Mafia Romance
Page 57
Chapter Twenty-Six
Aleksio
It’s sheer and utter madness. Mira, taking their guns. She hates guns.
One second I’m utterly fucked in a hotel suite with some of the biggest hitters on the planet, all with pieces trained on me, and then Mira moves like a fucking goddess of lightning and wrath.
Two cannons in her hand, one pointed at Lazarus, the other at his brother, Ioannis. The two people in the room who matter.
But I’m freaking. What if they call her bluff? Everyone knows she hates guns. I know it most of all. Mira would never shoot a guy in cold blood. It’s not in her.
Lazarus smirks. “Mira, Mira. You don’t do firearms. I bet you don’t even know if the safety is on or off.”
He’s trying to shake her. My heart thunders.
“On or off,” he says sweetly. “You don’t have the balls.” Lazarus’s about to make a move.
Then she speaks. Or more like, she growls, “You go ahead and try me, motherfucker.”
That voice—it’s like she’s possessed by a demon or something. Everybody freezes.
“You try me.” Oh, God, it’s not the voice of a demon—it’s the voice of Sergei Kazan, Russian action star. And then she starts spinning the fucking pieces like a hoodlum.
It’s a total mindfuck—Mira, talking like that and spinning guns, Wild West style. Like the sun rising at night. Like the moon crashing into the stars.
“I’ll fill you so full of lead it’ll be coming out of your ass,” she says.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Mira’s holding a room. With guns.
This is what Yuri and the guys taught her, the gift they didn’t realize they were giving her. In a flash the guns stop spinning and come to rest in her hands like she was born with them there. Like she’s itching to shoot up the room.
Again she trains them on Lazarus and Ioannis. Right on their heads like she’s Jesse fucking James. Like she was born to it.
The atmosphere in the room shifts completely. A minute ago I was the biggest problem in the room. Now it’s Mira, and like magic all of the guns come off me and go onto her. The men do this instinctively. She’s a wild card. Something they don’t understand.
But I understand. This is the woman I love. She makes everything possible.
She’s given me a window, and I’m not wasting it. I take the distraction to grab a guy and use him as a shield while I grab another guy’s weapon. I knock my first guy out, grab Ioannis by what hair he has left, and shove the piece into his cheek. “Everyone but Mira, weapons down. And I mean all of them.”
People comply. Nobody wants Ioannis to be hurt. I have Mira collect the weapons into a pillowcase and sets them by the door. She does it, and then she straightens, looking unsure. Damn. “Rondo, tie Lazarus—now! Hands and feet.”
Rondo looks to Lazarus. Lazarus nods. He’s unpredictable, but he won’t do anything to me while I have Ioannis. I have the room under control now.
Rondo ties Lazarus and then the rest of the guys, hands and feet. They’ve got enough zip ties around.
That’s when things go wrong. Rondo senses Mira’s wavering. Senses that it was all an act, probably.
I see it like a slow-motion train wreck. I see him going for his ankle. A third piece. “Don’t do it,” I grate, trying to be powerful enough for both of us.
I can’t stop him. I see it all in slow motion, and I can’t fucking stop it.
He pulls out his weapon and goes for Mira—just goes at her, a charging bull. She spooks and shoots. The Beretta she nabbed has mad stopping power—it throws her backwards.
Rondo crumples, holding his belly.
Fuck!
She drops the thing and stares hands out, like she’s going to go help him now. Hug him, I don’t know.
“Out!” I say. “Go!”
She turns to me. She’s not even hearing.
“Out in the hall. For me, baby. Go, go, go!”
She looks back at Rondo.
Movement in the corner. Lazarus is trying to get loose.
She’s barely there. She’s in shock.
“Mira, don’t you fall apart. Look at me. Look.”
“You killed him!” Lazarus screams. He knows she’s freaking, and he’s pushing her. “How could you?”
“What did you do, bitch?” Ioannis screams.
