubious contacts living in his shadow world that could easily find a new number, so what was the point? He would eventually go away. Vadim Kasilli had no trouble forgetting he had a daughter most of the time, so whatever his purpose for trying to reach her, he’d surely give up soon.

  Entering the restaurant where she worked the evening shift as a server, Mia left her things in the break room and donned an apron over her serviceable black dress. She took a moment to eye her appearance in the full-length mirror, wanting to give Mr. Lovelle no reason to complain. The job was hard work, but lucrative and helped fund her college courses.

  She looked neat and pretty, as she was supposed to. Her dark hair was confined in a tight twist, and the subdued makeup she’d used only just enhanced her blue eyes and made her lips look a bit fuller without being pouty. The dress was modest and well-fitting, but not figure-hugging. No one could complain about the length ending an inch below her knees. Her flats weren’t as sexy as some of the shoes the other waitresses wore, but she could still walk six blocks to her apartment each night after work without blisters or pain.

  After straightening the ties on the white apron, she smoothed the wrinkles from the crisp accessory and left the break room. As soon as she entered the din of the kitchen to clock in, the atmosphere was chaotic, yet somehow soothing in its familiarity. They were busy tonight, and she started working from almost the second she timed in. Weekends were always crazy, but the tips were the best and provided easily forty-percent of her income from just Friday and Saturday nights.

  Lovelle’s customers seemed to be more demanding than usual, so she was feeling frazzled by the time the shift ended at eleven. Without complaint, she worked alongside the other servers and bussers to clean the restaurant and leave it ready for Sunday’s brunch crowd. Mia was looking forward to sleeping in while all those customers came for their champagne, lobster tails, and lox.

  Near midnight, she was back in the break room to remove the apron and toss it in the laundry cart as Jimmy did the same. She bit back a groan at the realization it was just the two of them in the small room. He was a sweet boy, but she had no interest in him. It didn’t matter they were practically the same age. Heck, he might even be older than her own twenty-one years, but he seemed so immature.

  “Long night, huh?”

  She nodded in agreement as she picked up her bag. “I’m glad it’s over, and I don’t work again until Tuesday night.”

  His face fell. “Really? I have to work the next few days.” Looking nervous, he asked, “I was wondering if you—”

  Before he could issue an invitation she wouldn’t accept and hurt his feelings, she deliberately knocked into a table while cursing her supposed clumsiness. After righting it, she sighed dramatically. “Well, good night, Jimmy.”

  He looked disappointed, but had clearly abandoned the request—for now at least. “Hey, you need me to walk you home?”

  She shook her head. “No, thanks.” Lifting her keychain, she showed him her pepper spray. “I’ve got it taken care of.”

  He looked dubious, but didn’t push her. “Okay. Good night, Mia.”

  With a casual wave in his direction, she left the break room, said goodbye to the two dishwashers standing at the back entrance polluting the area with the smoke from their cigarettes, and headed off in the direction of the tiny apartment she shared with three other girls. Fortunately, they were all at work or out, since it was Saturday, and she’d have the place to herself. Mia couldn’t wait to sink into the old-fashioned tub to wash off the stench of restaurant food—even upscale offerings clung to the skin and pores after enough hours. She might pour a glass of red wine, but she was feeling tired enough to just slip from the bath into bed without the alcohol.

  It took her less than a block to realize someone was following her. The furtive sound of footsteps made her tense, and she gripped her pepper spray tighter, ensuring the nozzle was facing outward. Mia increased her pace on the off chance she was simply going the same way as someone behind her, but her instincts screamed that wasn’t the case.

  The footsteps behind her increased in pace, and she broke into a run. Mia briefly wished she had brought her tennis shoes, but usually didn’t bother unless she was going by the gym before or after work. She was in good shape and fast, but the shoes hampered her speed as she broke into a sprint.

  The slam of hard soles against the pavement grew closer, and she whirled to face her attacker when he got close enough to be in range. She unleashed the spray right in the giant blond man’s eyes, making him scream and raise his hands to shield the sensitive orbs.

  Immediately, she turned to face the second one, who wasn’t quite the hulking behemoth as his comrade, but was still a lot bigger than her own petite frame. The sight of the gun in his hand made her mouth go dry, and she made a show of dropping the pepper spray canister and returning the key ring to her purse. “What do you want?”

  “Get up, Bruno.” He had a thick accent she couldn’t quite place. Irish? Scottish?

  With a snarl, the blond giant lurched to his feet, suit jacket straining across his broad chest as he reached out blindly in her direction. “I’m going to kill that cunt.”

  Mia was surprised when the gun moved briefly from her to Bruno.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. The boss wants her unharmed.”

  It was Mia’s turn to snarl. These men had to work for her father. It was a new low for him to send his thugs to fetch her, but she wasn’t surprised. He would never take time from his busy schedule of criminal activity to come himself. “What does he want?”

