Gangsters with Guns Episode #3

by D. B. Shuster

  “You need to move on,” Slim said with the calmness of someone who expected to be obeyed.

  “We have a claim,” Dato said.

  “None here,” Slim said. “Inna Koslovsky is under the Pakhan’s protection.”

  Dato pointed with his knife at Vlad. “Then we’ll take him. He was there that night. He’ll do in her place.”

  Was that why Slim had brought him over here? Was he now to be traded? He should have known better than to expect any help from Ivan.

  “No,” Slim said before Vlad could act on the anger and betrayal burning through his soul. “He is Ivan’s son.”

  “I see,” Dato said with a deferential nod in Vlad’s direction. He rolled up his window, and the three cars drove away.

  “What the hell was that about?” Vlad demanded. He couldn’t imagine his father getting sentimental over the son he had never acknowledged but had tried to kill on multiple occasions.

  “I told you already. Inna’s under our protection. They can’t touch her.”

  “Not that. The ‘son’ bullshit. We both know Ivan is never going to acknowledge any family tie.”

  “Not the family one. No,” Slim agreed. “The older vory have no families, and Ivan holds to the old ways.” He paused as if his words explained everything. When Vlad didn’t react, Slim added, “He plans to name you Son in the bratva.”

  “Bullshit.” Vlad couldn’t imagine his father promoting him to his right hand, giving him control over various crews. “He tried to have me killed last night.”

  Slim shrugged. “You survived.”

  “So he’s promoting me?” Ivan dangled what Vlad most wanted. His way would be clear. Having such access, so much power, would be a momentous victory. This had to be a cruel lie.

  “No,” Slim said. “You have to prove your loyalty and kill a man in cold blood first.”

  “I have to kill a man in cold blood,” Vlad repeated, incredulous.

  “How else will we know for sure that you’re not undercover?”

  Right. Because a federal agent couldn’t kill someone in cold blood, especially not if he planned to bring anyone to justice.

  Ivan was calling his bluff.

  He didn’t see a simple solution to this new predicament, no obvious move on the chessboard.

  “I choose who and when,” Vlad said finally, as if he were accepting the challenge and taking charge.

  There was no way he could pass this test, though. He’d already broken a lot of rules and was about to break a few more, but not this one. He wasn’t a stone-cold killer like his father. He wasn’t prone to senseless violence.

  He turned on his heel and headed toward the door of the apartment building, where Ivan’s men stood watching him.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To see my woman,” Vlad said, knowing he sounded exactly like Ivan, down to the growl in his voice.

  Around him, Ivan’s men chuckled. He flipped them the bird, giving them the same gesture Ivan would. He’d leave them remembering he was truly Ivan’s son in all the ways that mattered.

  He only wondered how long he could pretend to be the beast before he actually became one.

  MAYA

  DATO PRESSED MAYA’S face into his lap. His erection pressed against her cheek. He’d moved his knife away when he’d opened the window, but the threat was ever present, a warning not to call attention or cry out for help.

  She listened intently to the conversation. Inna was under the mafia’s protection. Why wasn’t Maya?

  When the conversation ended and the car began moving again, Dato let her sit up. “How do you know I’m not under their protection, too?”

  “I don’t. But then, they don’t know I have you.” His eyes glittered with menace. He squeezed her thigh hard enough to bruise. “Don’t ask. Don’t tell.”

  She heard the driver chuckle at Dato’s pathetic witticism. None of this was funny. Not in the least.

  He said something to the driver and then pulled out his cell phone. She didn’t understand the language, but she understood the tone. He was giving his men orders.

  They turned onto the ramp for the Belt Parkway going east, away from Brooklyn. Where was he taking her? The traffic was light, just a few cars out. She looked out the window behind them, but the other cars in their procession were nowhere to be seen.

  The driver stayed in the right lane and let other cars pass, driving slowly, most likely to avoid unwanted attention from the police.

