Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance

by Watson, Meg

  “Then who?”

  “I think you already know the answer to this question,” Gregor nods. “If not us, then who? Probably her own people, Roman. That is the most likely.”

  “Her father wouldn't do that. He wouldn't even hire associates, only made men. Something else happened.”

  Gregor slides his eyes toward Leon. Leon pushes his lips out and shrugs, looking down in a way that says that he agrees but doesn't want to argue.

  “I'll ask around again. Maybe someone has heard something new,” Leon concedes.

  I nod, nudging Roman with my elbow. That is enough of this. We’re not getting anywhere except making Roman look weak, too attached to his woman. They’ll laugh at him like he’s a lovesick puppy.

  “Thank you so much for your time, Pakhan,” I say politely. Roman grunts his assent. I guess it's good enough.

  Then the men all return to their domino tiles. The meeting is over.

  “That was pointless,” Roman growls as we walk away.

  “Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't,” I say. “But you have to admit, we’re running out of possibilities here. Her father is still the most obvious —”

  “No.”

  Fine. I'm not arguing this with him again.

  “At least you’ve got work to do now,” I say, referring to the job that Vlad just gave him. That should take his mind off everything, if only for a couple of hours. Getting back on the saddle, as they say.

  “There's always work to be done.”

  I can't help rolling my eyes, but as we get back to Marie, I'm not entirely sure I like what I see here. Olga has a plate of food and a big glass of vodka and Marie looks slightly tilted to the side, like a ship that's thinking about capsizing.

  “What the fuck,” Roman says as he sees it at the same time.

  “Well, maybe she can hold her vodka?”

  “Obviously.”

  “Roman!” Olga hollers as we get close. She flings herself off the bench and throws her arms out, coming toward us at full steam. I suppress a chuckle as I feel Roman cringing beside me.

  “This is an excellent time for a walk!” I say to Marie. She puts her eyes up toward me slowly, already bleary and blinking in the bright sun. Oh geez.

  “I don't want to walk,” she mumbles.

  “Time for a piggyback ride?”

  “Fine,” she sighs. “I’ll walk.”

  Roman shoots me a look as I tug Marie to standing with one hand under her elbow. We’re already heading toward the music tent by the time Roman manages to extricate himself from Olga’s hug. But when I glance over my shoulder, he's sitting down next to her. Probably distracted by the plate of food. Come to think of it, I should have gotten some too.

  “So? How do you like vodka?”

  “Shut up, Alek.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. I love the way she is so damn snarky all the time. Little does she know, any other woman in a five mile radius would probably show a bit more respect. They probably know who I am, but this little doll doesn't even have a clue. I love that.

  “Let’s dance,” I suggest.

  “No way. I'm not dancing.”

  I put my mouth close to her ear. I don't do this very often, because being close to her is actually like torture for me. I want to hold back, I really do, but if Roman doesn't start training her very soon, I'm going to do it. And I'm going to do it my way. And at this point, I'm not sure I can be very nice about it.

  “You'll do as I say, Marie,” I whisper just loud enough that she can hear me.

  She opens her mouth to respond, but then closes it. It's hot out here, too hot to argue. And she's a little bit drunk, I can tell.

  So when I get her to the dance floor, she's just a ragdoll in my hands. I try to hold her at a distance that doesn't look too vulgar to the other people. After all, at least a few of them know that she was just married off to Roman a couple weeks ago, and that's all they know. That's all they'll ever know. Her snappy comment to Aunt Millie that I was gay was actually sort of genius, in a way. We can hold up that act forever if we need to — Roman’s gay brother. What do I care if people have opinions? I want what I want. The three of us, whole and complete.

  But what I really want to do now is hold this little doll in my arms. Very tightly.

  “Feeling all right?”

  “What do you care?” she shoots back, but she drops her forehead against my chest. Poor thing. We should probably drink a lot more, just to get her stamina up.

  “Oh, malitchka,” I sigh. I drag my nose just along her hairline, inhaling. She smells like sun, and sunblock, and a little bit like sweat. I bet she tastes delicious right now. “Of course I care.”

