Stolen by the Mob Boss : A Russian Mafia Romance (Bratva Hitman), Nicole Fox [best ebook reader for surface pro .txt] 📗

made him watch as I used my knife to draw a line across Aleksandr’s throat. That’s what broke him—seeing his other half, the brother he’d spent every moment since the womb with, die before him. Had I had any mercy, I would’ve given him a bit of relief, perhaps waited a few hours to let Aleksandr’s death settle before continuing, but mercy was in short supply and my patience was running thin. They’d both suffered adequately, and it was time to put this all to rest.

Somehow, Andrei was able to grease up his handcuffs enough to pull his bloodied wrists free, and as I approached him to finish the job, he took off for the door, hobbling for his escape. It was pathetic watching such a broken creature give his last swan song. He fell to his knees, his hands too slick with blood to get the door open.

I approached him and pressed the gun to the back of his head.

“Nephew, please,” he murmured, gurgling on his words. “Spare me.”

“You didn’t spare my family.”

Those were the last words I spoke to my uncle before I painted the front door with his blood. His body twitched just twice before he stilled and the light faded from his eyes.

It was done.

None of it made things right again. I didn’t feel whole. It didn’t bring my family back from the dead. But I don’t suppose that’s what I was looking for. I knew deep down that their deaths wouldn’t be the path to enlightenment. No, they were something else. The start of a new career.

I was good at killing. I’d been good at it my entire life. And with nothing and no one holding me back, I could throw myself into this career. So, that’s what I did.

It started small. A couple thousand dollars to rough up a cheating husband. Some money to bash in a car or scare some people who needed to straighten up. Simple things that paid the bills. Enough to prove myself to those who hired people like me. Soon enough, I was assigned my first paid hit. In and out, no blood, no witnesses.

Then another. And another. So many I lost count.

Things haven’t changed. I still do what needs to be done for the highest bidder. Right now, the man with the money is Mr. X. I don’t know who he is and I don’t give a fuck. I just take care of whatever he needs me to take care of.

Right now, that’s the man in my trunk.

We make it to an abandoned warehouse near the docks a few miles away from the nightclub. The drive took a bit of time, but it was nice to soak in the silence. There won’t be much of that once Hollis wakes up again.

There’s a vehicle waiting for us. I park my car a few feet away from the unmarked black BMW. I can see the outline of two men inside. One in the front, one in the back. I step out, move to my trunk, and pop it open. Joshua seems to be waking up from his fog. His bleary eyes part as he looks up at me, wide with fear. The tape muffles his screams.

He tries thrashing around when I attempt to pull him from the car. My fist connects with the side of his head and the fight is gone, flicked off like a light switch. Now that he’s not struggling anymore, I drag him out of the trunk and close it with my elbow. His feet scrape against the cement as we make our way towards the black car.

I give two taps on the rear window and watch as it slides down just a crack. Mr. X takes no chances with being recognized.

“This is your guy.”

Mr. X nods. “Collect him,” the man calls up to his driver. His hulking chauffeur steps out from the driver’s seat and stalks towards me, scooping up our hostage like a baby. Joshua looks light as a feather in his arms.

Mr. X slides an envelope through the gap in the window. I take it and peer inside, thumbing through the money.

“It’s all there,” Mr. X assures me. “You may count it if you wish.”

I know that tone. It’s just on the verge of being insulted at my distrust. “I believe you.”

“Good. Now, for your next assignment.” Mr. X slides a piece of paper through the crack in the window. On it is a name and an address. “I need you to take care of him tomorrow. Can you manage?”

I fold the sheet of paper up and slip it into my pocket. “That won’t be a problem.” Without another word, the window rolls up. Conversation over.

I return to my vehicle and roll the windows down. It’s not too chilly out tonight, and I need a bit of fresh air after the long drive. As I press on the accelerator and pull away from the parking lot, I hear two sounds in quick succession:

A loud pop, and a man’s agonizing scream.

Mr. X and his driver didn’t wait too long to begin the torture, it seems. I don’t care to stick around to listen. To this day, I hate the sound of gunshots. In my mind’s eye, I can still imagine my mother’s screams. I squeeze my hands around the steering wheel even tighter.

It’s been a long night. I need to get away from these thoughts for a while. I need to fucking sleep.

Tomorrow, another hit awaits.

Chapter Three

Lucy

I don’t like to be dramatic, but there’s no hope in being a writer and I should honestly give up the dream right here and now. I could probably be getting so much more work done if I wasn’t pretending to be a hot-shot author. I could be making money to help Nana, or covering for a friend at Rudy’s who couldn’t make it to work today. Anything would be more productive than sitting in this café with a blank screen staring me directly in the face.

I want