Mafia Hitman's Daring Lover (The Karzhov Crime Family Series Book 2) (3 page)

The slight movement of the man’s head brought Desi back to the present. She knew she was staring, but the hint of ink beneath his shirt drew her eyes like a moth to a flame. She’d been on the fence about tattoos for most of her life. Now she found them fascinating and wished he wasn’t wearing long sleeves. She’d love to look at the various designs he’d found important enough to have permanently inked onto his skin.

Desi had never had the courage to go to a tattoo parlor. The thought of some strange man making her bleed was scarier than she could overcome by herself.
Maybe if I had a girlfriend to go with me, I would have found the courage.
But Desi didn’t do girlfriends. She didn’t do friends, period.

After the deaths of her father and brother, she’d cut all ties with everyone around her. Their sweetly sick platitudes had just irritated her already broken heart, like pouring salt in an open wound. The only thing she’d wanted to hear was the name, or names, of the men responsible for turning her life upside down.

Her would-be friends hadn’t understood her desire for revenge, and after spending weeks trying to change her focus, they had washed their hands of her. She’d bid them good riddance and forged ahead. Two years later, and she found she rarely missed them. Or at least she kept telling herself that.

The idea of revenge was a poor roommate and an even lonelier bedmate on those few nights when she actually made it back home to the small beach house she had once shared with her father and brother. Her mother had died giving birth to her, so she didn’t necessarily miss having her around, but that was not the case with the others.

Her dad had always been her confidant and protector, and once her brother had gotten big enough, he had assumed part of that task as well. Together, they had kept her feeling safe and secure her entire life. Two years later, and she was providing her own security and seeing to her own safety. It sucked.
What would it be like to have someone else take care of me for once? To ask me how my day went, to listen to my fears and victories, and to hold me just for the heck of it?

Pulling herself from those depressing thoughts, she steeled her spine and locked her wants and desires away. She was rather good at doing that, and she was determined to continue doing so until someone paid.

“I’m going to grab some breakfast. Do you want anything else?” she asked Dennis, once again ignoring Grigori.

“No, sweetheart. I’m good for now.” The old man looked at Desi with affection and pride.

Desi smiled at him, then turned towards the door to the diner, taking a step towards the heavy wooden and glass structure just as another patron from inside pushed the door open harshly. The door caught her in the forehead, smacking her both in the nose and the chin before sending her careening backwards.

Grigori saw her collide with the door and watched in slow motion as she flew backwards, landing harshly on her backside before sprawling and hitting the back of her head on the concrete sidewalk.

He quickly tossed his uneaten food and coffee in the nearby trash canister and hurried to her side. “Hey, are you okay? Desi?”

He quickly took stock of her injuries, grabbing the napkins someone thrust at him and pressing them to her nose to stem the flow of blood. She blinked up at him in a daze, and he pulled his cell phone from his pocket, intending to call the paramedics, when she grabbed his arm and whispered, “Don’t.”

The man who had flung the door open stood nervously by. “Oh, my gosh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t even see you standing there. Does she need an ambulance?” Grigori glanced up to see a wiry little man with thinning hair and wire glasses falling down the bridge of his nose, wearing a button-down shirt done up to the very top button, a small bow tie wrapped around his neck, and the ugliest brown suit jacket he’d ever seen.
Nerds! You have to love them. Doesn’t matter if it’s here or in Belgium—they all look the same the world over.

Other patrons of the diner were either watching, their noses pressed up to the glass windows, or flowing out the door of the diner to see what was going on. Desi could hear the voices gathering around her and just wanted to sink into the concrete.
Great! I cannot afford to have someone call the cops. It would get back to my department in a flash, and then the game will be up.

She struggled to push herself up into a sitting position, grateful when Greg tucked an arm behind her shoulders and steadied her. After several minutes, she pulled his hand away from her face, pleased to see that her nose had quit bleeding. The comfort she was absorbing from his hand reminded her of what she didn’t have in her life, making her feel that much worse.

The back of her head was throbbing and she gingerly reached up to feel a large goose egg starting to form. When her hand didn’t come away covered in blood, she breathed a sigh of relief. She quickly assessed her other injuries and decided she would live. Taking a breath, she attempted to rise, but Greg stayed her with a hand upon her shoulder. “Sit still for a minute.”

She started to shake her head, then thought better of it. “I need to get up and out of here.”

Greg gave her a doubtful look, but lifted her up and kept his arms around her shoulders until he was sure she could stand on her own. The urge to pull her close to his chest and keep her safe caused him to pause for a moment. Grigori didn’t normally do tender and caring. He was a
Torpedoe
for the Russian mafia. Tough as they come and used to taking care of the seedier side of things.

The fact that he had recently begun to hate his position in the organization flew through his brain, but he pushed it away. He was in the States to take care of business for Nikolai; there would be plenty of time when this job was finished to sit down and re-evaluate his future.

