Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance (9 page)

I look at Stosh, who is nodding at his strudel.

“They knew I was coming?”

Stosh shakes his head and purses his lips. “No. He must've seen you.”

“Impossible,” I say.

Smiling, Stosh tips his head from side to side. “Impossible? Because you're the invisible man? That's what they say about you, you know.”

Of course I know. Why do I need to say it?

Stosh considers for a few more moments, waiting to see if I’m going to say anything. He takes a sip of his black, sweet coffee.

“They didn't know you're coming, but then there were two guys. He must've seen you,” he says again, as though producing the final word on the subject.

Perhaps it is possible. Perhaps the Italian peacock somehow figured out that I was there for him and made a phone call for help. It just seems unlikely. Highly unlikely. It was my first job in the city and I am the invisible man, after all.

But I'm not going to argue with Stosh until I know him better. I'll let him have this one.

“What's next?”

Stosh grins wide. His teeth are broad and shiny, yellow with dark vertical lines from years of cigars. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“You like women?”

“Of course I like women,” I say, more irritably that I meant to. What kind of question is that? I don't want to offend my new boss, but I'm not used to being spoken to in this manner. I like to be left alone, simply given a job and left to do it. You want conversation, talk to Alek.

Everyone knows they can rely on me. I don't have to prove myself. What's with the smalltalk?

“Dimi had a… A special job. A special role for us. You understand?”

I nod absentmindedly, my eyes automatically going to the front door when it opens inward. A couple comes in and heads for the counter with their eyes scanning the menu overhead.

“You're expected to take over the job.”

I nod. Any job. That's what I do.

“Would you like to know what it is?”

I clench my molars together. Stosh talks too fucking much. If he has a job for me, I wish he would just tell me what it is. Why does he want to dance around like this?

“Anything,” I growl.

Nodding, he opens his hands on the table top and looks at his fingernails. “You're a good man, Roman,” he starts. “Gyorgi told me as much. You come highly recommended, you know. Highly recommended.”

"Thank you, Stosh.”

“And Dimi… He was a good man too. God rest his soul. A good soldier.”

“So I've heard.”

Stosh stares at me, his dead blue eyes burning like ash embers.

“I've set up a meeting for you,” he says carefully. “With Don Lauro.”

My eyebrows go up. That's unusual. Why am I meeting this Italian Don?

“And I feel… Yes. This is going to work out well. Unfortunately, I will not be able to accompany you.”

“No?” I asked.

He shrugs. “If only I could, but I have duties elsewhere. You will have dinner with the Don tonight at 8 o'clock. The car will take you.”

“And Alek.”

Stosh shakes his head. “No need for Alek.”

I stare at him. If there’s talking with the Don and Stosh is not coming, then Alek is. I don’t talk. It’s not my job.

Stosh stares at me until he grows irritated. “What is with you and Alek? Can’t you take care of your own business?”

“
Talking
 to Dons is not my business,” I remind him. “I can handle him other ways if you like.”

Holding up a hand, Stosh looks away. “No. This is a talk. Fine… Bring Alek if you must. A car will pick you up at eight. Be ready.”

“Ready for what?”

He smiles broadly. His teeth look fragile. “Ready for anything, of course,” he smirks. “But don't worry, this is a simple meeting and I’m sorry to miss it. I have another engagement, truth be told. You're going to meet your new wife.”

The sweet coffee curdles in my throat.

“Excuse me…”

Stosh is nodding, obviously pleased with himself. “Yes, you're just the man for the job. It's all arranged.”

“No,” I say simply.

Stosh holds his hands, palm up. “Yes.”

“No,” I say again.

“And why not?” Stosh asks, though he thinks there's nothing I can say to influence him.

“I do not want a wife.”

“Everyone wants a wife, Roman.”

I try to remind myself that I need to demonstrate respect for Stosh. He is my boss. And yet what he saying is absolutely ridiculous. A wife for a hitman? It's absurd. I can't afford that kind of weakness. Neither can he. What is he thinking?

“I do not want a wife,” I say again.

“Well, maybe you do and maybe you don't,” Stosh says reasonably. Still, the smirk curls the edges of his mouth. “But this is the job. Dimi was willing to do it, and now it falls to you. There's no one else, and it's already been arranged. I've already agreed.”

“Ask Alek.”

“Alek is not Dimi’s replacement.”

“Then pick someone else,” I growl.

“Who else is there?” he says, though he knows I can't possibly have an answer for that. “She's the Don's daughter. A regular princess. If you don't like her, that's all right. They're mostly just good for cooking and cleaning anyway. Making babies, you know.”

I shake my head tightly.

“If she's ugly, just give her a place to live and go about your business. All you have to do is make a house with her. Take a girlfriend. Hell, take a boyfriend if you need to. Take twenty, I give no fucks. You're the man.”

“Dimi was a fool,” I say.

“Ha!” Stosh exclaims, slapping his palm on the table and making the plates jump. “Yes, he was! He was a fool who got himself killed. Would he still be alive today if he had married the Don's daughter? That is the question.
That
is the thing you have to consider. I arranged this to provide for your safety, Roman. You should be thanking me instead of making trouble. You really should.”

I close my eyes tightly. I don’t have a choice, and I know it. Bound to some Italian princess? No, this is not the life I wanted. I can't believe Gyorgi didn't mention this to me when he sent me here.

But I can tell that Stosh is expecting my gratitude. Though he is still smiling, there is something else behind the smile. Something sour. I don't know him well enough to know if I can refuse his generosity without consequences. And with Dimi’s death fresh in his mind, he may simply think he's protecting me. Or he may simply be pushing the agenda to ensure better business. I can't really tell.

