Kostya: A Dark Mafia Romance (Zinon Bratva) by Nicole Fox (open ebook .TXT) 📗

your men come?” I ask through a choked throat. I don’t know much, but I know there’s danger on the other side of that hotel room door. I’m past wondering if Kostya is Bratva or Mafia or just a guy who collects some serious weaponry. I don’t care anymore. Not right now, anyway. I just want to live to take Tiana to the ocean and see my mom and whatever else I can get beyond this day.

Kostya fixes me with a cold stare. “They won’t wait for that.” He smiles, though there isn’t an ounce of warmth in it. It frightens me. “Today is not your day to die.”

11

Charlotte

Kostya looks somehow right like this, all locked and loaded and sighting a rifle, like this is where he belongs.

I’ve always thought he looks like the king of every boardroom he ever steps into, but that sight is nothing compared to this.

There’s a fire in his eyes I’ve never seen before, and I can practically feel the intensity rolling off him like actual physical heat waves. He’s already shucked his suit jacket, loosened his tie, and the gun adds something powerful to a man who doesn’t need help looking strong.

Kostya and Yelisey are communicating in Russian which leaves me still standing barefoot, gun in one hand, fear lighting up every cell in my body. I think of Tiana and all she’s lost already. And because no one is paying attention to me, I pick up a second gun from the black duffle that Yelisey pulled out.

I tuck it into my waistband, then walk back to the bathroom for my shoes. I won’t be dying barefoot.

As I come back into the main room, Kostya crosses to me. He doesn’t look me in the eye as he speaks. I’ve never felt so small before. He makes me feel like I’m just an inch tall. Look at me, I want to beg him. Please, just look me in the eye, even if it’s only for a second. But he doesn’t. His hands keep working over the gun he’s holding—safety on, then off, check the slide, clear the chamber, then load it again. I stare at his fingers, transfixed, as he says, “You stay behind me. Keep your head down. We’re going out the service side.” He tells me the rest of the plan which means almost nothing to me beyond the words hurry, run, shoot. “Things are going to happen quickly.” His voice drops low. “And I meant what I told Yelisey—if you try to run, I will kill you.”

I open my mouth to say something—what is gonna come out, I have no idea, but it feels important that I speak up. But before I can, Yelisey hands Kostya a phone, and he walks away.

He must be expecting the call, because he doesn’t so much as glance at the screen before he speaks: “Send five men to protect my daughter.” There is a pause. “Fine. Don’t move her unless you have to, but don’t wait if she needs to go.” Kostya takes a breath then nods. “Dmitri, whatever happens to my daughter happens to you.”

He throws the burner phone onto the sofa and nods to Yelisey. “All right. We split at the ballroom.” They switch to Russian again and I wait, catching a couple words—explosion, Whelan.

Kostya nods one last time then glances at me. “Are you ready?”

We’re in a swanky hotel in the middle of downtown Los Angeles and they’re throwing around words like explosion. Hell, no. I’m not ready. But I’m a good shot and hopefully that’s enough to keep me alive long enough to get out of here intact.

Physically intact, at least. Psychologically, I may never recover.

I follow Kostya to the hallway then down the stairwell. Yelisey is behind me, and I don’t worry about him until we’re on the last landing before the final flight of steps. He leans in. “If he gets shot in the back, I’ll shoot you in the face.”

Then he’s gone, back up the stairs. A door squeaks open then slams shut and now it’s just me and Kostya. Before we go through the door, he stops and turns to me again. There’s a softness in his face that I haven’t seen in days. “I wish it wasn’t you,” he says again, almost whispering.

“Kostya, I’m not—”

“Shut up,” he orders, and I fall silent like he has cast a spell on me. I’ve never felt so helpless. I need him to believe that I’m not a spy for the Whelans. I’m just—stupid, I guess. Stubborn and stupid and in way over my head. But I can tell just by looking that he wouldn’t believe a word of that.

So I just nod and look down at my feet.

“If we get separated, I’ll find you,” he says. It might be cute if it didn’t sound like a threat. “If they capture you, do not tell them anything.”

“How could I tell them anything? I don’t know anything,” I snap.

“Good.” But his eyes go dark and any comfort I might have found in him a second ago is now gone. He’s all business, all alpha male, all trained assassin.

And I’m standing here in a stairwell, wondering how my worst nightmares came to life all at once.

He slides the door open and peeks out. I follow him through this door and another one on the left side of the small corridor. The ballroom is empty, with tables cluttered to one side, and nothing but wide-open space where we are.

“Where are the employees?”

It’s a reasonable question, even if it’s the wrong time to ask it. He doesn’t answer though, just moves through the room. This man is stealth and jaguar and savage beast with dripping fangs and I’m little Red Riding Hood with a gun under her cape and a crush on the Big Bad Wolf.

The first shot comes from our right, from behind the mountain of tables, whizzing past and piercing into a small piece of wall. Plaster plumes erupt and my