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

She looks at me like I’ve told her the most horrifying story in the world. “You mean, you ...”

“I killed them, yes.” I’ve never admitted this to anyone, but it feels right. I want her to see the kind of person that revenge creates. If she knows what I went through and who I became because of it, maybe then she can decide if she really wants to help me with this. It’s not an easy road, and I came out worse for it, but that’s life. This is what I chose. It’s up to Lucy if she’ll choose this as well.

“That’s horrible, Roman. I’m—I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. You just need to know that revenge isn’t always easy. You lose a part of yourself when you dedicate so much of your time to one terrible thing. To one terrible purpose. Watching your enemy. Learning them. And after you kill them, you’re still left with that grief. It doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. The only thing that changes is that the sorry sack of shit that you took care of isn’t in the picture anymore.”

She nods and hugs herself again, a lock of blonde hair slipping from behind her ear and framing her face. Like this, she looks so much younger. So much more innocent. It’s not fair, all of the shit that’s happened to her. She shouldn’t have to be making these kinds of decisions. But that’s life.

It takes the most innocent people and fucks them up.

That’s how the world goes.

The rest of the ride is quiet. Lucy’s panic attacks become less frequent until she’s left leaning against the window and watching the streets pass by. The house I’m headed to is a bit out of the way, but it’s safe there. Nobody knows that I own it. Unassuming, low-key, and distant. It’s the safest place I can think of.

We pull into the neighborhood twenty minutes later. I decide to park in the garage; that way, no one gets a good look at us. I have blood on my shirt. I don’t need any of the neighbors asking what’s going on. I’ve had enough trouble for one day.

Inside, I pull off my shirt and change into a fresh one, tossing the bloodied one in the garbage. Lucy sits in the living room, her eyes on the blank television. “You okay?” I ask.

“No,” she says simply. “But I’m doing better. I guess.”

“It’s hard,” I say, sitting next to her. “But that shock will go away.”

She looks at me with glassy eyes. “I’m afraid that when it does, I’ll lose my humanity.”

Almost reluctantly, I pull her into my arms. She fits perfectly against me. “You’re not going to lose your humanity, Lucy. You’re not emotionless. That’s what makes you a good person. What would worry me more is if you felt nothing. If you shot that man and kept going like it was nothing.”

“Like you did?” She looks up at me with those wide eyes and I can’t deny her. She’s right.

“Yeah,” I mutter, looking away. “Like me.”

“Sorry,” she says. “That was bitchy of me.”

“No, it was right. You were right. You do this enough and it takes a piece of you and you never, ever get it back.”

“I just need a break,” she says, sighing deeply. “These past few days have been so much. First in the alley, then in the motel, and now the diner. It’s all so much. I just wish I could have a second to catch my breath before the next gunshot goes off.”

I smile slightly and brush a hand through her hair. “As long as we’re here, you’ll be safe. You can relax.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought last time, too.”

“I mean that,” I insist. “This is where I come when I really want to be alone. When I need to escape the rough situations out there. When I’m sick of fucking talking to Mr. X. I disappear here for a few days and get my head back on right.”

Lucy nods and relaxes against me. “I guess everyone needs a place to unwind. This is a pretty good one to pick.” She yawns, deep and loud, and closes her eyes. Eventually, neither of us speak. I listen to the sounds of her breath growing deeper and deeper. Finally, she’s asleep. I debate whether or not I should move her up to the bed. It’ll be much more comfortable, but she seems happy here.

Eventually, I lift her up from the couch, scooping her into my arms. She stirs, but stays asleep. When I make it upstairs, I put her on the king-sized bed and watch as she sinks into the mattress, comfortable. Much more comfortable than she was against me.

Something about the way she sleeps is beautiful. The worry lines in her face soften out and she looks like she’s never had a bad thought in her head. She’s smaller, daintier, and it makes me want to be gentle just being around her.

An unusual feeling stirs in the pit of my stomach, followed by dread. I know what that emotion is. It’s been years since I’ve let it in. Years since I’ve let anything close to it pop up. The last thing I need is feelings for Lucy to cloud my judgment, but I can’t ignore them and pretend that they’re not there.

Lucy is fucking incredible.

She’s not afraid to defend herself. She’s stood up to me more than any other woman would ever dare. And the way she felt in the bathroom of the diner, her body vibrating as she came, was something I don’t think I’ll ever get out of my mind. She’s more than the nosy woman in the alley when I first met her. She’s something else entirely, something that I want to claim as my own.

But I can’t.

Fuck, I can’t.

I can’t entertain those kinds of thoughts. Having feelings is what leads to