Perfect Monster: A Dark Mafia Romance

by B. B. Hamel

  “Park it nearby. Bring it when I’m done.”

  “Yes, boss.” The man looked at me as I took off my helmet and shook my hair out.

  Roman stared too.

  “What?”

  He nodded to the big guy. “Give the helmet to Igor.”

  I handed it over. Igor barely made eye contact. He was all neck and head and torso.

  I followed Roman into the building. It was a normal office skyscraper, or at least it seemed normal. I didn’t know much about New York real estate and had no clue if this place was nice. I had no clue if I was dressed appropriately or not in a pair of black slacks and a Gucci blouse with a bow at the throat, though Roman didn’t seem particularly dressed up either—dark designer jeans, black Henley shirt with the top two buttons undone.

  He didn’t speak as we rode the elevator to the penultimate floor and stepped out into a hushed, carpeted waiting room. The sign on the wall read Berkman, Briar, and Bellsworth and the woman behind the front desk smiled blandly.

  “They’re waiting for you inside, Mr. Briar.”

  “Thank you, Jane.” Roman strode past her.

  “Mr. Briar?”

  “One of my many names.”

  “I didn’t realize you had more than one.”

  “You don’t know me well yet.”

  “Guess we’ll have to solve that, since I’m your wife and all.”

  “We’ll see.”

  I rolled my eyes. He liked being all mysterious and whatever.

  We reached a conference room halfway down the hall and he opened the door. I recognized some of the men from the party sitting around the table. The air was heavy with silence and tension, and two distinct camps were set up on either side of the room.

  The Russians were at the far end. Big Slavic-looking guys with light eyes and pale skin and bland, dark clothes. The Italians were at the opposite end, dark hair and dark skin with fancy business suits and scowls.

  It was like a schoolyard fight was about to break out, except these men were all armed to the teeth.

  “Gentlemen,” Roman said as we took his place at the head of the table. I took a seat toward the back wall and folded my hands in my lap, doing my best to disappear, but I noticed more than a few of men stared in my direction.

  “I’m happy you showed, Roman,” one of the Italians said. He looked like a math teacher at a private college, though his clothes hung off him like stacks of fresh hundred-dollar bills.

  Roman only nodded at him. “And I’m glad you’re here as well, Giatno, though I’ll admit that I had my doubts.”

  “Little Italian man fears the big boss.” The Russian across from Giatno sneered at him.

  “Enough, Kir,” Roman warned.

  “Why did you bring us all together like this?” Giatno demanded. “It was bad enough being in the same room as these brutish thugs during that ill-fated party.”

  “You’re meant to be allies and you can’t even be in the same room together. I hope you both understand how much that displeases me.”

  A ripple ran through the room. It was hard to miss. The tension ratcheted up, like making Roman unhappy was a dangerous thing to do.

  Kir spoke first. “It is nothing against you, Roman. Only that I do not trust the Italians, not since the young Manzi murdered that girl.”

  “It was a damn accident,” Giatno said, pounding his hands on the table.

  “Enough.” Roman rubbed his face. “I called you both here for a purpose. Now be quiet and listen.”

  I watched the two gang leaders go silent. I almost couldn’t believe it—Roman dominated the room simply by standing before them and speaking. These were hardened men, the kind of criminals used to handling disrespect swiftly and violently, and yet Roman spoke to them like they were both children.

  I began to understand him, at least a little bit. Any man that could wield this kind of control and power was incredibly dangerous.

  Incredibly terrifying.

  “I don’t want to linger here longer than necessary. You will both listen to my orders and accept them. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Roman,” Kir said and looked at Giatno. “Though I doubt this one’s ability to be loyal.”

  “I’m loyal, you Russian son of a—“

  “Giatno. Speak out of turn again and I will kill two of your men.” Silence fell heavily. “Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Roman.” Giatno glowered, but lowered his chin.

  “Kir, you will send twenty men to Atlanta. Push back the MacKenna there, or at least make their business dealings as difficult as possible. Giatno, you will send twenty men to Chicago and do the same. I cannot have them taking more territory.”

  “It will be done,” Kir said sharply.

  Giatno leaned back and crossed his arms. “You know it will be difficult for me. I still have half of my crew out searching for Manzi. The boy’s been missing ever since Dia was killed.”

  “You mean, ever since your idiot son shot her in the head.” Roman tared down at Giatno.

  Anger flashed in Giatno’s eyes, but he didn’t dispute it.

  “As always, I’ve solved your problem. I spoke with Chale Ramos, and he’s willing to overlook Dia so long as is lieutenant is compensated, and his family is given territory for their trouble. Dia was going to be an important tool for them in the future, and your disgusting little offspring took that from them.”

  “Dia brought this on herself. She’s been fucking half the MacKenna family for months. That slut—“

  “Erick.” Roman snapped his fingers.

  The door opened. Erick walked inside. I didn’t even now he was in the building.

  Roman pointed at one of the Italians at random. “Kill him.”

