Page 1 of Possessive Mafia Bodyguard

PROLOGUE

RUSSIAN ORPHANAGE NEAR THE BORDER WITH KAZAKHSTAN

“Change of plan.”

Eight-year-old Tamara had already spotted the men in black suits before the unfamiliar voice reached her ears.

She missed her step in the line of children marching between the dining hall and the classroom, and the boy behind her shoved her in the back to keep her moving. She felt his hands between her shoulder blades, and heat flooded her face as she stumbled into her twin sister Ivana who was in front of her in the procession.

In any other circumstances, she’d have turned around and shoved the boy back. And if she didn’t, her sister would do it for her. But today was different.

Ignoring him, she stared at the matron and lipread her response, her own dry lips moving silently in sync.

“I’ll prepare them to leave.”

Them.

The matron’s cold blue eyes landed on Tamara, and ice slithered down the child’s back.

This wasn’t the first time they’d seen the men at the orphanage. Their previous arrival had caused a ruckus amongst the children; most visitors smelled of cabbage and antiseptic soap rather than the forest on a winter’s day. They generally wore functional shoes, tiredness in heavy pouches under their eyes, and washed-out clothes that would serve a purpose for several years to come. But these men had people to be tired for them while they ate meals from fancy plates and drank wine from crystal glasses. They had the look and scent of… money.

The twins had inhaled it back then before they knew what would come of the men’s visit—that aroma of having enough money to buy whatever they wanted, even before the matron had pointed the girls out to the men. And later that same night, lying on Tamara’s narrow cot together with the thin sheet pulled up over their heads, Ivana had announced that they needed a plan. Because she sensed the danger, even if she didn’t understand how irrevocably it would alter their lives.

Now, Ivana grabbed Tamara’s wrist and dragged her out of the line of pasty-faced children, and into the room where the janitor stored his cleaning materials and slept off headaches produced by the small bottles of clear alcohol he stowed inside a bucket.

“We must go.” Ivana locked eyes with her sister and squeezed her hand. “Today. Now.”

Tamara didn’t ask her twin where they would go. They’d already discussed crossing the border into Kazakhstan, finding work on a horse farm or shoveling snow, until they could earn enough money to travel to Europe or America.

She nodded. Excitement bubbled inside her chest mingled with fear of the unknown. They’d lived in the orphanage for as long as she could remember, and she had no physical memories of the woman in the black and white photograph that Ivana kept hidden inside her mattress. But as long as they were together, she felt safe. Ivana would never let anything bad happen to her.

“Our things…” Tamara muttered.

“I’ll go first.” Ivana ignored her and took control, the way she always had, as if she felt responsible for her sister because she was the eldest by eight minutes.

Tamara sometimes wondered how those eight minutes had morphed into a period that felt much longer when she looked at Ivana, weeks, or even months, but she guessed that it was because her sister was special. They looked identical: same jet-black hair, same hazel eyes, same petite frame. But Ivana was stronger. Faster. Smarter. Taller because she walked with her chin jutting towards the ceiling. But today, Tamara was glad that she’d hung around inside their mother’s womb a bit longer.

Because she didn’t know if she would have the courage to go through with this if she were the one making the decisions.

“Stick close to me, Tamara,” Ivana said in an urgent whisper. “If we get separated, you know what to do.”

“Climb over the wall and follow the signs to Kazakhstan.”

“Let’s go.”

Tamara didn’t think about reaching the wall as her sister opened the door to the janitor’s room and peeked outside. She would get there; that was a given. It was what was on the other side that made her heart thud like stones dropped into a bucket of water.

The corridor was quiet now that the other children were in the classroom. They didn’t have long. Matron would come looking for them soon, and she would raise the alert to track them down before the men in suits realized that she’d let them get away.

“Follow me,” Ivana hissed over her shoulder.

Tamara didn’t need to be told twice.

She followed her sister like her shadow, upstairs to their empty dorm room without encountering another child or a member of staff. Inside the room, Tamara waited by the door to listen out for footsteps while Ivana slid the photograph of their mother and a tarnished silver hairbrush from a split in her mattress. She glanced over her shoulder as Ivana retrieved the two knives she’d stolen from the kitchen the first time the men in black suits came to the orphanage.

“This one is yours.” Ivana handed over a knife and tucked the other one inside the waistband of her standard-issue gray pleated skirt. Then she tucked the hairbrush inside her panties and offered the folded photograph to Tamara.

Tamara shook her head. “You should keep it.”