Russian Roulette (Russkaya Mafiya) (50 page)

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Dedicated to

MaryAnn Comer Christopherson

and

Patti Novia West

You both have been there to build me up and push me through the hard times and also to experience my happiness. Thank you for the pick-me-ups and being truly wonderful women whom I’ve been so lucky to get to know over the past year. You bring a smile to my face and happy tears with your kindness.

You each have a special place in my heart.

Russian words utilized throughout

Unwanted Sacrifices

Thanks/Thank you - Spaa see ba

No - Nine/Nyet

Brother - Brat

Princess - Printyessa

Mine - Moy

Sister - Say straa

Young Lady - Dye voosh ka

ONE

NIKOLI

As I gaze into the mirror secured to the old,
wooden
bedroom door, I concentrate on the reflection in front of me. My body is fairly large, toned to what some may think of as perfection. My blond hair is cropped short so I don’t have to mess with it. I have tiny scars decorating different parts of my body; but they’re small, so not bad. For the most part, I’d say I look pretty good.

My chest swells as I think of how my mother’s kind eyes would look at me if she were here. I know she’d be very pleased with me—her strong boy. I’m no longer a small, scared little one, but a solid man.

Yes, she would be proud of her Nikoli.

Nodding to myself, my gaze travels lower, fixating on the dark grey weapon secured in the holster at my waist. My mother would
not
be delighted with that, however.

“Blondie?” My self-assessment is interrupted by the quiet, sweet voice coming from a little pixie of a woman, Sabrina.

We’ve been friends for many years, and I’ve always cared for her. At first, it was in a big brother, protective sort of way, but over the years as I’ve watched her grow into a stunning young woman, my feelings for her have changed into something much more than a sibling or boyhood crush. Now, she encompasses my every thought it seems. Well, besides the times when I’m remembering my mother and sisters—may their souls rest in peace.

Sabrina grew up in a very strict lifestyle, completely opposite of me. However, her family traveled in the same circles as mine. They’ve always been wealthy, too, where I wasn’t; at least, not until I became a valuable asset to the Mafiya.

After years of knowing her in passing, her family packed up and brought her to America. I believed back then that I would never get to see her again and was pretty upset about it. I hadn’t exactly made a move to stake my claim on her, so I just tried to get past it.

I lost sight of her for a period of time, but when my best friend, Tate, asked me to come to America with him to get away from his controlling father, I practically leapt at the chance knowing I might be able to find Sabrina again.

Before they moved away her father, Kristof, was always scouting around looking to buy up pieces of land in Russia, but Tate and his father, Gizya, along with his Uncle Victor pretty much owned all of the property around any docks there so it made sense for them to move away.

I’m assuming it would have been easier for Kristof to keep the women he sold on water versus on land. The lake kept them invisible and helplessly secured. With the winters in Russia, the women never would have survived if they escaped off the nasty boats; not to mention, they were malnourished and nearly beaten to death until they were sold.

Even though I didn’t want to, I had made myself stay out of it all, always keeping my eye on the prize. I hated not helping all the women I saw being traded, raped, and beaten by the Bratva and their associates, but I had to find the person responsible for killing my mother and sisters. At least I tell myself they were killed. I still pray they were killed quickly and not subjected to what I’ve seen other women go through now that I’m older.

When my family was stolen away, I was only a child. I still remember the night it happened—the loud pounding as my mother’s shack of a door was kicked down and the men tearing through our small place until they had my mother and the girls. I had watched as the men drug them through the doorway, my mother sobbing and pleading as my sisters screamed in fear. I held my teddy tightly as I was partially hidden under the blanket my mother had knitted for me.

My eyes were wide with fear, and I clenched my legs together tightly to not wet my pants. I had wept large alligator tears as silently as possible. I wanted to help. I wanted to yell out to save her, to rescue them all. With each scream from my sisters’ mouths, I heard my mother’s strong Russian voice inside my mind, “Nyet! Nikoli! You stay. Shush, Nikoli! You nyet make nyet sound, be good boy and stay put.”