  “Roman.” Giatno stood up. The marked man stared around him with wild eyes. “You can’t do this. I told you—“

  Erick walked forward, drew a knife from a sheath at his hip, grabbed the Italian man by the hair, yanked back his head, and cut his throat ear to ear. Blood bubbled up, thick and red, and Erick danced back to avoid getting too much of it all over his clothes.

  Chaos broke out. The Italian man choked and gagged and fell forward onto the desk. The man at either side of him leapt to their feet , drawing guns. The Russians stood, drawing their own weapons, shouting at the Italians to put their weapons away, who shouted back the same thing, and Roman stood at the head of the table and stared at Giatno, who was ashen-faced and completely immobile, like he was frozen in fear.

  “Put down the guns.” Roman’s voice wasn’t any louder, but it managed to cut through the chaos. Kir and his people reacted first, reluctantly standing down. The Italians reacted next, after a nod from Giatno.

  The dead Italian man lay in a pool of his own blood, unmoving.

  Erick wiped his knife on his shirt and slipped it back into the sheath.

  “I said two would die. I took one. Do I have to take another?”

  “No, Roman.” Giatno sounded chastened, quiet.

  “You will give Chale the territory. You will pay him the money. And you will bring Manzi to the meeting to apologize in person.”

  Giatno’s jaw flex, but he nodded. “It will be done.”

  “Good. Twenty men to Chicago. Understood?”

  “Yes, Roman.”

  “Get that fucking body out of here. Erick will help clean up the mess.” Roman nodded to Erick, who grinned back.

  “Okay boys, let’s get going. This isn’t the first corpse we’ve disposed of in here, so I’ve got a system. You and you, big lads, grab his legs, I’ll get the arms since I’m already covered in blood.”

  I pulled my knees up to my chest and stared as the Italians filed out of the room, carrying their fallen comrade like a stack of firewood. Giatno hesitated at the door and looked back at Roman with pure loathing in his eyes, and Roman only looked back until Giatno turned and left.

  Kir broke the silence after a moment. “You should’ve taken the second one.”

  Roman didn’t l
ook at him. “Get out, Kir. You know what to do.”

  Kir grunted, stood, and the Russians filed out behind him.

  Roman sat back heavily into his chair. I stayed quiet, motionless, unmoving, like a mouse hiding from a starving cat.

  The conference room table was covered in blood and the carpeted was soaked with it.

  Everything happened to fast. Roman didn’t hesitate—he made a throat, Giatno didn’t believe him, and so Roman followed through. It was nightmarish and terrible how easily Erick was able to slice through the veins on that Italian man’s throat, and how simply Roman was able to order a life snuffed out.

  I was in a tiger’s den. He was no house cat.

  His claws killed.

  18

  Roman

  What a fucking waste.

  Needless death. Unnecessary. If only Giatno could shut his mouth and take orders—

  Well, he wouldn’t be Giatno then.

  There was a reason so few Oligarchs were interested in working with him.

  The bastard was unpredictable and stubborn.

  Clever, but difficult.

  And now I had to have the conference room cleaned.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that,” I said without turning around. “I didn’t think things would go so far.” My shoulders slumped forward. I felt tired and heavy. Normally, I was a fountain of energy, but for some reason watching that man die only sucked me dry. I didn’t even know the poor bastard’s name. “I need Giatno, you understand. He must be made to obey, and the only thing a man like that understands is death and violence. If there was another way, I would’ve taken it.”

  I wasn’t sure that was true, but I had to keep telling myself it was.

  “What happens now?” she asked softly. “Giatno’s going to be a problem for you, isn’t he?”

  I slowly turned to face her, eyebrows raised. She gazed back, her face pale, her lips pulled back to show that adorable gap. Her hands shook, but she didn’t look away.

  Strong girl. Very strong girl.

  Or maybe she was getting used to seeing people die.

  “That’s a good question. You realized that already, didn’t you?”

  “It’s obvious. He doesn’t like being pushed around. I’m not really sure why he’s even a part of this to begin with.”

  “His family’s been struggling lately. He needs my money more than most do and I’m happy to give him funding so long as he does what I want. Unfortunately, life isn’t so simple.”

  “He’s going to fight back.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “The way he looked at you. Like he was resigned to something.”

  I sighed and nodded slowly. “I thought the same thing. I’m glad you saw it too.”

  “Why are you doing all this?” Her voice was barely a whisper. The tremor there was hard to miss though.

  “Revenge.” I stared into those pretty eyes. “I told you already.”

  “For your father. What happened to him? He was killed at a wedding?”

  I stood up. I couldn’t stay sitting. The whole damn plan seemed shallow and half-baked now, and all I wanted to do was break something—or bent Cassie over the table and spank her red and raw.

  “It happened at my cousin’s wedding three years ago. All the heads of the families were there, from the Japanese to the Australians. Everyone except for Oisin, but there were rumors he was in bad health, so I accept the two lieutenants he sent in his place. They were nice enough men, well dressed, quiet, respectful. I didn’t think much of it.”

  I paced around the table, eyes staring at the thick pool of blood on the table as it swirled and dripped off the edge like black rain.