“I must look a fright,” she complained, dusting her rear off with her hands. Desi pulled herself from the warmth of his arms, the safety net they provided shocking to her senses. It had been two years since she’d let anyone hold her, and the closeness was almost too much to bear. The smell of his cologne, something earthy and masculine, lingered in her nostrils as she took another step away.

Dennis had risen to his feet and was standing a short distance away, looking uncertain and worried. “Desi? Girl, are you all right?”

Desi glanced around as the diner door opened again, emitting several more people who just wanted to get a closer look. She ducked her head and turned her back on them before saying softly to Dennis, “I think I’m going to take your advice and call it a day. I’ll be back sometime tomorrow.”

She glanced at Grigori from beneath her lashes, then quickly shuffled back across the street. Getting into her car, Desi put it in drive and pulled out before she could talk herself out of it. Her nose throbbed, her head was keeping up an alternate rhythm on the back of her skull, and for some reason she had the strongest urge to just put her head down and cry. But she wouldn’t.

She couldn’t give in to the exhaustion, any more than she could give up her quest for revenge. She had the next three days off, and with the information she’d obtained the last few nights, she knew she was very close to reaching a breakthrough on this case. She just needed to stay focused and alert. Gorgeous distractions such as Greg Walker would have to wait.

Grigori watched the young woman hurry across the road and quickly disappear behind the wheel of a blue Honda Accord. When the car pulled out onto the road seconds later and disappeared, he shook his head and looked at Dennis. “Where’s she going? She probably needs to have herself looked at.”

Dennis grinned at the concern he could see the big man was trying to conceal. “Don’t worry about Desi. She can take care of herself.”

Grigori raised an eyebrow at that assessment, not sure if he believed it. She had been bleeding, and the back of her head had to be hurting something fierce, but she’d taken off so fast, he hadn’t had a chance to see if she needed further assistance.
You have other things to worry about. Forget about the girl and find a way to get Leonid!

He took one last glance down the street and sighed. “Well, I guess you’re right. Now. Who’s Ivan?”

Dennis screwed his face up and started shaking his head. “You don’t want to go messing around with the likes of him. I keep telling Desi that as well. That dude is bad news.”

“Why’s she interested in him?” Grigori asked, knowing the old man knew more than he was telling.

“That’s not my story to tell.”

Grigori measured the man, then nodded. He admired loyalty above all else, and the old man was loyal to Desi. He wouldn’t force the issue. At least, not right now. Smiling, he nodded once. “Dennis, it was a pleasure to meet you. See ya around.”

“Sure, sure. I’m here every day. Stop by and see me again some time.”

Grigori gave the man another brief smile, then shook his head as he realized he still hadn’t assuaged his hunger. Deciding to forego the diner a second time, he headed back to the hotel and his vehicle. He’d find a drive-through restaurant and deal with his hunger, and then he was going hunting.

According to the information Stefan had given him, the Ryndin brothers were using a variety of small businesses to mask their operations. Stefan’s info had also included pictures of the two men and several known associates that were currently thought to be working in the Pinellas Park area. Grigori didn’t want to venture into St. Petersburg unless he had to.

As one of the world’s leading
Torpedoes
, his name and his image were well-known in organizational circles. The fewer people in Florida who knew of his arrival, the easier it would be for him to get the information he came looking for. Men feared him, and once they knew who he was, they either went into hiding or gathered supporters and tried to take him out in an effort to prove they weren’t afraid. Stupid. They should be afraid of him.

Grigori had spent the better part of the last twelve years enforcing for various
Bratva
around the world. Operating mainly in Europe, he had on occasion ventured into the United States, and even once or twice into South America.

A year ago, he’d been asked to take care of a small leak in the jungles of Colombia, and he had learned firsthand how tightly bound Leonid was with the drug cartels. The groups had gone looking for new merchandise to sell, wanting to expand their wealth, and not having come up with any new drugs, they had taken to selling what was readily available—women.

Grigori had done a lot in his life he wasn’t proud of, but the sights that had greeted him in the jungle had turned even his stomach. He’d taken the lot of them out without even batting an eye or being asked to. He’d gladly slit the throats of the men keeping the women captive, then ensured that the proper personnel were given the necessary information to arrive onsite and provide the cleanup and rescue of the women. Anonymously, of course.

There had been eight women held at that particular camp, and after disposing of their capturers’ bodies, he’d left the jungle and returned to Brussels, mentally scarred far worse than any other injury that had been done to his body over the years. Even now, he could see the battered and bruised bodies of the women as they’d been when he burst through the small hut’s door, weapons ready and willing to accomplish his mission.

He hadn’t been expecting to see women barely able to stand, let alone with any energy left to fight. They’d started wailing as he’d come through the door, and even now the sound of a woman crying sent shivers up his back.