  “I do wonder, Mrs. Koslovsky, what you were doing alone at the pharmacist’s house with a backpack of money. Care to tell me?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “I was hoping you’d say that. I’ll enjoy uncovering all of your secrets.” He leaned down and slid his knife from his boot. Before she could react, he sliced her leather jacket with a clean cut from collar to waist. The two sides fell away. He leaned in close and caressed the flat of his knife over her shirt. “I’ll start with your clothes. Then your skin.”

  She pressed her lips together, determined not to feed his sadistic enjoyment by showing him how much he scared her.

  He flicked his knife, cut open her shirt, and then laid his knife against her bare skin. He meant to carve her up. Slowly. She couldn’t hold back her terrified whimper.

  “That’s right. Scream for me.”

  The car put on an unexpected burst of acceleration. She darted a swift glance at the driver. He was slumped over the wheel. Dead?

  The car listed to the left, cutting across the lane. Another driver bore down on the horn as he swerved around them to pass on the right. They bumped against the safety barrier dividing the highway.

  The impact bounced her against her seatbelt. Dato’s knife bit into the tender skin above her breast. She yelped at the pain.

  “Later,” Dato promised her. Moving quickly, he sliced his own seatbelt and levered himself to climb into the front.

  The driver fell across the seat, pulling the wheel with him. The car careened across the lanes. As Dato reached for the wheel, breaks screeched. A car in the right lane plowed into them.

  There was a thundering impact. The crunch of metal. Maya screamed. Her seatbelt jerked. An airbag punched her back into her seat and into silence.

  There was a second collision as the car barreled into the barrier at the right side of the road. The wheels spun, but the barrier held fast. Her nose filled with the pungent smell of burning rubber.

  She undid her seatbelt. She ached where the airbag had hit her. Blood dripped from the cut Dato had made in her skin. Otherwise, miraculously, she was unharmed.

  Dato’s side of the car had taken the full impact of the crash. He lay crumpled on his back, his head against the mangled side of the car. He made no sound or movement. She hoped the bastard was dead, but she didn’t waste time finding out.

  Seeing her escape, she pushed open her door. Crouching, hoping that no one might see her, she sneaked along the side of the car and darted, head down, to the barrier that separated the road from a slim span of empty beach.

  She climbed over and walked away.

  No one would know she had been at Stan’s. No one would know of her ride with Dato. Most likely no one even knew she had left her house tonight.

  Drizzled sparkled around her. The wetness kissed her face, and she savored the invigorating sting of tiny droplets against her skin. She opened her hands, lifted her face, and laughed with the joy of the gift she’d just been given.

  The angels were indeed smiling on her, the way they always had, granting her their blessings. She had doubted tonight, but she needn’t have.

  She had indeed gotten away with murder…again.

  INNA

  “I CARE ABOUT you,” Mikhail said again.

  Inna looked down shyly and broke the potential connection. “Thanks?”

  She didn’t know how to respond to him. She didn’t want his attention. She liked it better when he didn’t notice her.

  She could feel her body letting go
of the strain she’d carried now that the horrors of the evening were behind her. She might even be able to relax, if only Mikhail would take the hint and finally leave.

  “You should go,” she said. She didn’t feel like being polite, but she tried. After all, it wasn’t Mikhail’s fault that the weekend’s events had opened her eyes and everything around her looked menacing and different, including him. “I’d like to get some rest.”

  “You should drink some more,” he said.

  She’d managed a few sips earlier, but she had no appetite. She had played with the straw and pretended to drink, just to get him to stop bothering her about eating.

  Now he was on her case again, waving the plastic cup at her. Was it her imagination, or was he obsessed with this milkshake that she didn’t even want?

  Maybe Mikhail had put drugs in it.

  Paranoid much? She was silly to entertain any of her suspicions. Wasn’t she? Yesterday’s Inna would have thought so, but today she couldn’t ignore her instincts. Someone had drugged her the other night at Troika, after all.

