Sasha: A Dark Mafia Romance (Belles & Mobsters)

Catching the guys was too fucking easy. Boring. Maybe I should have given them a ten minute head start. Didn’t matter now.

They could have at least put some ass into their escape. Instead, they ran home. So fucking predictable.

I watched both jackasses run up the stairs. There were two apartments on each floor of the building. The little landing had rails and allowed fresh air through the steps. Probably better than the stuffy air of the building. After all, California didn’t have cold winters.

Their steps pounded on the concrete floor, getting closer and closer.

I twisted a silencer onto the barrel of my gun. Didn’t want to have the neighbors as an audience. The two lived together in an apartment owned by… guess who. Bratva.

Ding. Dong.

Maxim would get his ass handed to him when I got ahold of him. But first, he’d get a nice gift. Little body parts of his idiot minions.

They both ran, looking behind them, expecting me to chase them. But I was already in front of them. Amateurs.

My lazy gaze found one of them, just as he realized they’d fucked up. Pop. He stumbled to the floor with a bullet hole in his forehead.

“Bullseye,” I muttered, just as his partner turned around and started running.

“Jeez, leaving so fucking soon,” I asked in a bored tone, jumping off the little rail and cutting off his escape route. “Are you trying to hurt my feelings?”

He shook his head, opening and closing his mouth but no words came out. Like a fucking fish out of water, his eyes bulged.

I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pushed him back towards his apartment. “Pick up your friend and carry him inside.”

“B-but he’s dead,” he stuttered.

“You don’t fucking say.” Jesus, was being a dumbass a requirement to work for the Bratva? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to kill him all the way. Just a little.”

He watched me like he believed me. I didn’t have time for stupid today.

“Pick him up,” I barked.

He hurried and stumbled as he tried to lift him. “Man, I didn’t do anything.”

“You went after a woman,” I told him coldly. “My woman.”

His step faltered. “Take him into your apartment,” I ordered. When he opened his mouth, I cut him off, “It’s open.”

“H-how?”

I kept my cool, keeping all thoughts of Branka out of my mind. I didn’t want to think about her now. I couldn’t think about her. Otherwise, I’d lose my shit and start my killing right here, out in the open.

“You didn’t think a door would keep me out.” Aiming my gun at him, I barked, “Move it.”

He shuffled, dragging the guy along and leaving a trail of blood. Fucking moron. I’d have to work fast.

The moment the door shut behind me, I fired two shots into the fucker’s kneecaps. His pained screams filled the tiny little apartment. I locked the door behind me, grabbed a piece of gum out of my pocket, crinkled the wrapper open, then threw the gum into my mouth as I watched him writhe on the ground like some goddamned whale.

I kneeled next to him, chewing on my gum. “You made a mistake going after what’s mine,” I told him conversationally. “I fucking hate when people go after what’s mine.”

I pulled out a knife from my boot. My guess was I had about ten minutes before the cops showed up.

“Maxim Konstantin sent you,” I claimed.

He shook his head, but the truth was on his face. I dug the tip of the blade into his ribs and the smell of urine filled the air.

“Let’s try this again,” I said softly, as I twisted the knife between his two rib bones. “Maxim Konstantin sent you.”

He screamed like a little bitch. And so high-pitched that the glass rattled. Jesus, this one should have been an opera singer. I swore I smelled shit. My lips curled in distaste. Maybe I’d cut this lesson short.

I withdrew the knife and pulled up his shirt to study the damage.

“You know, I can do this for days,” I drawled darkly. “Military has a way of teaching you effective torture techniques.” His eyes popped out of his skull. “Tell me and it’ll be over soon.”

When he didn’t answer right away, I sunk the blade into his abdomen, waited a second, then twisted the knife.

“Maxim,” he wailed in a high-pitched scream. “For his woman. A woman for a woman.”

I grinned. “See, that wasn’t so hard. Good job.”

I stood up to my full height, reached for my gun that still had the silencer on. Aiming it between his eyes, I pulled the trigger.

I smiled satisfied. “Bullseye. Every time.”

I held Maxim by his collar and punched him in the face.

Blood and spittle flew through the air and onto my clothes. That pissed me off even more.

“Didn’t I tell you she was off limits?” I growled, then punched him again. “What were my exact words?”

When Maxim didn’t even attempt to reply, my fist cracked Maxim’s jawbone.

“What did I fucking say?” I gritted.

No answer. Another punch and a tooth flew through the air. This was so fucking messy. I preferred just shooting motherfuckers. I never had to get too close and my clothes stayed clean.

“What. Did. I. Say?” I punched him in his ribs this time. He tried to block the blow but failed. Unlike his brother, Maxim was fucking weak. So goddamn weak that he was a liability.

Maxim’s eyes came up to me. Fuck, I didn’t like the grief in them. Come to find out, Maxim Konstantin fell in love with a whore. An actual whore. She worked the streets of Moscow and somehow crossed paths with Maxim.

