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

Another shot sounds from behind us and Kostya turns again as I aim toward where I think the shot came from. I shoot twice, with no clue as to whether or not I hit anything of note.

I’m honestly shocked I even convinced myself to fire the gun in my hand. This is a whole new ballgame from anything I’ve ever experienced outside of a movie theater or a video game. This is real people, really shooting at each other, with some seriously deadly intentions.

But I don’t have much time to contemplate the milestone I just hit, because Kostya is opening fire in front of us, dragging me toward the door. I shoot behind us again and hear a groan.

Contact. I want to puke.

“Go.” Kostya pulls me around the front of him and shoves me toward an exit door. When I burst through, there’s a black van, door open, waiting on the sidewalk. “Go, Charlotte.”

“What about you?” I haven’t felt so alive in years, since the last time I held a gun.

Fingers wrap around my arms, digging into the soft flesh above my elbow. “I said, ‘go,’ Charlotte.” He’s moving me toward the van. “I’ll find you soon. Just go.”

There is a man inside the van, armed with an automatic rifle, and another behind the wheel.

“Kostya.”

“Charlotte!” His voice is stern. “This isn’t a fucking negotiation. Get in the goddamn van. Now.” He nods to the driver. “Take her to the safe house and stay with her. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

The armed man helping me into the van relieves me of my weapons and slides the door shut with a metallic clang that sounds weirdly ominous.

“Sit back. Enjoy ride.” His accent is thick, and I can’t deny it anymore. This is more than corporate raiders. This is danger wrapped in Armani straight from the motherland.

“What’s your name?” Even as I ask, I know he isn’t going to answer. “I’m Charlotte.”

“I keep you safe. But we don’t talk.” He stares out the window and holds his gun pointing at the ceiling while my gun rests on his lap. Adrenaline burns through my blood and explodes in the tapping of my foot.

I have no idea where I’m going, but I know the van isn’t traveling toward the mansion. We’re leaving LA on the 10.

It’s almost two hours before the van slows to a stop in front of one of those Palm Springs villas that is all white and fancy lighting. Armed men stand inside the doorway on the pool side of the house. The windows stretch from floor-to-ceiling and the whole place is sterile. It even smells like chlorine.

“What is this place?”

Neither of the men who brought me or any of those standing guard answers. I might as well be talking to the wall. When I move to walk down the hallway, one of the thugs blocks the way. And still no speaking.

“Fine.” No point in fighting. They’re bigger and they have guns. Kostya’s guns. Kostya’s men with Kostya’s guns. Which means I can’t deny it anymore. Kostya is … all the things I thought he was. The good, the bad, the Russian Mafia.

It hits me like a runaway train—this stupid, obvious conclusion that I’ve spent far too long denying. I know I’m dumb for ignoring it, for choosing not to believe it. I’m dumb for denying it to the reporter in the panini shop, for denying it to myself, for about a billion other reasons. Why did I take this job? Forget Lila—she left me to deal with my tyrant of a mom, so screw her. I didn’t do it for her, and I didn’t even do it for my mom, not really.

I did it because I had a crush on a hot guy.

Stupid, stupid me. How silly do you have to be to let something so simple as a little horniness lead you into a hornet’s nest of assassins trading fire and blunt-force interrogations? As silly as me, apparently, because I strolled into Kostya’s personal life like it was a happy little jaunt in the park. Like I didn’t know, just by looking at the infamous Kostya Zinon, that there was trouble lurking behind those gorgeous eyes.

I knew it all right; I knew it for damn sure. I just chose not to look it in the eye.

And now I’m here.

In the lion’s den, surrounded by armed guards, and the only man who might give even an ounce of a shit about me is either full of enough bullet holes to pass as Swiss cheese, or he’s got gallons of enemy blood on his hands and he’s coming to spill some of mine for good measure.

Even if Kostya ever cared about me as more than something to bang when he was feeling randy, I killed that sure as dead by snooping and prying and trying to bug his freaking hotel room. He has every right to be furious at me. What was I thinking? I should be home with Tiana, snuggled up and watching a movie. None of this should be happening.

But it is. And it’s all my fault.

Sinking onto a couch, I try to sort out what this means, both for me and for the little girl who stole her way into my heart before I even had a chance to realize it was happening. How will anyone ever be able to protect Tiana? Hell, tonight we were in a Russian hotel and it didn’t stop the Whelans from finding Kostya and blowing a thousand holes in the place.

I sure as heck can’t protect Tiana from that. And it’s not like Kostya is ever going to let me take her and leave. I don’t have anywhere to go with her anyway. Plus, there’s my mom to consider, and Lila, though she’s currently ranking at the bottom of the totem pole in terms of priority. No way he’ll hunt for her if