Bullseye: Russian Mafia Romance (Minutemen Series) Read online

She simply nodded in the affirmative before closing the door next to her and moving on to the next.

  I opened my door to see the place cleaned up, my bed made, and my laptop securely closed and tucked into my locked briefcase. Now that I was back in my room, I set up my computer again and checked the mic, the cameras, and the motion sensor I slipped just inside the doorjamb itself so I would know when she or others came or went.

  And now, the waiting game. Meanwhile, I set up our dinner date and tried to make it a good one. If I could eventually convince her to give me her virginity, then I would probably be able to entice her to run away with me. It seemed simple enough, and by how far we went the night before, it didn’t really seem like such a far stretch. Mila didn’t actually want to marry Popov. It was obvious. Maybe it was actually possible for me to seduce a woman. Obviously killing her would have been so much easier, but...what a waste.

  Unlocking my phone, I typed out a message to her to meet me at the restaurant nearby. My cameras notified me when she got back to the hotel, the motion sensors flicking on my computer screen before popping up the window of Mila peeling out of her fur coat. I slipped my headphones on and bent to watch. A man was with her, Daniel Vasile, her brother.

  “You’re lucky you got out of there before Kir found you,” Daniel said with a grin, lighting a cigarette.

  “His mother was nice,” was her noncommittal comment.

  “Did you at least find a dress then?”

  “A dress has been chosen.”

  “You should sound a little more excited, songbird.”

  She wheeled around and pointed at the door.

  “Excited?” she growled out. “How can I be excited for losing what little bit of freedom I’ve managed to obtain for myself? To lose my passion, my family, and my dreams all at once!”

  “You’ll be safe,” he told her, but she just kept pointing at the door.

  He took the hint and left.

  I watched him walk down the hallway from the viewpoint of my other camera then focused instead on Mila.

  She unzipped her dress, roughly took off her conservative heels and threw them before collapsing to a chair in her underwear. Her hands pressed into her face as she sat and sobbed into them. The sound of her pain was so...tangible. I felt my throat tighten up at the sound of her emotions and rubbed at it while she cried.

  It didn’t look like there would be much else happening, so I gave her privacy to feel while I prepared my strategy, stuffing back down all the strange feelings her sadness induced in my stomach. Or maybe it was too many protein shakes.

  I was due for a real meal, and was actually looking forward to her company. After that cryfest though, who knew if she’d be calling me or texting to tell me she wasn’t in the mood. If only she knew that she wouldn’t be marrying the sadistic asshole. Nope. No matter what it took, I would make sure that the marriage didn’t happen.

  My phone buzzed and I jostled myself out of my thoughts to answer it.

  Oddly enough, it was Mila.

  “Kisa, I see you found some time for me,” I told her, searching for signs of emotion in her voice.

  “I have,” she said simply. “I’m finished with my commitments for the day.”

  “Does that mean that I get to compromise the rest of your day?”

  “I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t.”

  “Then meet me for an early dinner.”

  “Early dinner? Have you suddenly turned elderly?”

  “Do you always have such a sharp mouth?”

  “Not always,” she snipped back. “You bring it out in me.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  She gave a contented sigh that sounded nothing like a woman who had just been crying her eyes out.

  Moving to my computer, I glanced back at the screen and saw her wiping at her eyes, still half naked in the same chair she’d melted down in.

  “Fine, dinner can wait. Meet me in the lobby in an hour.”

  She didn’t even say goodbye, she just hung up and sat back in her chair wiping at her eyes and drawing her fingers away with streaks of mascara.

  “Shit,” she murmured to herself, wiping at the black lines on the tips of her fingers.

  She seemed to pull herself together, pushing back her aching tears before unclasping her bra and flinging it toward her suitcase. Next she stripped down her underwear and flung that next as she stepped toward the bathroom. Once the door was closed I stared after her for a moment, watching the door as a strange little flutter swelled in my stomach. It almost felt like maybe I was going to puke, but in a good way. I hadn’t felt nerves like that since my first few days at bootcamp. And that was somewhere close to fifteen years ago.

  With every life-threatening mission, every top secret target, and every single time I was an inch away from dying, I hadn’t felt it. But here, now I was experiencing it again; that strange little tingle that ran up my fingertips and landed straight in my gut. All because of the swaying, naked ass of a Romanian drug dealer’s daughter. She was more than that though. She was just, Mila.

  Chapter Nine

  Mila

  Even the hot water from my shower wasn’t enough to get the disgusting feeling off my skin. The look on Kir’s face, the words that dripped from my soon-to-be mother-in-law’s mouth as fact. Fact that she had accepted for herself, but I wasn’t sure if I could accept the same for myself. It was voluntary imprisonment to vile men. And yes, I meant men. As in more than just my husband. I would be selling myself to both of the Popov men. And while I knew I would never sell my mind or my soul, it was guaranteed that both would become compromised after some time with them. Just looking at Zoya confirmed that to me.

  But Tată would never change his mind, and even if he could, one couldn’t simply tell the Russian Brotherhood that you no longer wanted to fulfill your end of the bargain.

