Velvet Devil: A Russian Mafia Romance (12)

“Me? Where are you going?”

“Yes, you.” I stand up with a wince, set my shoulder in place, and pop a new clip of ammunition into my weapon. “It’s time I end this.”

I don’t wait for Bogdan to protest. Instead, I move quickly out of the back room and head into the main body of the restaurant.

The fighting has broken off into little pockets of men struggling for the upper hand.

It looks evenly matched.

But that was before I joined the fray.

I’ve taken out two of Maxim’s men before I even step into the space. Another comes towards me, but my fist meets his face before he can raise his gun. I spin around, grabbing him in a chokehold and holding him in front of me as a human shield.

His body takes the bullets that are meant for me as I stride into the thick of things, cutting down more of these traitors with every step.

Every man in here can feel the tide turning.

That’s when I see him. My cousin Maxim. The fucking backstabber.

He’s standing on the other side of the restaurant, looking bizarrely nonchalant. Two men flank him with huge automatic rifles in their grasp. His pale blonde hair has a silver tint underneath the chandelier.

And his eyes are fixed on me.

Before I can decide what to do, I hear a scream. A feminine scream.

“Camila!” I roar instinctively. I turn my back on Maxim and launch myself down the hallway I just emerged from.

I get there just in time to save Bogdan from a bullet to the head. He’s on his knees, being held back by two soldiers. The third one is standing in front of him, ready to shoot.

I fire before he does.

Bogdan takes advantage of their distraction and sends both his elbows slamming into the men on either side of him.

One lurches forward. The other crumples back.

He spins around and gets to his feet, stealing the gun off the man on his right and ending them both with one clean shot.

“Where is she?” I yell as the crack of gunfire rings in my ears.

“I’m sorry, Isaak,” Bogdan says, looking ashamed. “They came in through the back. There were five or six of them.”

I quickly glance behind him. The waiters are all clustered together at the door to the kitchen. The blonde boy with the stutter is slumped against a wall, bleeding from a shot in the thigh.

The others looked shell-shocked, though uninjured.

But they’re all here. All left behind.

Which means they came after her specifically.

And I know why.

“Which way did they go?” I demand. “Bogdan, which fucking way did they go?”

“That way,” he sighs, pointing to the delivery entrance. His voice crackles with failure. The kind we were both taught never to accept.

I don’t waste any time. But when I burst out into the trash-strewn alleyway behind the restaurant, I know I’m too late.

The car at the mouth of the alley revs its engine. Tires squeal. And then it’s gone, ripping away into the night.

At the very edge of my perception, I could swear I hear a woman’s scream.

“Fuck,” I yell over the sound of incoming sirens. “Fuck!”

Vlad appears at the steps of the restaurant. “We gotta get outta here, boss,” he says urgently. “The cops will be here soon.”

I bite back my fury. But he’s right—we have to go.

As I run back to my G-Wagon and peel off into the night, it takes everything I have not to go fucking apoplectic.

Maxim doesn’t realize what he’s started now. He doesn’t realize the doom he’s unleashed on his own head.

In taking her, he’s just signed his own death warrant.

Isaak Vorobev does not forget.





5





Camila





I hear something being dragged across the floor. It pierces my ears like nails on a chalkboard.

I wriggle around on my back, trying to find a comfortable position without any real hope. The mattress is too thin. It reeks like rotten cabbage and decay.

I swallow hard against the dryness of my throat. It’s been hours since I was last offered water. The tall glass I’d chugged felt more like a thimble.

And food… When was the last time I ate? The dull gnawing in my stomach has turned from painful to desperate.

The only consolation is that I don’t need to use the toilet. Because the odor emanating from the forlorn commode in the corner of the cell makes the mattress scent seem like perfume.

Who knows how much longer that little holdout will last, though? It’s been at least a day and a half since I was dragged out of the restaurant by armed thugs. The only way I can track the passage of time is through the tiny slit at the upper corner of the cell. I’ve watched the sun come up and then die twice now, with no one interrupting my solitude.

No matter how much I scream.

I’m still wearing the black dress I’d picked for my date with Reggie. I almost want to laugh when his name pops up in my head. It feels like another lifetime, a half-forgotten dream. I thought I had problems then? Hilarious. Ridiculous. Depressing.

I close my eyes and rest my head on my forearms. The blur of light and shadow on the back of my eyelids takes shape.

And of course, it forms him.

Blue eyes. Broad shoulders. Dark, tousled hair.