“Doesn’t matter. I can drive you home if you need me to,” Boris insists.
“I’ll be okay, Boris. I promise I’ll let you know when I get home.”
“Good. Now go straight home before I change my mind,” he tells me with a fatherly tone in his voice.
“Yes, sir.” I grab my things and put on my coat as I walk to the front door of the restaurant. Boris locks the door behind me, and I start walking the ten blocks to my apartment building.
The walk home from the restaurant usually takes about fifteen or twenty minutes, depending on how fast I walk. I got the waitressing job just after I moved to Boston, and picked the apartment because it was within an reasonable walking distance. The area my actual apartment building is located in is okay during the day, but can sometimes get a little sketchy at night.
I cross the last street and turn onto the street where my building is. There seems to be an extra street light out tonight, so I feel a little more cautious and uneasy.
Before I know what’s happening, I see a shadow step out from between two buildings. An arm wraps around my waist and a hand, large enough that I can’t breathe, covers my mouth so I can’t scream. I’m pulled in between the buildings and shoved against the wall.
“You need to shut up and listen,” I hear the man tell me in a deep voice. He’s wearing a mask, so I can’t tell who he is, but his eyes are a dark brown that burn with fury and intimidation.
“No!” I scream when he releases the hand covering my mouth. I reach up with my hands to hit him, or scratch him, or do anything to get him to let me go and get away.
When nothing works, I use all the strength I have and drive my knee between his legs and into his groin. He releases me and doubles over, grunting in pain and calling me several horrible names under his breath. I take this as my chance to run, but I don’t get very far. The man recovers quickly and reaches out to grab my hair, pulling me backward and slapping my face before I fall to the sidewalk.
My hand goes up to grab my cheek where he hit me, trying to protect my face. The masked man grabs me by my coat and shakes me.
“Don’t ever try that again if you know what’s good for you,” he says threateningly.
“Leave me alone,” I cry. “I haven’t done anything.”
“Listen here, bitch. You’re in more trouble than you realize,” the man says, slapping me across the face again.
This hit lands a little harder, and it makes me see stars. The ringing in my ears is so loud that I can’t hear what he’s saying anymore. I’m on the sidewalk, stunned, with the masked man standing over me and yelling threats. I have no idea who he is or what trouble he’s talking about.
I see him raise his hand to hit me again, but the hit doesn’t land. Instead, I see the masked man yanked forcefully backward and away from me.
The stars begin to clear from my vision, and I see this new man punching the masked man in my defense. I hear him say something, but can’t make it out clearly because my ears are still ringing. The masked man falls to sidewalk, but quickly recovers and runs in the opposite direction.
The new man comes over to me and kneels down to get close to eye-level. He’s huge; easily well over six feet tall, maybe closer to six and a half feet tall. He offers me his hand and helps me sit up. It helps clear the stars at the edges of my eyes, and lessen the ringing in my ears.
“Are you okay?” he asks. He has a Russian accent and a voice so deep that if this were any other situation, it would sound seductive.
“I don’t know,” I respond as I try to stand, but fail. He helps ease me back to the sidewalk to collect my bearings.
I know I should be terrified of this stranger considering everything that just happened, but as I look in this man’s eyes, I can’t help but think that I’m safe with him.
CHAPTER SIX
IVAN
TRAFFIC IS LIGHT this evening as Ilya drives Mikhail and I to the new warehouse near the South Boston Waterfront in the Seaport District. There are a lot of old warehouses in this area, and recent development projects have included loft apartments, restaurants, and other businesses.
I own several properties in the district already. The ultimate goal is to control the district completely and keep it out of the hands of the Irish. Kolya has already managed to score six additional properties since I gave him instructions several nights ago, and I have another one of my men applying pressure to others.
“Have Dmitri and Maksim arrived yet?” I ask Mikhail while I check messages on my phone in the backseat.
“They arrived five minutes ago,” Mikhail confirms. “Grigory is back at your office taking care of paperwork.”
“Good,” I say as Ilya pulls up to the front of the warehouse, then gets out of the driver’s seat to open the passenger door. He and Mikhail follow me inside where I’m meeting with my brothers. Both of them stand when I enter.
“Report.” I direct my attention toward Dmitri. He’s my enforcer and head of security, so he needed to get his eyes on the inside of this place first.
“We already own the properties on either side of this warehouse,” Dmitri starts. “This makes it easier to conceal activities without neighbors getting suspicious. There are two exits in the back and one in the front that you came through this evening. We’ll need to add insulation and soundproofing, as well as cameras.”