  It's a pop song, like a house music song, so we can bounce up and down without attracting too much attention. There is one of everybody on the dance floor, ages ranging from three to about a hundred seventy. Russians love music. We love to dance.

  “Is this… Taylor Swift?” she says suddenly, squinting up at me.

  “Yeah, it's the Russian version,” I explain.

  “Is that legal?”

  “You ask too many questions.”

  She scowls prettily. “No, seriously, is it?”

  “No idea. But there's a whole radio station of Russian covers right here in Chicago. 99.9, did you notice?”

  “No, I didn’t notice. Why would I notice that?”

  “Ah, Princess, you have so much to learn.”

  As we are turning a slow circle, I hear a sound over my shoulder. Not sure what it is exactly but then what I'm seeing confirms it. Roman and Olga are at the edge of the tent, standing there with a couple more cousins named Taylor and Taylor. Two Taylor's. And Roman is laughing. Head tipped back, throat flushed. He's laughing.

  And then I guess I'm laughing too, because Marie pulls her head back and looks at me. Then she looks around the room, confused until she sees Roman and the cousins.

  “You really love him, don't you?” she says softly.

  “What kind of question is that? Of course I love him. He's my brother.”

  I try to shrug it off, but she's looking at me. Really looking at me, and then looking at him. Really looking, and I hear her take a deep breath and sigh. She almost sounds happy. Almost.

  What the hell did Olga tell her?

  CHAPTER 17

  ROMAN

  It really does feel good to get back to work. I turn the Jeep off in the parking space and look out the front window until I spot the guy that Leon told me about. Clever little rat. Not paying the brigadier what is owed. Not doing what he is obligated to do.

  I'm not supposed to kill him, just change his mind. Just show a little influence, remind him who's really boss.

  That's what it takes sometimes. People think that there's no oversight, that there's no one paying attention to what they do. They don't know that we always see. There's always somebody paying attention. Even the most free guy in the world has somebody with their nose in his business, sniffing out every secret that he has got. Everybody's got one of those.

  This guy, Balki, is supposed to be fencing jewelry. Simple fence operation. Some guys on the North Shore routinely shake out the family jewels, and those are supposed to come down here and get reset, melted down, reshaped, generally turned into something else. And then fenced out. The important pieces might be sold at public auction. There's enough jewelry that has questionable origins around the Russians and the Jews that mysterious things turn up for auction and there aren't a lot of people wanting to say where they came from. It’s supposed to be an easy operation.

  But Balki decided he was going to keep some of the sweet pieces for himself. He didn't think anybody would notice. Like, he seems to think nobody saw the house that he bought in Kenilworth, that giant limestone monstrosity with the swimming pool he can't use. Nobody noticed the hookers he keeps taking to dinner. Yeah, right. We’re all stupid, Balki.

  The L train rumbles over my head, shaking the girders and making the street dark for just a moment as
Balki twists the pole that opens the green awning in front of his shop. He's about sixty. I'm going to have to be gentle.

  But I really don't want to be gentle, not at all. I've got such a backup of frustration in my balls right now that I feel like my nuts are going to explode. Just thinking about all the ways that I can convince Balki to change his mind is giving me a hard on like crazy. He's going to think that I'm here to fuck him.

  Balki tightens the awning and heads back inside. I'm out of the Jeep, pressing the key fob to lock it behind me. It chirps at me. I notice I’ve got a bit of a bounce in my step. I'm excited.

  But he seems to know right away what I'm there for. When the door jangles open and then closes behind me, I snap the deadbolt and Balki looks at me slowly, like he was expecting me. His face goes gray. He knew this was coming, see. He knew. He had to know.

  “Who sent you?” he says, cutting right to the chase.

  “Doesn't matter.”

  “Okay, I think this is a big misunderstanding. You know, I heard that some people were looking at me… Looking at my stuff… And I gotta tell you right now, everything is totally on board. Okay? So you just tell Leon or Arnie or whoever… I'm doing right by them! I'm doing right by everybody!”

