Bullseye: Russian Mafia Romance (Minutemen Series) Page 3

  Mila

  Blinking, I stared at the overly made up room that I was evidently staying in.

  “How does he expect me to stay here?” I demanded of Danny. “We had a hotel in the city!”

  “I guess they invited us to stay,” he shrugged. “And Tată accepted.”

  “ I need to talk to him,” I insisted.

  “Then be good, stay here, and I’ll go join their conversation. To make sure Tată doesn’t agree to anything unreasonable.”

  “It’s not proper to stay in the same house,” I gushed. “They have to understand that. I may not have a choice once I’m married but...”

  “Let me try.” Danny put his hands on my cheek and looked me right in the eyes, sharp blue staring into mine, identical to his.

  “Go,” I whispered and he did, heading out of the room followed by one of Tată’s men as he went.

  Even amongst the Brotherhood, we kept our own men and arms for protection. You never knew when a deal would go bad, and Tată was one of those overly-safe characters. It’s how he’d been running his business flawlessly for decades.

  Hours later Tată and Danny came into the room, and my frate’s eyes were glimmering as if he was so pleased with himself.

  “Let’s go, Mila,” Danny said to me. “They agreed that we should stay at a hotel until the wedding.”

  I breathed my relief and Tată gave a wavering, weary smile as well.

  “Come along. Let’s go. I’m ready for a good rest.”

  I hadn’t bothered to unpack, good thing, too.

  Tată’s men took out the bags and I saw Kir watching us leave with a none-too-pleased expression on his face. Nico was nowhere to be seen.

  “You’ll have her soon, young Popov,” Tată said with his normal smile.

  Kir sneered a little, but turned and walked the opposite way we were heading.

  The hotel was beautiful, one of the best in the city. And in my own room on a top floor suite, I was going to live out the last days of my meager independence and attend every opera and performance I could manage until I was under lock and key from the Brotherhood.

  Tears dripped down my face for just a moment as I let the sadness engulf me, but then I pulled it back and forced my mind onto other things. As my first act of freedom, I was going to go get a drink in a public place.

  Maxim

  Waiting outside the hotel was worth it. They showed up later than I’d anticipated, but eventually they did show up.

  My room was near theirs on the top floor, a nugget of information I'd managed to gleam from an employee for a few thousand Rubles.

  Mila left the room in a short dress and parka with high heeled boots that defied the season and the icy roads.

  Making sure I stopped in front of the mirror before leaving, I took quick assessment of my hair, teeth and smell before shoving my fingers through my unruly black mane of hair and followed her down into the elevator.

  Alright. The job is on.

  Chapter Four

  Mila

  “Hold the door,” I heard someone say in Russian as the elevator doors started to close.

  Putting my hand out, I held it open as a beautiful man stepped in, filling the small metal box with some kind of expensive cologne.

  “Mulțumiri,” he thanked me quietly as the doors closed.

  I just nodded and waited for them to open again, trying not to stare at the man standing beside me.

  “Do you speak Russian?” he asked me in the throaty language.

  “Da.”

  He just nodded simply and remained standing there, staring at the door as it descended the few floors.

  When they opened, I turned right...and so did the man. Out the doors we went, both taking a right.

  The man paused and looked at me, narrowing his eyes.

  “Are you following me?” he asked.

  I nearly choked on the accusation.

  “If anything, you are following me,” I growled back at him.

  Just like that, his suspicious eyes turned amused as he gave the smallest little smile.

  “Da. Right. While you are clearly following me,” he said, still standing there.

  I huffed, feeling a little entertained myself. It wouldn’t be nearly so funny if he weren’t so handsome.

  Black hair peeked out of his coat hood and matching dark eyes stared into mine.

  “We shall see who is following who,” I said eventually when his eyes got a little too intense.

  He didn’t say anything; just kept walking.

  I stopped at the square, having the option to go left and over the river, straight, or down the alleyway to my right.

  “Are you new here?” he asked me.

  “I’ve never been to the city before,” I admitted.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “A bar,” I said simply, looking for a sign of some kind to lead me in the right direction.

  “Ah, follow me then. I give you permission. That’s exactly where I’m going.”

  I hummed, but followed.

  No harm in following and seeing where he was going. I didn’t know the city at all, and it was my time to have a little excitement and freedom. So why not?

  The man went to the right down the alleyway and I followed. My knife waited in my purse, and I knew how to use it if necessary.

  “I suppose you’ve come to see the sights,” the man said eventually, talking a couple steps ahead of me so I didn’t feel too strange about walking with him.

  “No, I’ve come for...” I almost said 'wedding', but I choked off the word and said, “for the arts.”

  “Arts?” he mumbled, emerging from the alley and heading to the left.

  “Excuse me!” a woman called, clearly a tourist who was followed by a gaggle of kids and a confused looking man. “Do you speak English?”

  The man froze for a moment but nodded.

  “Oh thank heaven! Do you know how we can get to Palace Square?”

  “That way,” he pointed in perfect, unaccented English. “Down that alley and across the river. The square is just beyond the first building you come to.”