  Simply put, if I wanted out, I had to help myself. I had to disappear. That would be next to impossible though, especially without friends or allies on my side that didn’t have an association with Tată or the cartel. Even to Danny, money and bullets and heroin ran thicker than blood.

  I wrapped my hair up in a soft cotton towel while arranging my expensive toiletries. I might have grown up isolated and friendless, but there was always money. My life was filled with the best of the best in regards to clothes, cosmetics and education. I’d even been tutored in my home up until university, which I attended on the campus nearby our home in Bucharest, much to Tată’s dismay.

  I had begged and begged for so long to attend college until he finally broke down on my eighteenth birthday. He’d asked what I wanted as a gift and all I asked for was the opportunity to experience university like other girls my age; to make friends even, for the first time in my life. Needless to say, I got my wish, and that was where my life truly began.

  After six of the best years of my life, I got a master's degree in music study and opera, and moved on to sing at the Romanian National Opera, singing to almost a thousand people at every performance. Even singing the small parts in the shadow of the main actors was a privilege when I first began. Only recently had I begun to play the bigger parts, being the lead soprano in our latest production.

  Until Tată decided it was time for me to marry, anyway.

  Then my entire life came crumbling down in the space of weeks. With enough convincing and a call from the director, Tată agreed to let me finish the final show before carting me off to the wild land of Russia to marry a mobster.

  I ground my teeth and picked up a makeup brush, gripping it in my hand.

  Honestly, I couldn’t decide if I was better off having lived some life and lived my dream, even if it was for a short time, or if I should have been dragged away like Zoya at a young age.

  Maybe then I might have been able to appreciate a handsome, foreign husband, even if he was an immoral killer like the rest of his kind.

  Maybe if I hadn’t met Max, a mobster would have been enough.

&n
bsp; My grip loosened on the brush as I thought about him. Brutally handsome in a rough sort of way, he stuck in my mind after the first meeting, and hadn’t left since. His rough calloused hands belied his job description, and I could tell that there was something he was hiding. Part of me wondered if he had a wife or a family to go home too and I was just a fling. But then he would look at me sometimes with this expression in his eyes that told me I was the only person in the world that existed to him.

  When his lips were between my legs and he paused after his first taste, I felt nothing short of worshipped.

  Opening my eyeshadow palette, I dipped into a creamy brown shade and began dusting it on.

  It had taken everything in me to stop him from taking my virginity. I wanted to give it, but it almost felt like it wasn’t mine to give. Which was absolutely absurd.

  Absurd, but true.

  Drawing on some eyeliner, I pushed out all the thoughts that made me want to curl up in a ball and sob. A handsome man would meet me in… I checked the lock screen of my cell phone.

  “Shit!” I yelped when I saw that I had five minutes to meet him downstairs.

  Giving up on any more makeup, I threw my hair back into a ponytail, saying a little grateful prayer that I had long, black lashes naturally.

  I stepped into a warm, wool dress with a wide, flared skirt before pulling on my knee-high boots. With a final smear of lipstick in the elevator, I felt ready as I would ever be to face a man like Max. I wished I had more time, but on the other hand, I was glad to be leaving the hotel and starting my date with him early.

  “You look just like a dream,” I heard beside me as I stepped out of the elevator.

  I jumped, then turned toward the voice with my palm plastered against my chest.

  “Didn’t mean to scare you,” Max said with a smile as he pushed off the wall he was leaning back against.

  “I just hadn’t expected to see you there,” I admitted, getting the rush of my pulse under control.

  It was pointless, of course, because he sent my heart to beating just with his mere presence.

  “Have you toured the city yet?” he asked me.

  I shook my head.

  “Those heels comfortable enough to walk around in?”

  “They will do.”

  “Good. Time is wasting.”

  He grabbed my hand and leaned into me, pressing a quick, soft kiss on my lips before he dragged me out into the wintery temperatures.

  Even on a regular weekday in the early afternoon, the foot traffic was busy. I didn’t have to worry about it though, because Max led the way, parting the sea of people as we went, just with his simple presence. The man demanded respect without words or posturing. He emitted dominance within his demeanor that had people obeying his silent requests, whether they even realize it or not. And a man like that? He was holding my hand.

  “Ah, here it is,” Max said finally, tucking me into his side while we looked up at a large statue in front of us.

  “Who is this?” I asked, leaning into his arm.

  Honestly, It didn’t matter all that much to me what it was. I just wanted to hear him talk in his pristine Russian.

  “It’s the Bronze Horseman,” he said simply.

  “‘Was this a dream in which he sought her?

  Is all our life, devoid of sense,

  A dream: Fate’s jest at Man’s expense?’”

  I peeled myself away from him enough to look at his face as he stared up at the statue.

  “What is that?”

  “Alexander Pushkin.”

  “I’ve heard of him.”

  “His poem The Bronze Horseman made quite the influence a hundred years ago. He fought for the individual which made his art censored for many years here in Russia.”

  “That line is beautiful. ‘Fate’s jest at Man’s expense’.”

  “That poem was my—” He paused, stopping mid-sentence.

  “It was what?” I asked.

  He let his eyes drift away from the statue as he withdrew.