  I just start walking into the middle of the room. He's got his hands up already, but I don't need that. There are cameras in the corner so I’m going to take this slow. I wasn't told to do any property damage, so I just pull a can of spray paint out of my back pocket and hold up a finger to tell him to shut the fuck up.

  A couple cans of spray paint can really do a world of good if you know how to use them right. In this case, I'm just blacking out the lenses on these cameras. I don't know if they have sound, but if they do he'll have something to remember me by, I guess.

  “Come on, Roman… It is Roman, right? I heard you were here. I knew you were here. Come on… I'm good for it, I swear!”

  He's already pissed his pants, I can smell it. I’m trying not to be angry that this entire experience could be disappointing. If it goes too fast, it won’t be right. I wish he would just shut up.

  “You know Corwin always had it in for me… He lies… There's a whole safe in the back. You want to see it? You should see it! Let me show you, Roman. There’s gotta be something in there you would like… Maybe your new wife, huh? You don't even know! Let's make this go away!”

  Instantly, I'm enraged that he thinks that he can bribe his way out of this. Sniveling fucking rat. I slam my fist down on top of one of the glass cases and it shatters. Instantly, an alarm begins to howl. Balki’s eyes go wide and his hands go up.

  Alarm? A fucking alarm? Why didn’t I think of that?

  As I reach for the scruff of his neck to keep him from darting into the back room, the door opens anyway and a guy comes out, just some guy. He is holding a piece on me, but doesn’t look entirely convinced. The Makarov jerks in his hand as his arms shake. He’s shit himself too, I can smell that. What the fuck, people.

  “Gimme that,” I tell him. That is his only warning.

  “Marco, no!” Balki shouts.

  I hold out my hand so Marco can hand me the fucking gun. He's going to shoot me? Are you fucking kidding me?

  And then he does. The gun twitches in his sweaty hand and I hear it go off, pop. Something flies by me, maybe hits me, but I don't really notice. Balki is chattering like a monkey even though I’ve got him by the scruff of the neck. I shake him once, hard, until he's quiet. Then I drop him to the floor, reaching out in one effortless motion to Marco to snatch that piece of metal out of his hand. And I don't want to end him, I really don't. For a second I think maybe I don't have to. Maybe there's something else that could be done. What would Marie say—

  Oh my God, what am I thinking?

  Pop, pop. That's it. You’re done. You can’t drop me, I'm the invisible man.

  Marco goes over, folds at the waist and lands on his forehead first before his ass hits the ground with sort of a squishy noise. Christ, that's disgusting.

  Balki starts mumbling, covering his ears because the alarm is still howling like a motherfucker. He rocks back and forth.

  There, I wasn't supposed to kill Balki, and I didn't. I should get a fucking medal. Goddamnit why don’t you people just do what you’re supposed to do?

  I’m thumbing my phone before I get back to the Jeep.

  “All done?”

  “There was a complication.”

  “Isn’t there always?”

  “Yeah, well…”

  “Okay, I'll let Leon know to make arrangements for Balki.”

  “No, not Balki. Somebody Marco. Balki is fine. Pissed himself and that's about it. And I broke some stuff.”

  Alek pauses for a second. “Marco… Marco who?”

  “I dunno. Old guy. Fat. One eye.”

  “Not Marco Barakov?”

  “The fuck do I know? All he said was Marco. Old country guy, came out with a piece and he shot me and… Fuck, he shot me.”

  Sighing, I look down at the spreading red-black stain on my new jeans. Goddamnit. I just got these. And from the squelchy sound underneath, I'm leaving a great puddle in the driver seat too.

  Just fucking great.

  “Holy shit, Roman, that was Marco Barakov. The Biggie.”

  “Oh...” I say as it all comes back to me. “He’s supposed to be dead.”