  “Thank you!” she said to him and hurried her family in the direction we’d just come.

  The beautiful man didn’t even slow down to talk, simply pointed then kept going. I had to hurry up to stay on his heels as he crossed the street and walked along a line of buildings until we reached one that had a sign on the door that said 'JoJo’s Bar'.

  Hmm, he was telling the truth.

  Opening the door, he waved me in first.

  Heading toward the bar, he hung back a little and waited for me to order before going to the bar and asking for a beer.

  Taking my wine with me, I found a spot on a nice lounge and sat, watching the man as he took up his beer and scanned the room.

  “I won’t bite,” I told him, lifting the corners of my lips a little in a smirk.

  For the first time in my life, I felt like he was the one scared of me.

  He nodded and moved over, sitting at the lounge with me.

  “You speak English?” I asked in the language.

  “I do,” he nodded, still in Russian.

  “You do not like to speak it?” I asked him.

  “I find that it’s better to speak the language of the country you’re in.”

  Taking a sip of his beer, he met my eyes again and I was suddenly breathless at the contact.

  “Do you speak any other languages?” I managed to ask him.

  “A few.” He nodded again at me, not breaking that eye contact.

  My heart beat just a little bit faster.

  Trying to occupy myself with my drink, I sipped my wine and tried to divert my attention away from the long, strong lines of his fingers around his mug.

  “What is your name?” he asked first, saying the question that had been on the tip of my tongue since the moment he stepped into my elevator.

  “Mila,” I told him. “And yours?”

  “Max
.” He gave me a little half smile, tearing his eyes away from me like I had been doing with him. “What kind of art are you looking for?”

  “I intend to see every museum in the city,” I admitted.

  “Every museum?” He lifted an eyebrow. “How long are you here?”

  “I have three weeks.”

  “Three might be enough.” He nodded.

  “I also want to see the theatre.”

  “The ballet here is incredible.”

  “So I’ve heard,” I hummed, taking a drink.

  “I’m going to see one tonight,” he said, staring at the froth on top of his drink. “I could get another ticket if you were interested.”

  A ticket to the ballet? Those were expensive and rare. How could he find another on the day of the performance?

  “They must be hard to come by,” I started, but he shrugged.

  “I know one of the directors at Mariinsky Theatre. It’s not that difficult.”

  Well, in that case...I could get a head start on my search for art in the city.

  “Fine. Thank you, I will agree.”

  He nodded in agreement.

  “I’ll be in the lobby at seven,” he said simply.

  “I will meet you there at half after,” I told him.

  He hummed again and looked into my eyes with approval.

  “Seven thirty, then,” he agreed, standing and moving as if to leave.

  “Going already?” I asked him.

  “I have a business call soon, and a ticket to acquire.”

  As he walked away, I watched him look over his shoulder, taking one last look my way with a hint of a smile on his face before he was out the door again. I couldn’t help but finally grin, a warm flutter rushing through me as I caught a hint of a firm, perfect rear through his charcoal colored slacks before the swinging door cut off my view.

  Slowly my smile died away as I considered my fiancé and the look he’d given me when I left his family’s home. I hoped that he didn’t hold it against me and punish me by taking my singing.

  Blowing out a breath, I compared the two men in my mind. Max was as severe in a lot of the ways Kir was, but he wasn’t angry like the mobster’s son. No, I could tell there was humor underlying some of Max’s remarks, and he seemed interested in me, even though I was a stranger. And to offer such amazing tickets? Sure, I’d just met him, and it was possible he was a crazy stalker or killer, but that same part of me that warmed as he left, also insisted that if I was going to have a terrible marriage filled with unhappiness, then I had better enjoy these next weeks. Even if that meant dying at the hands of a killer. It seemed a better fate than what was being offered me. But what else was I to do?

  Finishing my wine, I headed back to the hotel where I opened my closet and spent more than an hour trying on dresses to find just the right one for the ballet.

  Maxim

  Me: Vulture has landed, Songbird located and introduced.

  Serge: Awesome. You can do this.

  His assurances over text were unnecessary. I’d complete the task, one way or the other. And while I had rules against killing innocents, I wasn’t against clipping that little bird’s wings to save a far more innocent baby. Serge had nothing to worry about.

  Staring at the stack of suits I’d bought to woo the girl with, I grabbed one I’d had specially tailored and rush delivered that morning. It made me look like some kind of James Bond, and I knew that Mila would fall for it, easy. The woman was dripping with desperation. Not in a bad way, but she wore her feelings on her sleeve, and it was plainly obvious to me that she was not in love, or even in like with her husband-to-be. And that made my job all the easier. I was going to snatch that little songbird from the nest, and hide her away.

  Obviously I couldn’t get married to her, but Serge and I had talked, and we’d agreed to get her a new identity across the world, give her some money, and let her go once the three weeks were up and she was no longer a threat to Vishka. What Vishka didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him. And honestly, letting her go back to her home was almost a worse sort of death sentence. They would destroy her for betrayal, and Serge didn’t want that, either.

