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

and movies portray. He listened without interruption, but in hindsight, it was probably amateurish to be so excited.

If only he knew that it was all based on a lifetime of reading true crime novels.

“No,” I admit, finally meeting his gaze. “I haven’t used a gun. But I write crime fiction. I have to know these kinds of things.”

“You never told me about that.”

“You put a gag in my mouth the first time we met,” I remind him.

That smirk returns, just for an instant, before disappearing again. “You were too busy screaming to mention what you did in your spare time.”

“Regardless,” I say, biting back a smile, “I’ve always loved the research. Learning about cases, finding out how the police discovered the truth. It’s enthralling, to say the least. And then I met you.”

The words come out more wistfully than I mean, and I quickly stutter out, “I mean, you ... y’know, take care of people. And you get away with it. I’m fascinated. I want to know how you do it. How you got so good at it. How did you train for this?”

Roman’s face hardens, and I can practically see him receding back into his shell. That momentary warm, the brief glimpse of his smile, is fading before my eyes. “I’m going to tell you right now, Lucy: I’m not talking about my past. I don’t care if you want to know for your books. Stop asking me.”

There’s no room for negotiation with him. It’s probably best not to push him. He’s already given me an inch, and here I am trying to take a yard. “Sorry,” I murmur, stabbing at my scrambled eggs. The air in the room is heavy, and I try my hardest to circle back to his assignment.

“Can you tell me about Mr. X? What’s he like? Is he a James Bond villain?”

“I don’t know much about him,” he admits. “I met him through a previous client. He pays twice as well. I don’t ask questions for paychecks that large.”

“Smart,” I say.

“He’s Russian. I know that much. If I had to guess, I’d say this assignment is about getting rid of the competition. Konstantin being part of the Bratva means he’s more than likely stepping on X’s toes. He doesn’t like people getting in his way. He’s had me kill people over smaller crimes.”

This is so surreal to hear about. “I’m on Mr. X’s side with this one.”

He practically scoffs. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew the things he does.”

“Let’s hope I never do then,” I say, trying not to shudder at the thought. Just the description of the mysterious man unsettles me. “How long do you think it will take to handle Konstantin?”

“Not long. Standard hit. In and out.”

“I wish I could be there.”

This gives Roman pause. “Seeing this kind of shit changes you, Lucy. You don’t want to see what happens to people when they die.”

“I already have, in the alley. I didn’t know that man, but I saw him go. That’s too merciful for Konstantin. He deserves a slow death. For all the people that he’s hurt in his life. All the bodies that are in the ground because of him.”

I don’t realize how hard I’m gripping my fork until my hand aches. Roman’s eyes fall to my hand, and I loosen up, putting it down on the table.

“You hate him,” he says simply.

“More than anyone else in this world.”

“Then I’ll make it painful for him.”

What kind of person would I be to admit that I’m touched by the offer? ‘Make it painful’... Have I lost all sense of humanity? Have I become as cold and emotionless as the man sitting across from me? The thought of being so stoic sends a chill through my spine, but I can’t deny that this is what I’ve wanted for so long. I thought I wanted justice, but that’s not it at all. Justice would be locking Abram Konstantin in prison for the rest of his life, and the thought of that isn’t enough.

I don’t want justice. I want something more.

“You should go outside and call your grandmother. Let her know that you’ll be busy for the next few days.” He slides his phone across the table. I pick it up and begin sliding out of the seat. Before I can get very far, he puts his hand on top of mine. His palm nearly covers my entire hand, and I feel the heat of his fingers wrap around my wrist.

His eyes stab straight into mine. I can’t read the emotion behind them. He doesn’t blink or say anything for a long moment. “I’m trusting you, Lucy.”

I know what he’s saying. Don’t pull another stunt like the knife back in the motel room. He doesn’t know me, but he’s trusting me enough not to let him down again. I don’t know why, but I nod, suddenly filled with the desire to please him. I don’t want to screw this up. I don’t have any plans on calling someone else or reading his messages.

Something tells me he doesn’t say that often. Knowing that, I try not to smile too wide. “I won’t. I’ll be back.”

I grab the phone and pull away, telling myself that I shouldn’t want to stay there, his hand on mine. When I step outside, I walk around the corner of the building so I have a bit of privacy. When I dial Nana’s number, she answers on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Nana, it’s me.”

“Oh my gosh, Lucy! I’ve been so worried about you. Where have you been? Please tell me you’re all right!”

Hearing her concern almost makes me cry. The thought of worrying her to the point of visiting the police station with Madeline makes me feel guiltier than anything else has in a long time. “I didn’t mean to worry you, Nana,” I say. “I met up with an old friend and we decided to reconnect.”

“Is it a man?”

And just like that, I’m laughing again. Of course. The mere mention of