  “Yeah, well…”

  I shake my head, wanting to laugh. I may get a medal for this after all. Marco was supposed to be out of commission maybe ten years ago. I'd always heard that it was possible that he had made it out of Armenia, but that was just rumors. Looks like the rumors were true after all.

  “I guess I found Balki’s other fence.”

  “Holy shit, did you ever,” Alek says. “And he's... okay? He's done?”

  “Done is done,” I confirm.

  Clenching fiercely, my nuts nearly explode. There's been a kill on sight order on Marco's head for the last decade, just in case he really was still alive. Somebody up there must like me, because he couldn’t have been easier if he’d been giftwrapped.

  Everybody is going to think I knew, though I had no idea. He didn't look the same. He lost his eye somewhere along the way and gained about a hundred fifty pounds or something. Which means Balki has been ignoring a direct order all this time. Sounds like I’m going to have to go have another conversation with him.

  But not today. Fuck. My cock is so hard I’m afraid it's going to blow up.

  “How far are you?”

  I put the car in a Park and yank the emergency brake. “Pulling up now.”

  I get to the front steps to the Greystone and into the foyer before Alek sees me. He looks me all up and down, his eyes settling on the bullet hole in my jeans.

  “Is that it?”

  I test my weight on my leg, and it is not a big deal. He just winged me, just right through the muscle and out the other side. I'll be fine.

  “Yeah, you want to get me to the bathroom?”

  Alek rolls his eyes at me. “Oh my God, you're such a pussy!”

  “Well, he did shoot me.”

  “Yeah, but not very much! I mean look —”

  And then she screams. Marie stumbles in from the kitchen with her hands out, her eyes wide and white all around.

  CHAPTER 18

  MARIE

  And look, here's my husband, bleeding all over my foyer!

  He’s standing mostly on one leg with the puddle spreading slowly from beneath his left heel. When he sees me, his mouth opens like he's trying to make excuses for the mess he is making. It is a huge fucking mess.

  “In the bathroom, now! Right now!”

  Alek takes him under one shoulder, rolling his eyes like Roman just stubbed his toe or something. He gets into the bathroom of the top of the stairs while I tried to find as much gauze and bandages as humanly possible.

  “Get his pants off!”

  “Well, since you asked so nice…”

  But he does it anyway.
Roman leans back on the counter as Alek peels the bloodsoaked denim from his body. I grab a handful of gauze and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and start trying to see what I can see.

  “Grit your teeth or something. This is going to hurt,” I explain.

  “It doesn't hurt,” he growls.

  Whatever. If he's going to be like that about it, then fine. I just flip the cap off of the hydrogen peroxide and start dumping it everywhere. When he arches his back and flexes his stomach muscles, I can't help but smirk to myself a little bit.

  “Is it okay? Did it go through?” Alek asks in a voice that's probably more concerned than he wants me to think he is.

  I dab gingerly at the little hole in the front of his leg and the bigger hole in the back. Looks like it traveled through just a couple inches of skin, and the sensation of relief is overwhelming. I’m not sure if I want to kiss him or throw up on him.

  “Yeah, right through,” I assure him.

  “See?” Roman challenges.

  “Yeah, yeah. I do see, and you are a pussy,” Alek says.

  “Seriously, guys, both of you just shut the fuck up.”

  The thick, sticky blood keeps burbling up, but if I press on the wound it seems to be staunching remarkably quickly. I hold pressure on it for about a minute and then gently peek underneath to see if it's still going to bubble up like a coffee percolator or something. But nothing. Apparently Russians have tar for blood.

  Satisfied, I get a couple of fresh gauze squares and a bandage. I’m pretty sure I can wrap this up now. But as I nudge his knees apart to stand in between, I see something else. That looks like… Well I'm not entirely sure what that is?

  I look up at him and he gives me sort of a mildly apologetic shrug. Then his eyes start to burn as he stares at me intently, maybe watching what I'm going to do.

  Slowly, I dare myself to look at it again. It's unmistakable. All he’s got on are cotton knit jockey shorts and beneath that... a swelling, thick hard on. Amazing.