  The dark-haired man shrugged. “Not my problem, miss. There is a limousine at the end of the street. You will turn nicely and walk like a proper lady to the vehicle.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “The boss wants me unharmed.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “There are varying degrees of unharmed, miss. You will still be reasonably functional if Bruno has to carry you.” He gave her a chilling smile. “Considering the depth of his rage with you, I would think you should not want his hands on you in any capacity at the moment.”

  With a sigh of surrender, she turned away from the thugs, conscious of them walking a half-step behind her, the gun occasionally ghosting against her lower back. The sleek black car waited as they had said, and she slid inside once the gunman opened the door for her. Mia was preparing a mental stream of vitriol to unleash on her father for his highhandedness when she saw him again. The idea of coming face-to-face with him for the first time in two years was more daunting than she wanted to admit, even to herself.

  The last time, she’d had the buffer of other attendees at her stepmother’s funeral to protect her from Vadim. And her stepbrother. She shivered at the thought of Aldo Peretti. If he was at this forced meeting, she was going to give him the rest of the bottle of pepper spray and hope it blinded him for life.

  Both goons slipped into the car with her. Feeling just a dash of compassion at the sight of Bruno’s re
d eyes, she handed him a bottle of water and a cloth napkin from the wet bar beside her. He grunted in acknowledgement.

  She sat without speaking to either of them, though aware of the appreciative gleam in the dark-haired man’s eyes when he examined her shapely legs. Mia had to force herself not to curl them under her to try to hide.

  The trip didn’t last long, and she was prepared to face her father when the car stopped and the nameless goon opened the door. Instead of his brownstone apartment, they had stopped in front of a palatial house. Casting a confused gaze around the property, she saw it was completely enclosed with high metal fencing topped with sharp spikes. “What’s going on?”

  “The boss asked to see you.” Bruno had no accent.

  “Where are we? This isn’t my father’s house.” Unless it was? Perhaps he had moved in the past two years?

  The brunette frowned. “Your father? Who is your father?”

  It was her turn to frown. “Vadim Kasilli.”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know him.”

  A frisson of apprehension raced down her spine. “You don’t work for my father?”

  “No,” said Bruno.

  She swallowed, regretting accompanying them. “Who is the boss then?”

  “Shane O’Mara,” said the one with dark hair.

  The name was vaguely familiar, but she didn’t know why. “What does he want with me?”

  Holding out his arm in a mockery of chivalry, the brunette grinned. “Why don’t we go find out, miss?”

  She hesitated for a second, intuition screaming at her to get away, but where could she go? The property was encircled with that fence, and it was probably electrified too. If the one goon had a gun, they almost certainly both did. The idea of willingly strolling into the manor was no better than trying to make a run for it though.

  Apparently, they grew exasperated with her, because Bruno grasped her arm to drag her forward. Annoyed by his manhandling, she dug in her heels and tried to wrench away. “Let go of me, you barbarian. I can walk.”

  The gun prodded her lower back. “Then do so, miss, before Mr. O’Mara grows too impatient.”

  The fear in the goon’s voice fed her own. Mia forced her feet to move as she walked between the two thugs. The beauty of the marble steps didn’t impress her any more than the ornate ivory columns. She was too busy dreading her meeting with the mysterious Mr. O’Mara to be impressed by the architecture of his palatial home.

  The entryway and halls passed in a blur of elegant wallpaper and gleaming marble floors her flats tapped against briskly as the goons hurried her along. When they finally reached the end of a long hallway, her heart was racing from a combination of fear and exertion, since she’d had to take two steps for their one.

  “Knock, Wallace.”

  Knowing the brunette’s name didn’t put her at ease. She clenched her hands into fists as he knocked before opening the door. Mia glared at Bruno when he herded her inside roughly.

  She was several steps into the room before she stopped walking. The hardwood floor under her feet formed a star-like pattern, and the black walls were striking. So were the black-and-white nude photographs on canvas adorning the walls. Finally, she could find no further distraction from the man seated at the desk in the center of the room.

  Swallowing thickly, Mia examined the man who had sent for her. He was a handsome devil, with thick black hair, a light tan, and green eyes the shade of sea foam. Those eyes were regarding her intently, and she abruptly recognized him. He was an occasional visitor to Lovelle’s, always with a beautiful woman in tow. Usually tall, blonde, and leggy. Everything petite Mia wasn’t. She couldn’t fathom why he had sent for her.

  He pushed back from his desk to stand, and she caught her breath at his broad-shouldered build. As he stalked closer to her with the air of a hunting panther, she finally exhaled raggedly, her spine stiffening of its own accord in reaction to the look in his eyes.

  His gaze skipped briefly to Bruno, and he frowned. “What happened to you?” His voice was smooth and deep, like polished onyx, but with a note that disconcerted her.

  “She maced me.”

  O’Mara laughed. “Did you really?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “He was chasing me. I don’t like being kidnapped.” To her dismay, he didn’t deny the allegation, or seek to reassure her that she wasn’t there under duress.

  Pointing toward the door, he told his goons, “Leave.”