Jesus fucking Christ!

Ilias should have taken his twin brother and gotten him laid. Maybe if he had, Maxim wouldn’t have fallen for the first woman that sucked his cock and she’d be alive.

“I didn’t touch her,” he spat out, coughing up blood. “You said, ‘touch a single hair on her head, you’ll be a dead man.’ I didn’t touch her.”

Was this fucker for real?

“You’re really going to fuck with me on semantics,” I bellowed. “You know exactly what I meant!”

Jesus, I was running on a short fuse lately.

“Should have been more specific,” he rasped, coughing again.

I threw him to the floor of his office. A lovely office in downtown Los Angeles with a fancy view over the Pacific Ocean. We were a floor beneath his Pakhan brother. Of course the top dog would have the top floor. Nothing less was expected.

Maxim’s blood smeared the polished, white, Spanish tile and my lip curled with disgust. His pained groans filled the room. People stared at us wide-eyed through the glass doors. What idiot mobster had an office with all glass doors instead of walls. As much shit as we did behind closed doors, this was dumb as fuck. Even if we weren’t criminals, I wouldn’t want all glass doors and windows.

What if I wanted to fuck a woman? Put a fucking black sheet over it? By the time you were done covering all the goddamn windows, your dick would be either deflated or too fucking blue and achy.

Maxim attempted to grab my leg and I kicked him, his body sliding across the floor and against the flimsy little modern desk.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Ah, the big twin decided to join us.

I turned slowly to find Ilias leaning against the doorframe. He didn’t seem alarmed, but I wasn’t fooled. He was just as much of a ruthless killer as I was. It was in his eyes that studied the whole scene.

“If you’re going to kill my brother, you might want to get rid of the witnesses first,” Ilias addressed me casually, his hands sliding into his pockets.

That was the problem. I never gave second chances, but I had no intentions of killing Maxim. Why? Because I understood his grief, and I even felt sorry for him.

The agitation settled beneath my skin. It was so much better not giving people second chances. Then you didn’t have to worry about them not appreciating that second chance and coming after you again. It saved me from looking over my shoulder.

“Don’t kill him and I owe you,” Ilias added in a cold voice. “He’ll owe you as well.”

“And what could you possibly have that I’d ever want?” I retorted dryly.

Ilias’ lips curled. Not into a smile but something resembling it. “You never know.”

Turning my head to Maxim, I glared at him. “I don’t want to see anyone, and I mean anyone, following Branka Russo. You want to kill her old man, be my guest. Touch her, and I’ll burn your fucking empire to the ground. Understood?”

“He killed my woman,” Maxim sputtered, his tone whiny.

“You have my word,” Ilias answered. “My word as a Pakhan and a Konstantin.”

A terse nod and I left them behind me.

Three hours later, I strode across the Berkeley campus gym wearing my usual gym gear. I couldn’t keep away from the auburn haired woman and sure as heck I found Branka here. Her friend studied; Branka poured her frustrations into working out.

I knew she took self-defense classes, but somehow it never sunk in until now. My steps slowed and I watched her pummeling the mannequin. Her body was sweaty, perspiration running down her face.

A few college boys flickered glances her way and the desire in their eyes didn’t escape me.

A growl crawled up my chest and got stuck in my throat.

“If you want to keep your eyeballs, keep your gazes averted and away from that girl,” I said with a growl, shoving them all out of the gym.

“Hey, are you even a student here?” One of them had the balls to ask.

“I’ll be your worst nightmare if you don’t get out of my sight,” I snapped, glaring at him. He scurried away like a mouse.

Returning my attention to Branka who was still pounding on her mannequin, I admired her figure. Tiny red running shorts and a matching sports bra. Her skin glistened with sweat and blood shot to my cock.

Jesus!

This was Mia’s little sister. I shouldn’t have these X-rated images floating in my head related to that girl. Yet, I did. So fucking many that a devious and sardonic amusement flickered in my chest. If Branka Russo knew what kind of shit I was into and what images played in my mind, she’d disappear faster than lightning.

The smell of sweat and the constant pounding of Branka’s fists against the rubber echoed in the air.

I made my way to Branka as she paused her punching and reached for the towel, then wiped it across her face. She took a swig of water and it was then that she noticed me. Her eyes widened, and she pulled earbuds out of her ears.

“Never fight with earbuds in,” I told her, smiling. She remained quiet, watching me pensively with that gray gaze. “You look like you can handle yourself in hand-to-hand combat.”

Her neck bobbed. “Are you volunteering?”

I shrugged. “Unless you’re scared.”

Her eyes flashed with silver lightning. “You wish. It’s just that usually nobody wants to do it with me,” she said, then realizing how that sounded, her cheeks turned red. “Nobody wants to do hand-to-hand combat with me,” she clarified quickly.

