Stolen by the Mob Boss : A Russian Mafia Romance (Bratva Hitman) by Nicole Fox (classic fiction TXT) 📗

He has dark brown hair that falls in front of his eyes, sopping wet from the rain. His jawline is strong and masculine, and his nose is perfectly straight. If I were an artist, he’s the kind of good-looking that I would want in my sketchbook. Though he’s handsome, something about the way he holds himself seems rugged. Dangerous. His allure is almost palpable, and though he’s beating a stranger up, I feel myself gravitating towards him.

“Please,” the smaller man begs, his hands in the air.

Everything happens so quickly. Without even flinching, the man standing reaches into his jacket and pulls out something shiny and sleek. The other’s eyes get so wide that I can see the whites. He parts his lips one last time, there’s a sharp pop, and then he’s slumped over.

It takes a moment for me to register the spray of blood on the wall behind him. When I do, a scream bubbles out of my throat with a mind of its own. My ears echo, ringing louder than they ever have, and for a moment, none of it makes sense. I don’t understand. I can’t be seeing this right now. It takes everything in me not to double over and vomit.

He’s dead.

I just watched someone be murdered. That statement echoes in my head like voices down an empty hallway, over and over. I saw someone die right in front of me. Then the other fact settles down on my mind: his killer is standing right there. Slowly, he turns his head to look in my direction.

Everything in me goes cold. For the third time today, I want to disappear. Only this time, the stakes are much, much higher.

The handsome shooter’s eyes meet mine, and I expect to see tangible anger. I just witnessed him shoot a man at point blank range. Instead, something completely unexpected radiates between us. I don’t know what it is, and for the first time in my life, I don’t know how to put it into words. I feel an unnerving sense of calm, like a deer frozen in the headlights. He’s a speeding car, and yet I don’t jump.

I look back at him, my mouth hanging open, shivering in the downpour.

And then just as quickly, that space between us shatters and everything inside me screams run.

I don’t second-guess myself. I turn on my heels the moment I see him take a step in my direction. I make a beeline for the other end of the alley, the one I entered from, my heart racing a million miles a minute. As I sprint, I toss one look over my shoulders to see if he’s still there.

He chases after me, shouting something incomprehensible in the ruckus of the rain, but I don’t stop. If I do, I know without a doubt that I’ll end up like the other man. I run hard enough to make my muscles scream. The street is right there. Almost there.

Then I trip.

A loose brick sends me tumbling forward. I slam my head against a dumpster, letting out a sharp cry of pain. My balance takes a hit and I stumble to the right, off-kilter. I try to stay upright, but my vision starts to darken at the edges and I collapse.

I hit the cement with a thud, soaking every inch of my clothes in the puddle I’ve landed in. A frigid chill shoots through me, but the world is wobbling. Darkness grows larger, now covering the edges of my vision.

Walking slowly, the stranger approaches. His gaze no longer looks dark. He seems almost ... concerned. He squats before me. “You almost made it,” he says matter-of-factly.

I try to form words but they all come out wrong.

Don’t ... please ... no ...

My brain won’t connect to my mouth. Everything is shutting down. Just before I black out, I feel him slide two arms beneath my body and hoist me up. I try to fight, try to escape, but my body goes slack, and despite the screaming in my head, I fade into unconsciousness.

Chapter Four

Roman

The scream that rips through the alleyway makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I spin around and make eye contact with a girl that can’t be much older than twenty-five, though, drenched in the rain and her eyes wide with fear, she looks much younger.

I don’t know how I managed to fuck this job up so badly. It’s not like me. I don’t make mistakes. Everything that I do is planned perfectly, with little margin for error. That’s why I’ve been hired by so many people and why I make the kind of money I do.

What I didn’t prepare for was my hit being tipped off that I was coming.

The job was supposed to be simple. Mr. X made it clear that he wanted this done fast, not his usual M.O. On any other given assignment, he’d take his time. He’d want me to make these men suffer, bleed them out if necessary, so long as I got the information that he required. But this was supposed to be clean, quick, and easy.

I trailed behind my target, Evan Cleary, for a few hours, waiting for him to step off into a secluded part of the city so I could strike. With how quickly X assigned this job and the time crunch that I was in, I had to forgo my usual stakeout. No days spent hiding in the shadows, watching a target and finding a pattern, some kind of schedule they operated on. I should’ve known from the start it was a bad idea.

Perfecting the art of blending in is something I’ve spent years doing, and on any other assignment, I would’ve gone undetected. That is, unless the target knows my face. As he crossed the street and glanced to his left, I made eye contact with Evan Cleary and watched as recognition settled over him. That same realization hit me.

I’d seen him before. It was