  “They made their move at the end of the night. We were outside in a large tent at the edge of a big farm property in upstate New York, a gorgeous wedding, perfect night. The first killer plunged a knife into my father’s heart and said, ‘This is from Oisin to you, pig.’ Then the other shot my father in the face. They ran off into the night before anyone could react. I had our men scour the area for hours but didn’t find any trace of them.”

  I stopped at the edge of the stained carpet. I stared down, remembering my father’s mangled body. I smiled when I saw the shocked grimace on his cold, lifeless corpse.

  I hated him. Despised him. But nobody came after the Lenkov family and survived, not if we wanted to remain in control.

  Father taught me that.

  “We found the knife man in a crack house in Baltimore. He was deep into a heroin binge and wasn’t likely to come back out anytime soon. I tried to get information out of him, but detox made that impossible. So I killed him. The gunman was harder to find, but after six months he turned up in Tokyo. The Yakuza held him for me until I could get out there in person and kill him nice and slow.”

  I looked at Cassie and saw the fear in her eyes. Now she understood the sort of man I was.

  Monster, beast.

  “They’re not enough. Oisin himself has to pay the price, but he hasn’t been seen in public since that night three years ago.”

  “That’s where I come in.” Her lips hung open. So full, so plump. Delicious, undeniable.

  My pretty wife.

  “That’s right. You’re the bait. I’m not sure if you realize this or not, but your father’s been very active in the MacKenna family in the last couple of years, and I believe he’s important enough to get me a meeting. One meeting is all I need.”

  “You keep saying that you think my father cares about me, but you’re wrong.”

  “We’ll see.” I gestured at the blood. “The Italians and the Russians, they were the original idea. I wanted to use them to burn the MacKenna family to the ground. Kill them all, one by one, until Oisin was the only man left standing. But you’re a much simpler solution.”

  She closed her eyes. “I think I want to go home now.”

  I stepped through the blood. I left red footprints as I approached her.

  “Your home is my home now. You know that, right?”

  “I know.” She shook her head. “I still want to go.”

  “Then we’ll go, but not to the bunker. I have more business in the city.”

  “Where then?”

  “I told you I have an apartment overlooking Central Park. You’ll stay there tonight.”

  She nodded dully, like she wasn’t processing much. Most likely in shock.

  “Whatever you want.”

  In other circumstances, those three words would thrill me.

  Instead, I only reached out a hand. She took it and stood. I led her out into the hall and back down the elevator.

  That was enough killing for one night.

  19

  Cassie

  The apartment was ringed with full-length windows. I stood and stared out at the strange lake of green in the center of an urban metropolis of concrete and steel. The contrast was striking, and I ran my fingers down the glass, almost as if I could reach out and touch the trees and feel their rough veins and the wind through my hair.

  Instead, I heard that dying man’s final gags as he choked on his own blood.

  How many people had I watched die now? Three?

  Too many.

  But that was life around Roman. I knew it, even if I wanted to pretend like it wasn’t true.

  He disappeared somewhere into his apartment the moment we stepped inside. The place was lavishly furnished and surprisingly cozy, with thick rugs and a big white couch around a television and a fireplace. The kitchen gleamed a pristine steel and granite, and the walls were covered in colorful paintings, all of them in abstract shapes and splashes of paint.

  His Manhattan apartment cost millions of dollars, with millions more in decoration. And it wasn’t even his main home.

  More like a hotel room. A place to sleep.

  What was I doing here, embroiled in this mess? And what did I agree to?

  He was going to kill Oisin MacKenna. I had vague memories of Oisin and the rest of the Ma
cKenna family, though Dad had worked to keep me away from them as much as possible. I didn’t know why—maybe so I’d remain safe and pure.

  So I could be useful to him later. A good bargaining chip. A piece of property to be bought and sold.

  Like Dia, poor Dia.

  I wondered if me and her were so different.

  We could’ve been friends if she weren’t dead.

  A cork popped behind me. I jumped and looked over my shoulder. Roman poured two glasses and walked toward me. White wine caught the line and sparkled.

  I accepted the drink and took a long sip. Slightly sweet.

  “What do you think?” He stood next to me, gazing outside. The sun was down and darkness wreathed the world like that blood gushing from the dying Italian man’s throat.

  “It’s pretty.”

  “The view’s nice. I don’t spend much time here though. Not as secure as the bunker.”

  “We’re safe, aren’t we? Giatno might try something.”

  “He won’t make a move yet, not until he’s sure. I wouldn’t worry about him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I already have a plan for how I’ll take care of that problem.” He put his glass down on a side table, took my glass, and placed it next to his.

  I chewed on my lip hard. I bit down and savored the pain.

  It kept me from thinking of that dying man again.

  “You’re scared of me now.”

  It was a statement, not a question. He could read me so easily.

  “I’m afraid of myself.”

  He moved closer. I stayed where I was. I didn’t have the energy to fight him tonight.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Watching that man die didn’t hurt me like the others did. I thought it would always feel so awful, but this time it was only… I don’t know. It wasn’t that bad.”

  He stood behind me, his palms on my shoulders, and his lips grazed my neck. “You’re afraid you’re becoming more like me.”