Steeling his spine, he pulled his hectic emotions and thoughts back together. He would deal with the Ryndin brothers for killing Katya’s parents, and then he would see what trails led back to Leonid. If there was a way to take the man down without starting an all-out war, he’d gladly do so. The man was a blight on society and a disgrace to every other member of the Russian organizations. Grigori knew that other groups dabbled in prostitution and the skin trades, but what he’d witnessed in South America was beyond tolerable.

Shaking his head as he pulled up to a stop light, he withdrew the small map Stefan had included in the packet of information he’d left. There seemed to be a circular pattern to the placement of the businesses currently being used by the Ryndin brothers. Grigori looked at each location, smiling when he found what he was looking for.
Bingo!

Plugging the address into his phone’s GPS, he turned the vehicle around and headed in the opposite direction. If the Ryndin brothers were helping Leonid, they had to be receiving their merchandise in large quantities, but without drawing unwarranted attention to themselves. Only one business on his map provided that kind of opportunity—a small marine and RV shop about ten minutes away that had direct access to the water.

Grigori quickly located the small shop and was pleased to see numerous opportunities to conceal himself and his vehicle nearby. He chose to park the Humvee to the side of the business property, giving him a clear view of the back storage yard and marine dock.

Grabbing his bag from the backseat, he pulled out his camera and began to take a series of photographs. There was a large ship docked in the water next to the dock, but it didn’t appear that anyone was at work yet. The bay doors on the building were closed up tight and there didn’t appear to be any movement around the building or the ship.

Grigori grabbed the takeout bag from the passenger seat and quickly ate the breakfast sandwich, then sipped on his coffee. Thirty minutes later, he watched as the bay doors began to roll up, and several men exited the building on forklifts. They approached the ship, which was also beginning to show signs of life. The onboard crane began lifting large crates from the cargo hold of the ship and setting them down on the dock. The forklifts then picked them up and delivered them inside the building. This process went on for several hours, and Grigori counted close to thirty crates by the time they were finished.

The bay doors were closed shortly after the last crate was delivered inside the building, and the building grounds went quiet once again. Several hours later, Grigori watched a series of black SUVs arrive at the business. They pulled into the far bay where the door was opened and, twenty minutes later, pulled back out, allowing room for the next vehicle to repeat the process.

Eight SUVs in all drove into the building and then out again minutes later. Once they were all loaded, they all left the facility at the same time, and Grigori was amazed at how sophisticated the operation was.

He wasn’t sure what was in the crates that had been unloaded, but the ship in the marina was registered to a South American businessman hailing from Colombia, so he assumed the crates had contained this week’s shipment of drugs. The SUVs would be used to deliver smaller portions of the larger shipment to distribution centers around the city.

When the SUVs pulled out, he followed the last one at a discreet distance, making note of where and when the vehicles pulled out of line and headed into town. Each location matched up with one of the businesses Stefan had marked on the map.

Grigori followed the last one to the small dry cleaner located across the street from Molly’s Diner. The business was registered to—Ivan Sigorsky.
Is this the same Ivan that Desi and Dennis were talking about?
Deciding that Dennis might know have more information he could use, Grigori drove around the block after watching the SUV pull into the garage area of the dry cleaner.

The lights inside the front of the business never came on, so Grigori assumed that whatever business was being conducted was being done in the warehouse portion of the building. The closed sign was hanging in the front window, and he looked around at the other businesses, puzzled at seeing them similarly closed up.

Glancing at his watch, he realized that he’d spent most of the day watching things unfold down by the docks. It was almost 4:30 p.m., but that also created a new question. Why were businesses closing so early in the middle of the week? It was Wednesday. Not a holiday. Yet all of the businesses were closed.

Grigori looked up and down the street and realized that rather than a bustling city street, his was the only vehicle on the road. He pulled over, alarm bells ringing in his head at how deserted the street was for this time of day.  Molly’s Diner was closed, but that was the only business that should actually be closed. Molly’s was only open for breakfast and lunch and closed each day at two o’clock. Dennis was no longer in front of the diner either.

As he sat in the Humvee trying to figure out what his next move should be, the arrival of two vehicles caught his attention. Both vehicles were dark sedans, and as they pulled to a stop, he realized they appeared to be unmarked police cars.

Four men got out of the two vehicles and approached the dry cleaner. After ringing the bell, they waited for only a minute before the door was opened to them. Grigori was thankful for the dark glass of the Humvee, providing him cover and a chance to observe their actions unnoticed.

After forty minutes, the four men exited the building, several large packages under each of their arms. They deposited their packages in the trunks of the vehicles and exchanged a few words before they got in their vehicles and drove off.

Grigori didn’t see the blue Honda sitting down the block a ways until it pulled out onto the street and began to follow the two dark sedans. Grigori raised his brows and his curses echoed in the silence of the vehicle as he recognized a familiar woman behind the wheel of the car.
What in the world does she think she’s doing?