I grinned. “I do.”

She let her eyes travel over me. She knew my size worked to her disadvantage, but my instinct told me she wouldn’t back out. Branka had this fire inside her that she used to ignite her anger and frustration. I pulled out a knife, then held it out to her.

Her gaze flickered to my hands. “Won’t you need something to defend yourself with? It’s not fair if I have a knife and you have nothing.” She reached for the knife, pulling it from my hand.

“I don’t need a weapon to overpower you.”

“Cocky, aren’t we?” she challenged, annoyance flashing across her expression. “What are you doing here anyhow? You’re too old to be a student.”

“Ouch.” I feigned distress. “Where is the respect for your elders?”

She rolled her eyes and we headed to the mats.

Branka was so fucking tiny compared to me. I’d have to make sure we trained without me hurting her. I bent my knees into a semi-crouched position and she mirrored my movement.

“Don’t cry if I cut you,” she mocked.

My lips tugged up. “I’ll try not to. Now stop talking and attack.”

She eyed me, shifted to the left then lunged forward to the right. She moved fast, but I sidestepped her attack. My hand wrapped around her wrist, then I whirled her around until her back was pressed against my front.

“Not bad, kotyonok,” I praised, watching my inked fingers against her pale skin.

“You overpowered me,” she said breathlessly.

She hated being overpowered. I could feel it in her breathing, in the stiffness of her shoulders and muscles.

Reluctantly, I released her and she remained immobile for three seconds, before she turned around to face me, a slight paleness to her skin alarming.

“Did I hurt you?”

Her eyes traveled around the room and it was as if she only now realized we were alone. “Everyone’s gone.”

“Kotyonok,” I said, trying to get her to look at me. “Did I hurt you?”

Those gray skies met my gaze and she shook her head, slowly.

“No, you didn’t.” The pressure in my lungs eased and my breath swished out. I’d rather cut off my hands than hurt her. “Can we go again?”

I nodded. Again and again.

She was a quick study. Her body was strong and I loved the determination on her face as she followed my directions. Each time I overpowered her, she was less and less intimidated, until her body no longer stiffened each time I did it.

It was fun teaching her. And slightly disturbing for my balls, but I ignored my cock, which zeroed in on her. This was for Branka. I hoped she’d never have to use it, and if she did, that I’d be there to protect her. But if I wasn’t, I wanted her to be powerful.

We were at it again, her eyes flickering to me, then to my balls and I knew her angle immediately. I was even impressed. I snatched up her foot as she tried to kick my balls and tugged.

She landed on her back with a loud thump, still gripping the knife.

“You’re getting good, fast,” I told her. I knelt beside her, touching her shoulder. “You good?”

A frustrated breath left her. “How did you know?”

I chuckled.

“How did I know you were going for my balls?” Her cheeks turned even more red, and it had nothing to do with the exercise we just underwent. “Your eyes lowered to them. It was the only reason I knew.”

“Damn it,” she muttered.

“I’m still impressed,” I told her. I reached for the red water bottle which had to be hers. It had her initials on it. “Yours?” She nodded. “Drink. It’s important to be hydrated.”

She took a swig of it then offered it to me. I shook my head. I had barely broken a sweat.

“What made you want to take self-defense?” I asked her casually.

A slight tension passed her shoulder. “It’s important to be able to defend yourself,” she answered. “In our world.”

Our world. Did she know who I was?

“Our world?”

“Yeah, this world,” she muttered. “You never know when you might be ambushed.” She tilted her head, her eyes meeting mine. “So who are you?” Before I could answer, she continued, “Yeah, I know Moye Serdtse is your name.” My lips curved. That was one of the best things I had done. Had her call me Moye Serdtse. One day, I would be her heart. “By the way, that is a very strange name.” I nodded in agreement. “But that’s not what I meant.” Her eyes coasted over me. “Obviously, you can fight. You’re not a student here. Nor a teacher. So who are you?”

She remained quiet, watching me and waiting. I raised my hand and tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear.

“Who hurt you?” I asked instead. It was her father but there was someone else who hurt her too. I wanted names.

It was the reason the Konstantin and Russo agreement was null and void. Unfortunately, the Konstantin brothers didn’t have a name. Only a photo of a little girl, naked in a cell with her knees pulled up to her chest and marks all over her body. Burn marks.

Fuck, it hurt my goddamn stone heart to see it.

She jumped up to her feet and sauntered away from me. The visible scars were gone, but I’d bet my life the invisible ones were still there.

Her hand on the exit door, she glanced at me over her shoulder.

“I asked my question first,” she said. “Not very gentlemanly to answer a question with a question.”

“Good thing I’m not a gentleman.” I offered her one of my grins, hoping she’d fall under my charms. “I’ll be seeing you again.”

She shook her head, then disappeared from my view.