“Both of you shut up!” I ram Ioannis’s head into the wall to make my point.
Mira jumps.
“Hall. Now!”
She goes for the door, and I limp behind, dragging Ioannis, covering her, covering us, covering the fucking world.
It’s here that I look Lazarus in the eyes. Mira’s out safe in the hall. I have everyone under control. It’s my big chance to execute him.
But all I can think of is Mira out there. You’re better than that.
I’m not better than that, but I want to be. He looks pretty fucking surprised when I back out into the hall and shut them in.
I jerk up Ioannis’s arm behind his back, nice and painful. We move past the slumped guys in the hall.
Tito and a few of the Russians come out of the stairwell door. “Fuck,” Tito says when he sees the three of us. “Come on.”
I hand Ioannis over to him because my ankle is beyond toasted, and mostly because Mira needs me. I grab her, give her a good hard look. We don’t have the time, but she needs me. “You’re okay.”
She’s shaking. “I killed him.”
“You gutshot him, nothing more.”
“Nothing more? As if that’s not enough?”
“We gotta get the fuck out, baby.” I pull her. She’s coming along.
Three more flights and we hit ground level. Tito leads the way out, right through the lobby. It should be fine—they disengaged the security cameras.
“Hey!” a desk clerk says uncertainly, backing off when he gets a better look at us. Guests at the cab stand outside startle when they see the guns and blood. It’s cool. It takes people a while to mobilize in the face of something outrageous, a little fact of life I happen to know firsthand.
“Medical emergency,” Tito says. Which explains my bloody face, but not the gun on Ioannis, whose face is also bloody. Sirens sound in the distance. But the real problem will be the Nikolla soldiers. We head down the alley out to the street on the other side of the hotel.
A flower delivery truck rolls up.
Tito opens the back. It has metal coolers along either side with a rubber mat between. I hop up and help Mira up, and he slams the door, enclosing us in cool darkness. He’ll handle Ioannis with the other guys. Seconds later we’re off with a jerk.
I turn on my phone light. A refrigerated flower delivery truck. The light jumps as the truck pitches, illuminating the crates and metal coolers all around us.
She’s crying. “I killed him.”
I reach out for her. “Come here.”
She pushes me away.
“Mira, you probably didn’t kill him. You got him in the gut.”
“I know where I got him!” She’s hysterical. “It was a bloody fucking hole in him!” She puts her hand to her chest. “My heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my rib cage. Fuck, I can’t breathe. I can’t feel my face.”
I go to her and grab her, pull her to me.
“I shot him!”
“You had to, Mira. He rushed you. You get to do that when a killer rushes you. You get to defend yourself.”
“I probably killed him.”
“Mira—”
“If you say gutshot one more time…”
So I hold her.
“I’m a fucking…” She can’t finish the sentence.
“You’re not a killer.”
“They lost twenty-one guys because of me tipping you off.”
“Guys were going to die one way or another.”
“That’s twenty-one human beings. Oh my God, what have I done?”
“Fuck, Mira.” I hold her tight, wishing I could suck up all the darkness.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Are you?”
“He’s your dad.”
She pushes her face into my chest. “I don’t even know what to think.”
“Then don’t think,” I say. “I’m with you, okay? We can just be here.” I flip over my phone light so just a little brightness leaks out the edges, and I pull her into the corner of the truck. A small place in the darkness. It was something that helped me on the run sometimes, being in a small place in the darkness. “You’re okay.”
“I’m not okay.”
I hold her. I suppose she’s right.
“Dad…he tried to help me at the end—he really did.”
“What did he do?” I smooth her hair off her forehead. “Tell me how he tried.”
“He tried to kill Lazarus. To give me a chance to escape. He was…he could barely breathe. He was shot, and his heart…”
The vehicle takes a corner hard. I stabilize her. What the fuck, are we in a chase? I hold her more tightly.