Those words never really left her mouth but they didn’t have to. I knew in my heart she would have wanted my silence, my strength. She would always tell me it was a man’s job to be strong and love their family; but I was no man, only a boy. Being terrified and confused, I had no way to really help them, and I had no idea who to turn to for guidance.

“Blondie?” Sabrina calls quietly as she climbs the stairs to the loft apartment we’re staying in, compliments of my Boss’ brother, Viktor.

“Yes, Bina?” My gaze shoots to her, shaking off the terrible thoughts of that cold night so long ago.

“You okay up here?”

“Yes, I was only looking,” I reply and gesture to the mirror.

Sabrina meets my eyes with a playful grin. “Of course you were looking in the mirror; you’re so vain,” she giggles.

Rolling my eyes, I let loose a huff, pretending to be offended, but in reality I really do stare at myself in the mirror a lot. I like to look. So what? Nothing wrong with being happy with myself.

“I was preparing breakfast; are you hungry?”

“Of course. I’m like ox, always big and hungry.”

She laughs again. Her bright smile warms my heart and I have to grin at the beautiful chime-like sound. She never giggled before when she was around her family, and I simply adore being able to hear the sound now.

“Okay then, I’ll fix enough for you.”

“Thank you, Bina.” She doesn’t respond, but turns around and hops back down the stairs, her short dark hair flopping with each new bounce.

I never predicted to be in this situation with her in the first place. Tate and Viktor actually made a trade with her father to bring her back and get her away from him. Sabrina’s sister attempted to kill my Boss’ brother, Viktor, who also happens to be the head of the Russian Bratva in America. Viktor contacted me about it, explaining that Sabrina needs protection in case her father retaliates or attempts something with her, so here I am. Only I wasn’t expecting to actually be living with her.

I’ve always been beside Tate offering protection when I wasn’t out on a job for the Mafiya. This is the first time though that I’ve been away from his side—for an extended time period—since I was fifteen years old. At least with Sabrina I don’t have to hide myself from her. She grew up associated with our ways.

The scents float up from below and my stomach lets loose a famished growl. I smell bacon, and let’s face it, bacon can get any man to move. I make my way down to the small kitchen and sit at the even smaller table.

Viktor’s fiancée, Elaina, did her best to fix this place up for us. It used to be the guards’ house and they were nice enough to kick them out so we could have a remote place to stay with some extra security. It’s really like a giant barn-turned-loft house, but it’s perfect for us.

Sabrina set the plastic plate loaded up with toast, eggs, and bacon in front of me. I could easily get used to this sort of thing. The only person who ever really waited on me was my other best friend, Avery. She always made me good coffees and snacks, but she moved away to Texas. I haven’t gotten to see her in quite a while, and I need to make a trip out to visit. Maybe I could bring Bina with me; I doubt she’s ever left Tennessee without her father in tow.

“Spaa see ba,” I grunt my thanks and she blushes slightly. She’s used to my Russian and often will reply back to me in our native language. One of the many things I enjoy about her. I don’t have to worry about being correct with the words I try to say in English. I’m getting better, but I still get things mixed up sometimes or will answer people in Russian not realizing I’m doing it.

She fixes herself a plate with only a small portion of scrambled eggs and it makes me realize she was really cooking all of this food for me and not her. She always does this and it warms my belly knowing she was thinking of me being hungry.

“Why so little?” I gesture to her plate. I’ve never seen her eat much; she’s a tiny sprite of a thing and could definitely use a little meat on her bones.

“My mother would faint if she saw me eat more than half portions.”

“She is not here; she doesn’t see you eat.”

“Yes, but when I have to go back…”

Pushing her plate closer, I argue, “Nyet, you are done there. You will never go back; you eat as much as you wish.”