  Sliding a tie underneath the collar of my crisp, white shirt, I tied it in a full windsor and hid the tail underneath my vest. That’s right. Three piece suit.

  It was getting close to seven and I didn’t want to be late, so I grabbed my wallet, room key, and cell phone, stuffing them all into my pockets before heading out the door. I hadn’t seen Mila leave yet, so I could safely assume that I would beat her there, which was the plan.

  Fingering my hair, I questioned the new, stylish loft on top of my head. It seemed too mainstream and stand out-ish for me, but then again, I was trying to woo the girl, not blend in. It had been difficult to try and change my state of thinking, but even in this awkward new roll, I was killing it.

  Metaphorically.

  “Wait,” a soft voice called as a hand slipped between the elevator doors.

  Mila.

  “Oh!” She seemed surprised to see me there again. “Are you staying here?”

  “I am. Room 521,” I told her, letting a slick smirk take over my face while still remembering to cut the amusement so I didn’t stick out like a foreigner.

  I was supposed to be a Russian, after all, and smiles were saved for friends, family and lovers.

  “Well, I suppose since we’re leaving at once, we could share a cab,” she suggested, looking forward toward the doors.

  I took that moment to look at what she was wearing, and admittedly, she was smoking hot. A short red dress with off the shoulder straps hugged every generous curve while her hair hung in shiny dark curls around her shoulders. In simple words, she was exceptionally beautiful, and I wasn’t stupid enough to honestly think that I wasn’t going to be attracted to her. I let myself be, because that was going to help me seduce her. As long as I didn’t fall in love.

  Chuckling quietly to myself, I looked down at my shoes as I thought how ridiculous the sentiment was. Me, fall in love? I wasn’t capable.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked me, looking into my eyes with her bright blue ones.

  “I was just thinking that I am lucky to have you with me tonight. Thank you for joining me.”

  “Oh, don’t thank me. I should be thanking you.”

  There was a pause and I smiled again.

  “But you won’t,” I teased her.

  “No, I won’t.” She smiled back, a frisky little tilt to her lips.

  Maybe this would be easier than I thought.

  “Then come. We’ll share the cab. I don’t bite, promise.”

  “Shame,” she hummed, giving me a sly side glance as she moved quickly to the doors out of the hotel.

  Hmm, maybe it would be a little too easy.

  I flagged down the cab I'd called ahead for, not all too different than how I would in New York, and let Mila slip in first before sliding in after her.

  “Mariinsky Theatre,” I told the driver and he grunted before taking off, throwing us both back into our seats.

  “What are we going to see tonight?” she asked me, settling back into the seat and bracing herself against the door as the driver did crazy things all over the road.

  “Giselle,” I answered, doing the same.

  I had both tickets I'd acquired a couple days ago tucked safely inside the breast pocket of my suit.

  “Oh, Giselle?” she murmured, her face lighting up in excitement. “It’s a classic!”

  “It is, I’m glad to be able to see it.”

  She sighed dreamily before looking out the window until we arrived about twenty minutes later.

  Reaching forward, I shoved some Rubles into the diver’s hands before getting out. Mila didn’t even pretend to try and pay. And for some reason, I liked that.

  “Come, yeah?” I asked her, putting out my hand.

  First contact.

  That was important.

  She took my hand and smiled, following
one step behind as I led her into the busy theatre.

  Chapter Five

  Mila

  I just couldn’t come down from the high of the show. Everything about it was spectacular, and the artistry was executed so brilliantly. It was almost like after my own performance with the way adrenaline was running through my system.

  I kept holding his hand as we left the theatre, his warm fingers curled around mine as we stepped into the blasting cold.

  “I don’t want to go back yet,” I told him, hoping that he was up for a drink or something.

  “Neither do I,” he agreed, looking down at me with a smile on his face.

  And it was a really beautiful smile.

  “How about dancing?” he asked me, one eyebrow lifted.

  Dancing with him sounded amazing.

  “Ok,” I agreed, feeling him squeeze my hand a little tighter as we hunted down another cab.

  Luckily there were quite a few loitering around the theatre in anticipation of the end of the performance.

  “Take us to the best club in the city,” Max said to the driver as we crawled in.

  “I know one, but it might be hard to get in, especially at this time of night.”

  “Just take us,” Max said firmly, sliding in after me, the door still open when the car started taking off.

  We weren’t driving for more than fifteen or twenty minutes before the car pulled up in front of the inconspicuous club.

  “Good luck,” the driver said with a grunt, mumbling the total to us.

  Max was already dragging some bills out of his wallet and handing them over before he slid out and reached back in for me, helping me out.

  My high heels clipped against the frosty cement up to the sidewalk, slipping the smallest bit, but Max caught me, holding my hand tighter as I righted myself. A blush swept over me, and I was thankful for the fur hood covering my head and the jacket wrapped up near my face that hid my flush.

  “Careful,” he murmured, but he didn’t seem mad.

  No, instead he put his arm around my back and held me against his side, all warm and hard against the curve of my hips and waist.