“I know what he was. He killed my mother. He hurt so many people. He didn’t tell you everything he knew about Kiro that first day. Like hiding Kiro was everything. But he tried to help in the end—he really did.”
“He’s your dad,” I say. “He loved you.” She’s lost enough without losing that, too. He did love her in his way.
“They know about Kiro.”
I swallow. “But we have the head start this time.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Mira
His phone goes off, and he answers. I lean my head back on his chest and look at the faint shapes of crates and containers and listen to Viktor’s rumbly tone on the other end. I feel like I drank a thousand cups of bad coffee. All the death. I used to feel safe and good in the world, and now there’s a hole in me that can never be filled. I never want it filled. I shot a man.
“I probably killed him,” I say when the call ends. “I need you to hear me and not minimize it.”
He tightens his arms around me. “I won’t minimize it then. This is a war, and you’re right, there’s nothing small about shooting a guy. You shot the fuck out of him with a big fucking piece. You maybe killed him.”
I sniffle.
“And yeah, you saved yourself, but it doesn’t change how it feels.”
“Maybe I didn’t have to shoot him.”
“You think we were getting out of there alive without that?”
“No,” I say.
“Hell no. You saved yourself, and you saved us. I pulled you into this, and you did the best you could.”
“Is that what you tell yourself? That you did the best you could?”
“Sometimes.”
“Does it help?”
“No, baby,” he says. “It’s just true, is all.”
I suck in a ragged breath. “Does anything help?”
“Nothing helps. I won’t lie to you. It’s a hard thing—not like on TV or a video game. It’s real like nothing else. It’s jagged inside you—especially if you never did it before.”
I feel a sob come up from my chest. Like my whole body is trapped sobs. I think they might be there forever, like ghosts trapped inside me. All I can see is him doubling over. Lazarus’s face when he got that phone call. “I caused deaths today.”
“I know.”
“It hurts.”
“I know, baby,” he says.
I love him for being real with me now.
“You stay alive, Mira. It’s what we do. It’s built in.”
“Like animals.” I feel crazy suddenly, like everything is upside down. “That’s what I am. This is what it really is, isn’t it? When you appeared at the boathouse, I thought you were the animal. Child of the Black Lion. But I am, too.”
“Mira—”
“No, listen. Me going around putting bullets in people’s bellies? Maybe this is the first time I’ve acted with any real honesty.”
“You know that’s bullshit. What you did doesn’t change what’s inside you, Mira.”
I feel like it does, though—I feel like things will never be okay again. I want to crawl out of my skin. I flatten my hand to his chest. “Make me forget. Fuck me like an animal. I want you to turn me inside out and fuck me on the dirty floor. Make me feel the dirt.”
He takes hold of my hair and turns my face to his.
“Fuck me the way I like.”
He sucks in a slow breath, then kisses me long and slow. Much too soft.
I reach for his cock. He’s hard. Steely through his jeans. “Tell me what a whore I am until I forget. Until I can’t feel.”
“Mira.” He kisses my ear. Shivers go through me.
“I want you to use me until I’m completely twisted up and worn out. Like a piece of trash for you to—”
He shuts me up with another kiss.
“Harder,” I say.
“Baby, I want to just love you,” he says.
“Do it, then. Right here on the mat.”
“No, I mean, I want to hold on to you and feel how much I fucking actually love you. I’m sick from how much I love you.”
My blood races. He loves me. Sick from how much he loves me.
Only Aleksio would say it like that.
He tightens his arms around me. “I love using you like a whore, don’t get me wrong. It’s the hottest thing on the planet, but I only call you that because you’re so hot and I’m so fucking in love with you. I’m not gonna call you a whore when you feel shitty and want to feel shittier. Screw that.”
“You are such an asshole.”
He holds me more tightly, staring into my eyes with a mixture of tenderness and desperation. “I know,” he says.
My snort sounds ragged to my own ears.
Suddenly his mouth is lowering to mine and he’s kissing me, holding me, warming me, softening me. Like ice melting away.