  “My mother,” he whispered, running his hand through his hair as if talking about his mother caused him distress. “It was her favorite poem.”

  “She has good taste,” I tried, hoping I was saying the right thing.

  “She did,” he agreed. “She passed years ago.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  I curled my fingers around his bicep, wrapped in another expensive suit.

  “It’s fine,” he said, shaking his head and dismissing it. “Someday you should read it. It’s long for a poem, but it’s worth it.”

  “I will.”

  Before I could get a question out about his mother, he wrapped his hand around mine and pulled me toward our next destination.

  St. Isaac’s Cathedral was next, just southeast of the statue.

  “My God, this is beautiful,” I breathed as we stood in the front garden.

  “Incredible,” he agreed, looking up at the domed roof, stained glass and huge black doors.

  “Can we go in?”

  He looked down at me and smiled.

  “If anyone can get you in there, it’s me.”

  I just grinned and followed.

  As it turned out, they let anyone in and there was no bribing or arm twisting that had to happen for us to see the beauty in the holy space. He held my hand as we toured the gorgeous building, and questions spilled out of my lips as we went.

  “Are you religious, Max?” I asked eventually as we stood under one of the massive chandeliers.

  “Religious?” he asked, glancing down at me from the incredible artwork on the ceiling. “Meaning what? Do I believe in a god or do I attend church regularly?”

  “Either, or both. I want to know more about you.”

  He seemed to consider the request before nodding slowly.

  “I attended church for many years as a child. I don’t find much time for it anymore though.”

  “I believe in God,” I admitted. “Sometimes it feels like nobody’s there, but then other times I know that someone is watching out for me. I don’t attend church anymore though, either. I used to perform on Sundays.”

  “Used to?” he asked. “Don’t you still?”

  I choked on my words and nodded, even though it was a lie. My performing days were over. I knew that.

  “One day, Mila, you’ll sing for me.”

  The deep rasp of his voice pulled me in, sending tremors through my body as I processed the promise underlying those seemingly innocent words.

  God did I want to sing for him. On stage, and in bed.

  My cheeks burned pink at the thought, and he must have caught on because he gave me a satisfied smirk before leading me off on the rest of our adventure.

  Maxim

  I couldn’t believe that I had mentioned my mother so casually. She’d died when I was nineteen, only months after I had graduated high school and joined the military. I’d been given leave to go to her funeral, which her estranged sister provided because I had neither the means or the ability to plan something like that while I was neck deep in my first year of training.

  I’d looked down at her, so young and beautiful in her casket. Thugs. Gangster thugs had taken her away from me. I should have been there to protect her, making sure she wasn’t walking home alone at night. But I was gone, feeding my own selfish desires with the stringent protocol of the Army.

  Once she was gone, nothing else mattered. I had no family left, and nothing to live for. Except revenge. I’d trained so hard to become a special forces sniper, but when I showed a specially uncanny ability for languages and charm, I was retrained as a spy.

  Only after faking my own death did the spy become an assassin, but the government had given me all the skills I needed, and after Mom passed, there was nothing left of my heart to keep me on the side of the living.

  “How are your feet doing?” I asked her after our fourth stop.

  “A little sore, I’m afraid,” she admitted to me. />
  “Then I’ll get us a taxi back to the hotel.”

  She smiled at me, that constant curl that had been adorning her lips the whole time we’d been out. Even though she’d been crying hours before, she was happy with me. It was kind of satisfying, to be honest. I wasn’t sure what I would do if she was sobby and emotional. It was the one thing I wasn’t trained for: female hormones.

  I kept my grip firmly around her hand while I stuck my arm into the street, waiting for someone to stop. The strange cabbie system in Russia was no new thing to me, and I had a pretty good eye on whether I would take a ride or not with whoever stopped to pick me up.

  For a moment I considered getting a real cab and calling a company, but this would be quicker and Mila was safe with me, whether she knew it or not.

  A black sedan pulled up in front of us and Mila’s hand squeezed around my arm.

  “Otel Kempinski. Sto Rubles,” I said to the driver, who nodded.

  I looked over the front seat and back seat, then at the driver himself, who looked like he was on his way home from work.

  “What are you doing?” Mila murmured, her eyes wide as she watched me talking to a stranger who pulled up to us like a trucker picking up a hitchhiker.

  “A taxi,” I said with a reassuring smile before helping her into the stranger’s car.

  She looked absolutely terrified the entire six minute drive back to our hotel, and hurried out of the car while I paid the driver, handing him a hundred Ruble bill.

  The driver took off and I turned to Mila.

  “That’s terrifying!” she yelped, pressing her hand to her chest. “People just get into strangers cars and let them drive them around?”

  With a laugh, I nodded.

  “That’s insane, Max! How do you know they’re safe?”

  “You’re always safe with me,” I told her, meaning it.

  Her terror melted away as she met my eyes and seemed to drown in them, her body melting into a relaxed state.

  “Now come, dinner,” I told her, leading us just down the road to a fancy restaurant. “You can get off your feet there.”

  My reservation wasn’t for another half an hour, but they fit us in right when we arrived, which meant she had a glass of wine within minutes and I was gingerly sipping straight-up vodka.