  “You sure, boss?” asked Wallace.

  With a roll of his strange green eyes, he gestured them to leave again. “I think I can handle her.”

  Mia should have felt better to have the numbers more even, back to one-on-one, once the other two had departed, but she found herself even more on-edge. “Why am I here?”

  “Have a seat?” He made the offer, but there was a hint of command underneath it.

  She squared her shoulders. “No, thank you.”

  He arched a dark brow. “I’d think your feet would hurt after a night at the restaurant.”

  Mia pursed her lips. “My feet aren’t your concern. Tell me why your goons dragged me here.”

  “I’m Shane O’Mara.” He extended her hand, seeming amused when she didn’t take it. With a small shrug, he dropped it back to his side. “Very well. We’ll skip the niceties.”

  “There isn’t room for niceties when you abduct someone.” She shifted slightly, suddenly aware of the acute ache from her overworked feet. Damn him for drawing it to her attention.

  He laughed again. “Fine.” Shane walked back to his desk, propping his hip on the corner.

  After a moment of him staring at her in challenge, she finally walked over to the desk, but still refused to sit. “What do you want from me?”

  “You’re aware of your father’s…profession?”

  Mia sighed deeply. “I know he’s the Avtoritet under the Pakhan of the Varnakov bratva, which makes him about number-three in their hierarchy, but I don’t know specifics. If you’ve brought me here to gain some kind of advantage, or obtain information, you’re out of luck. I want nothing to do with him or the russkaya mafiya.”

  “Hmm.” Shane gestured to a wet bar. “Drink?”

  She shook her head. As the silence lengthened, she asked, “What is your profession, Mr. O’Mara?”

  “Shane will do.” He made her wait as he walked to the wet bar to pour a glass of something amber. “Your father and I are in the same line of work, but for different companies, I guess you could say.”

  She didn’t bother to hide her disdain. “You’re a violent thug too?”

  He took a sip of his drink, seeming unbothered by her appraisal. “I wouldn’t call myself a thug, honey. That denotes a different lifestyle from mine.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Do you really think you’re any different from the typical gun-toting, drug-selling pimp in the gutter?”

  His lips tightened. “I have something most of them would kill for.”

  “What?” When would this posturing end, so she could go home? Her cat needed to be fed, and she was losing the precious opportunity to have the apartment all to herself.

  “Power. I can have anything I want.”

  “Good for you.” She gritted her teeth. “Now, tell me why the hell I’m here.”

  He finished his drink, but didn’t pour another one as he returned to his perch against the desk, though nearer to her this time. “That requires a bit of background explanation. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to sit?”

  She shook her head, aware of strands of dark hair spilling from her knot and falling around her shoulders in an irritating fashion. “Just get this over with so I can go home.”

  “Indeed.” His expression sharpened. “What do you know of the mafia, Mia?”

  “As little as possible.” When she had first realized exactly what her father did, Mia had made a deliberate choice to avoid it at all costs. Her stepmother had helped shield her the best she could, and she had remained mostly ignorant toward the evil
her father committed.

  “There are varying groups who oversee criminal activity in our fair city, but the three most powerful are the Irish, Italians, and Russians.” He lifted a brow. “The Russians were a bit late to the party, but they’ve debuted with a splash.”

  She shrugged. “Why should I care?”

  He ignored the question. “As you can imagine, there was a great deal of violence as each group protected its territory and sought to expand. About ten years ago, things got particularly violent. Even the feds in our pockets couldn’t turn a blind eye, so the heads of each family decided a truce was in order.”

  She shifted again, resisting the urge to sit down in the comfy-looking chair just a few feet to her left. Ten years ago was about the time her father had started dating her stepmother, and she wondered if it was a coincidence that a Russian Avtoritet had married the daughter of an Italian don.

  “They each carved out their territories and divvied up various lucrative markets.”

  She didn’t really want to know the answer, but felt compelled to ask, “What does my father oversee?”

  “Drugs. Particularly heroin, which is making a comeback among yuppies.”

  She shuddered, hating the idea of her father putting drugs onto the streets, especially since that same poison had stolen her mother’s life. “And your group?”

  He smiled, and it was a chilling sight. “The Irish have always had a special affinity with weapons, honey. That’s our main business.”

  She scowled. “You’re the one to thank for that thirteen-year-old who murdered the convenience store clerk last week?”

  He blinked. “Not personally, but it’s possible he got the weapon from one of our distributors.” That fact didn’t seem to bother him.

  “And the Italians?”

  “Sex trade, forgery, money laundering…they’re a multitasking sort.” He smiled slightly, and she refused to acknowledge how devastatingly handsome that made him. “Our little experiment is working quite well. Other branches of our families are starting to emulate our model of cooperation.”

  “Isn’t that terrific?” She glanced pointedly at her watch. “You still haven’t told me why I’m here.” If he thought she could be some kind of leverage with her father, he was mistaken. Vadim cared as little for her as she did for him.