  “Just drink a little more first, so I can tell your father.”

  Her father? What did he care whether or not she drank a milkshake? He only cared whether or not she took her medication. Would he go so far as to ask his employee to lace her milkshake with her medicine if he thought she’d stopped taking it?

  “A little more, and then I’ll go.” His cajoling only heightened her suspicions.

  Something was off, even if she didn’t know precisely what.

  She took the plastic cup from him and took a long pull on the straw. The thick liquid touched her tongue, but she only pretended to swallow. Mikhail watched her with unsettling intensity.

  “Happy?” she asked.

  “No, you can’t even call that a sip. Drink a little more.”

  Definitely off.

  She took longer this time, pretending several more swallows. The cup was opaque. He would never realize that the level of the liquid wasn’t changing.

  What exactly did he do for her father when he wasn’t playing bodyguard? She had never wondered before, but now she did.

  “Satisfied?” she asked.

  “Very. Thank you.” He made a production of tying his scarf around his neck, stalling. Why wouldn’t he just leave? Was he waiting for some reaction to the drink? She put the offending cup on the hall table.

  He reached out to touch her cheek. She didn’t exactly flinch, but she hop-stepped away from him and opened her apartment door. He was getting too familiar, making moves that weren’t about concern for her well-being, but another agenda entirely.

  He needed to leave. Now.

  “Goodnight. And thanks for everything.”

  To her dismay, he came up behind her and pushed the door closed.

  “Do you feel safe here on your own? I’m worried about you. Maybe I shouldn’t leave you.” He stood behind her and whispered in her ear. She couldn’t mistake the invitation in his voice. He obviously wanted to stay. He wanted to do more than watch over her.

  She tried not to shudder.

  He definitely needed to go. She made a move to open the door again, but his hand closed over hers on the knob.

  She fought her urge to jerk away from him and instead slid her hand out from under his. She didn’t want to let on that she was starting to panic. What if he had drugged her milkshake and started to realize she hadn’t had any?

  Extricating herself from what could have become an embrace, she turned to face him. “Where did you stay last night when you guarded me?”

  “I made rounds,” he said. “Your hall. The lobby. The street outside. You know.”

  No, she didn’t know. It didn’t make sense that he would make a circuit of her building for hours with no breaks and no backup. But what did she know about the bodyguard business?

  “And then those men jumped you.” She examined his bruised cheek, but she didn’t touch him.

  She remembered that Vlad and her father had looked askance at him when he’d claimed he was jumped. At the time, she had thought they blamed him unfairly for failing to best her would-be kidnappers. What if there was another reason?

  Mikhail had said he’d been jumped from behind. Shouldn’t he have a bump on his head or something? Maybe marks on his neck if they’d grabbed him. The bruises were on his face and jaw.

  “It was nothing,” he said.

  Maybe it had been nothing. Could he have made the whole thing up? After the highly orchestrated kidnapping attempt tonight, it seemed hard to believe that the same people would bungle disabling Mikhail and grabbing her, unsuspecting, off the street.

  She didn’t have enough information, only quickly multiplying suspicions that might seem ludicrous after a good night’s sleep.

  There was no way for her to sort any of this out, but she was getting frightened. She needed him gone. Needed the deadbolt and chain between them.

  “I’m tired. It’s been a long day for both of us. I need to go to bed.”

  He didn’t budge.

  Banging on her door made them both jump. “Who’s there?” she started to call out, but he clamped his hand over her mouth.

  “Shhh!” He pulled her up against his body, as if he were taking her hostage. “You don’t want whoever it is to hear you. It could be anyone. The doorman didn’t call up.”

  He pulled her back with him into the apartment. He kept his hand over her mouth and pulled her so close that she would feel his arousal.

  The pounding grew louder. “Inna, open the damn door now.”

  Vlad! The sound of his voice gave her such profound relief. Whatever he might be up to with her father, she instinctively trusted him. She’d watched him risk his life to save her.