In theory, it's not my place to know. I'm just a soldier. I do what they tell me.

Taking a deep breath, I press my lips together and nod. Stosh’s eyes brighten but I don't want to hear another word. I stand up from the table and leave the bakery, trying to figure out how I’ll explain this to Alek while I can still hear Stosh chuckling behind me.

MARIE

Pulling the living room curtain back with just one finger, I can see Nuncio sitting on the corner of the stairs, looking at his phone. He’s smiling like he's watching cat videos or something. Nuncio loves his cat. I snap the curtain back into place and walk down the length of the living room to the kitchen.

Pulling my blue silk kimono tighter around my waist, I fill a kettle and put it on the stove for tea. A nice herbal tea might soothe my stomach. Sleeping in made it bad. Missing lunch made it worse. Right now all I want to do is go back to bed but I can’t imagine I’ll be able to sleep again, just lay there and stare at the ceiling, wishing my belly would calm down.

When I woke up this morning, my stomach was all in knots. First it was this feeling of sort of a druggie bliss. I felt so heavy in my bed, like I was weighed down by sandbags. Then little by little, different parts of me woke up. My shoulders, my back.

Once my hips started to feel alive, there was an unfamiliar ache in the middle of me. For a moment I couldn’t remember what it was, and then everything came back, rushing in all at once.

The men in the bar. Hurrying to the elevators. Crashing against them in their hotel room, in the dark, where they just undid me. Disassembled me and put me back together again in a different order. Like a new woman…

And then, those tattoos.

My stomach twists again urgently. I feel like I’m going to throw up. If anybody finds out about this, I'm dead. This is not an exaggeration, I will literally be dead. Even though Daddy has been trying to come to some sort of agreement with the Russians, this sort of thing would be a mortal insult.

Just giving away my virginity would take years for him to get over, but hopefully there's no way he would have found out. But a Russian, that's a whole other matter. This has got to go away.

Hopefully, he's just passing through. Maybe visiting family? Surely, they have families. He said he was from Atlanta, after all. I hope that means he's flying out today. Maybe he can have lunch with his grandma or something and then take it on the road.

Yes, that's what I'm going to go ahead and believe. That guy… Roman? He just came to visit his grandma. Alek will pick her up some nice babushkas at the Russian grandma store or whatever. That seems reasonable. Totally.

The kettle begins to whistle, and I pour the water into a large mug with a peppermint tea bag inside. I'll let it steep for a couple of minutes before I grab an ice cube to cool it back down. I really want something in my belly besides regret right now.

I hear the front door open and my heart jumps. I'm totally not ready for this. Who's coming over? For that matter, where is my phone? Dammit. I'm all mixed up.

I come out of the kitchen with the mug between my hands, leaning slightly to peer around the corner. I catch a glimpse of Gianna's wavy hair as she strolls into the front room.

She looks at me and then her mouth opens to say something, but she stops. Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “What's up with you?”

I shrug dismissively. “Nothing. What's up with you?”

She puts her hand on her hip and sways her weight toward one leg. Her eyebrows go up at the outside edges and she looks me up and down. “You look different,” she says accusingly.

“I look hung over,” I mumble, shuffling over to the floral sofa and sitting down on it. I really hope she doesn't look too closely at me. I don't know why, but I don't want to tell her. If I could tell anybody, it would be Gianna, but right here in my living room? I don't think so.

When Daddy gave me the house, I got the feeling it was thoroughly wired for sound. Maybe video too. The 24-hour guards stationed at the front and back entrances were pretty good clues.

Daddy said that it was for my protection, but I get the feeling that it's more than that. He seems to always know where I am and what I'm doing. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve got a GPS tracker implanted in my body or something, but of course, that would be nuts. He’s probably just got some crazy intuition about me that’s dialled up to maximum at all times.

“Did you go out after you closed the club?” Gianna says shrewdly, her voice showing a little bit of hurt. I don't want her to think I'm going out partying without her, but I also don't want her to ask too many questions about what I did last night.

“Daddy and I had a… conversation. Then I needed a drink.”

She comes over and sits on the sofa next to me, leaning her elbow against the fluffy back cushions. I would not have picked out the sofa myself, but I guess it's okay. It's a little bit senior citizen for my taste, but I guess that's how Daddy either sees me, or wants me to be.

“What kind of conversation, hm? You okay?”

I cut my eyes toward her and nod confidentially. She knows that there's a risk in saying anything out loud with Nuncio always just around every corner. I know that she won't push me too hard until we're in a safer place.

“Well… I think I left my textbooks here,” she explains, changing the subject effortlessly. “I’ve got a finance midterm coming up, and I swear I haven't studied more than twenty minutes for that class.”

I nod, though we both know that's not true. Gianna doesn't do much besides study if she's not working. She's the most dedicated student I think I have ever met.

In high school, I would never have graduated without her help. It just comes so easily to her, while I was bored and restless most of the time. If I could have spent the whole four years of high school in music classes, that would've been fine with me. Music and drama, those got me excited. A little history too, since it's basically a series of one-act plays. But chemistry and composition? I never would have passed those without Gianna's help.

The front door opens and closes again just as Gianna is standing up from the sofa. She glances at me to see if I'm concerned, but I'm really not. Nuncio would not let anybody in the front door who wasn't already on Daddy's approved list of visitors anyway.

I know who it is by Gianna's posture before I even see him. She stands up straight and assumes a helpful, peaceful expression. It's Daddy, I can tell. Gianna has automatically gone into unobtrusive-girl-mode, just like we're supposed to.