He pulls his head away. “Okay?”
I close my eyes. “Okay.”
“Breathe, baby. You’re not breathing.”
I suck in a breath, then heave it out. “It hurts to know what I did.”
“I know,” he says.
“But you’re here.”
“Always.”
“You love me.”
“I love the fuck out of you.”
I should feel happy about that, but us together is another thing that’s doomed. “Sometimes love isn’t enough, is it?”
The engine rumbles. There’s nothing to say to that. Our lives run in opposite and opposing directions—I care about the rule of law. He lives to break it. I’m all about rescuing kids from a lifestyle he promotes.
The air inside the van is cold except where he holds me. It’s like a metaphor: Us together against the cold, dark world.
But his breath is warm on my neck. He kisses me on the tingly, breath-warmed spot, letting his lips linger, hot and soft. He trails a finger down my neck. I stifle a gasp—it’s still powerful when he touches me. As powerful as that first day in the boathouse.
“What are you doing?”
“You make me crazy. I can’t ever let you go.” The fact that he even says it shows me that he knows, deep down, that we’re doomed.
My pulse pounds. His hands tremble; his lust is wild as wolves, barely restrained.
I’ve never had a man want me like this. I’ve never wanted a man back like this.
He pulls down my bra, baring my breasts. The cold air freezes my nipples until he sets his warm mouth on one, his fingers on the other. It’s a dark kind of heaven.
He sets his free hand on my bare knee under my skirt. “Baby,” he says.
The van shifts as though we took a corner too fast. It feels dangerous in this van. Was I honestly just begging for sex? The phone wobbles, making the light strobe briefly over his cheekbone, his dark curls. He takes my wrists in one hand and pins them above my head, the way he always likes to do. He slides his other hand up my thigh.
My pulse skitters.
He shoves my skirt up and cups me between my legs, hand strong and firm. He just holds me there, moving slightly with the careening van. Everything is falling out of my brain. I’m forgetting everything in the wake of the forbidden sensation of being held and controlled by him.
He finds the elastic of my panties and presses his fingers to my dripping wet pussy.
“Aleksio, we’re in a car chase. Be reasonable.”
“Be reasonable? Fuck reasonable. I won’t be reasonable about you—not ever. That’s a promise.” Slowly he begins to slide and stroke. “Not ever.” He slides and strokes between my legs, and when he hits a certain momentum, I gasp. “You are so sensitive.”
To you, I think.
“Jerk your hands. Feel how I’m holding you. Feel how you can’t ever get away from me.”
I jerk and twist, needing him with a hunger that feels wild and wrong. He pushes a finger into my core, and I gasp.
“Feel how I’ll never let you go.” He has his hand between my legs, stroking me. “Feel it.”
“Aleksio—”
“Say it. Don’t let me go.”
He tightens his grip on me, and instinctively I try to pull away—but I can’t. The way he holds my wrists with one hand while he roams his free hand all over me is intoxicating as pure grain alcohol.
He whispers warm in my ear. “Say it.”
Forbidden warmth blossoms inside me. And I want him. “I love you.”
His breath hitches. “Mira the rebel.” He tightens his grip. It hurts in a way that’s beautiful and good, the pressure of him holding me in place.
The van takes another turn.
“This is so wrong,” I say.
He strokes me higher, up, up, to the edge of oblivion. He nuzzles the side of my neck. “Nothing’s right. Nothing will ever be right.”
He slides his finger inside me now, and my laugh turns to a groan of pleasure. He lays me over the top of a cooler and pushes up my skirt and pulls down my panties so that they bunch around my ankles.
“You’re beautiful,” he says. The freezing air chills my skin except where he puts his hand.
“I need to be in you.” He slides his fingers between my legs, and the feeling rises with every stroke. I think to tell him to stop, because it’s too much, too good. I’m moving with his fingers, fucking his fingers.