  “Hush,” he warned and stroked his hand up her ribcage. She struggled in his grasp, and he held on tighter. “They’ll go away if we ignore them.”

  She yanked Mikhail’s hand from her mouth. “Let go of me!”

  “I’m only keeping you safe,” he murmured against her ear. He pulled her tighter against him, one arm at her waist, the other hand caressing her throat.

  “I mean it. Let me go!” She elbowed him in the ribs. He grunted, but didn’t release her.

  “Who’s in there with you? I’m coming in. I’ll break down the damn door if I have to.”

  “It’s open,” she yelled before Mikhail could try to quiet her again.

  Vlad threw the door open. He hurled himself at Mikhail and pinned him to the wall. “Did he hurt you?” Vlad demanded. He pressed his forearm against Mikhail’s windpipe, cutting off his air.

  “No. I’m okay,” she said. She didn’t want to contemplate what might have happened if Vlad hadn’t come to the rescue.

  “Why are you here?” Vlad demanded.

  “You should be thanking me. I’m the one who’s been doing your job while you were under arrest.”

  “Artur and I made other arrangements. You’re not needed.” Vlad nodded toward the hallway, and for the first time she noticed the two other men who’d followed him in from the hallway, their eyes and guns trained on Mikhail.

  Had Mikhail lied when he claimed her father sent him? Maybe her father knew nothing of Mikhail’s clumsy attempts at seduction or his tainted milkshake.

  She stood behind Vlad. Close to Vlad. Feeling truly safe for the first time since she’d left the precinct.

  “Inna needs her rest,” Mikhail said. “Come on, big guy. We should let the lady get her beauty sleep.”

  “Right,” Vlad said. He motioned to the men in the hallway, and they backed off, moving toward opposite ends of the hall. He took a step and knocked Mikhail with his shoulder, giving him an ungentle shove toward the door.

  Mikhail looked back at Inna. “Inna, princess, if you need anything—anything at all—call me.”

  “She won’t.” Vlad pushed him again and then slammed the door in his face.

  Inna could have applauded as Vlad locked the deadbolt and secured the chain. All the pent-
up tension and fear from Mikhail’s visit rushed out of her on a noisy exhale.

  Vlad spun around to face her. “Before you scold me for being rude, yes, that was absolutely necessary.”

  “I wasn’t—” she started to protest.

  “He’s not your bodyguard. I am.” Vlad crossed his arms and took a wide stance in a show of authority. She might have been intimidated were it not for the small wince he made.

  Her gaze flitted to the hole in the fabric at the center of his chest, too near his heart.

  “You’re in pain.” He wore a plain suit and tie—not cheap, but definitely not custom. It was a mark of difference among the men she’d seen working for her father, who either didn’t wear suits or, like Mikhail, wore the very best that money could buy.

  What did Vlad do for her father?

  “I’m fine,” he said. He held up his hand as if to ward her away.

  “Suit yourself.” She wouldn’t argue with him or even vilify him, not with the poignant reminder that he had been shot in the chest while trying to rescue her.

  She wondered what he looked like under his ruined shirt and bulletproof vest. Did he have a wound? A bruise? Certainly, he would have muscles. She’d had months of fantasies about that. And now they were alone.

  She felt the heat of another kind of danger, the lick of a flame, so close it could burn her up if she drew closer. Her fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, wanting to reach out and touch him, to feel the dark stubble on his jaw under her fingertips, to run along the impressive width of his shoulders, to trail over the muscular hills and valleys that must be hiding under his layers of clothes.

  She clasped her hands behind her back and stayed where she was. He had made it clear to her that he didn’t want her.

  He gave her another look, one she couldn’t read, and then cleared his throat. “You were supposed to wait for me at the precinct,” he said. “You promised.”

  “But Mikhail—” She began to tell him that Mikhail had come for her at the precinct and pretended her father had sent him, but Vlad didn’t give her the chance.