I keep trying to tell her she’s done with those people, but she doesn’t believe me, always thinking that her father will come for her. That trash can try all he likes, but he’ll never leave with her; I’ll make sure of it. I’ve already lost too much, and I won’t sacrifice her too.

She quiets, pushing her eggs around her plate. I load my toast up, shoveling as much food into my mouth that will fit. Not having my mother around and growing up on the streets taught me that you eat quickly and as much as possible.

The old neighbor lady that kept me for a few years after they took my mother wasn’t too big on teaching me any manners; she just wanted to keep me in a safe and warm place in the winter. I will never forget her kindness.

“Slow down, Blondie, there’s plenty more if you’re still hungry.”

I grunt and keep stuffing my mouth. She’s called me Blondie since we first met. I’ll never forget her sweet young face from that day.

****

I had been with Tate for a year. We were both around sixteen years old. Tate had been learning the ropes from his father, while his father regularly trained me to keep his son safe.

That day we were at a birthday dinner for Tate’s dad at a famous restaurant in Russia that his family owns. Tate and I were sitting at the table joking about him flirting with the waitress when I saw Sabrina’s sweet face.

I turned from Tate, laughing at his next scheme to get the waitress’ number and was met with doe eyes, staring at me from across the table. She was younger and looked so innocent in her soft pink, baby-doll dress. She had blushed then also, when my heated gaze met hers, turning her face away quickly from being caught.

I didn’t turn away though. I licked my lips eagerly and stared, taking in every sweet inch of her. At the time she had long dark locks full of soft curls; her thick lashes had fluttered almost too quickly as if she knew I was still watching her. I couldn’t look away; her looks were too captivating to the likes of a hormonal sixteen-year-old boy. Her small nose was slightly upturned and seeing her lips were almost in a pink pout gave me thoughts of ravishing her mouth until it was rosy to match her cheeks.

I was forced to look away as Tate’s father, Gizya, introduced me to Sabrina’s father, Kristof. Gizya had spoken of how I was becoming very promising and was quickly becoming an asset to the business. That was the first time I’d seen a face to match to Kristof’s name. I had heard about him on the streets and how he’d pay thugs to help out with his business ventures. I was busy with the Bratva and being paid by Gizya to train at that age, so I was never swayed to check out the rumors further. Even then, though, I could sense he was a dirty snake. He definitely didn’t deserve a daughter like Sabrina.

****

Finishing up my breakfast, I chug the glass of orange juice Sabrina was kind enough to get me and then stand.

“Would you like some more?” She peers up at me.

“No. You cooked, I clean—same as usual.” Grabbing our dishes, I head over to the sink, quickly rinsing the plates and cups off and load them into the old dishwasher.

She’s beautiful today, but that’s nothing new. She’s gorgeous every day. Her mother used to force her into wearing these stunning dresses everywhere, but she’s older now and wears the complete opposite. Every time I see her, she’s clad in skinny jeans and a plain tank top or short-sleeved shirt.

I remember when she cut off her long shiny hair. She had escaped one day and called me—upset. I picked her up and she went flat out crazy at a shopping mall making all these changes right before my eyes. I loved her hair but kept my mouth shut so she would be happy. Now it’s in a short style that reminds me of the little psychic vampire on “Twilight.” She also has like ten teeny black studs decorating each ear and wears a variety of brightly colored flip-flops.

She had called me sobbing from her private school a week later, explaining that her mother lost it when she saw the changes Bina made without her approval. Her mom changed whatever she could and sent her right back to school. I tried to come and get her right then, but she begged me to stay away, telling me that her family would only make it worse for her if she left. I was so stupid to believe her; I should have gone and taken her away.

Her sister, Kendall, was an evil person; she tried to kill Viktor and his fiancée not long ago. Growing up she made Sabrina’s life a living hell, always attempting to get her in trouble or kicked out of the private schools she attended. Kendall was such a jealous little bitch, always fantasizing after Tate’s older brother. Thankfully, in the end, Viktor’s soon-to-be wife, Elaina, lost it and killed Kendall.