Page 9 of Possessive Mafia Bodyguard

I stared at it like it might suddenly go bang and burn the flesh off my bones in some sick kind of joke, but it didn’t, and the man holding it aloft didn’t budge. He studied me closely like he was trying to preempt my next move. That’s when I realized what was at stake. Or at least I thought I did.

I knew I could never reach the wallet in his hand. So instead, I cast around the street for something to bring the wallet to me and found a smooth rock on the sidewalk, glistening from the earlier rainfall. I picked it up, got a feel for the weight of it, and stepped out of the glow of the streetlamp so that the light wouldn’t distort the trajectory of the missile I was about to launch. Then I lobbed it at his hand, hitting my target which was the soft flesh on the inside of his wrist.

He dropped the wallet, and I grabbed it and ran.

The next day, he came back to the same street, but this time he brought his son, Aiden.

We’ve been inseparable ever since.

Now, I hold eye contact with my friend as I sip my whiskey slowly. “I’m not lying about the lack of information either.”

“Shit.” Aiden rubs his jaw with his large hand, his palm scritch-scratching across his stubble. “I knew it was too fucking neat to be true.”

He pulls his cell from his pocket, locates the number he’s looking for, and hits the call button.

“What have you got for me?” he speaks into the handset.

I sit back and ignore the hum of the voice on the other end. I can’t recall the last time I experienced real fear. As Aiden’s bodyguard, I’m always packing at least one weapon and dancing with death almost every time I walk out of this apartment. It comes with the territory. He’s the boss of the largest Irish mob in the city of Chicago, and mobs make enemies not friends.

But I’m afraid right now. I’m afraid of never finding out who my Russian beauty is. But more importantly, I’m afraid that the image in my head of the way she looked at me when I was on top of her will fade and I’ll never get it back.

“The fucking cowards,” Aiden growls into the phone in his hand. “Of course they didn’t show their fucking faces. Stay where you are. I’ll cover every fucking terminal from here to New York City to stop the bastards.”

He ends the call and knocks back the rest of his drink, squeezing the empty glass in his fist.

“I sent Liam and his team to the Calumet Landing. The place was crawling with fucking Russians, but they were either expecting the wrong kind of company, or their cargo didn’t land as expected.”

“Or died en route,” I add.

We know it happens. The whole world knows that women and children get trafficked because there are too many sick fucks out there who aren’t content with lining their pockets from smuggling drugs in and out of the country. Sure, the Kavanaghs started out in Dublin with a small-time protection racket like a lot of other gangs. But Aiden’s grandfather had the business acumen to grow that racket into a legit security firm that earned him his first million, and Seamus took it to the next level, branching out into nightclub management and land acquisition before handing it all over to his eldest son.

Aiden might be a mob boss; he might be a ruthless asshole who will sever ties with anyone who doesn’t serve a purpose in the Kavanagh empire, but anyone he has ever killed deserved their fate, and he sure as fuck wouldn’t trade kids or women for profit.

Mouth pressed into a tight line, he refills his glass and slides the decanter my way. It belonged to his grandfather, and since we were old enough to acquire a taste for the booze, I’ve never seen my friend pour a drink straight from the bottle.

“They knew we would be at Iroquois.” He studies the amber liquid in his glass. “Whoever got close enough to give you that shiner was scoping out the opposition. Seeing what they were up against.”

Something inside my gut squirms like a worm that lost its tail.

Does she know what currency her Pakhan is trading in? Or is that information on a need-to-know basis only, and she was simply there following orders? Because it doesn’t sit right with me. I only met her briefly, but I can’t imagine her defending the sick trafficker with her life. It’s worth far more than that. She’s too fucking special to devote her life to an animal without an ounce of compassion for other human beings.

I refuse to believe that she’s involved, and I already feel the weight on my shoulders of my personal mission to track her down and prove my best friend wrong.

On the other hand, finding her might be a whole lot easier if Aiden knows who we’re looking for.

“Do we have a name?”

“Ivanov.” Aiden raises his glass in the air to toast the inevitable downfall of the Ivanov family now that they are in his sights.

3

TAMARA

I don’t tell Leonid about the Irish giant. It’s the first time I’ve ever withheld information from him, but like a little kid still navigating the language spoken by their parents, I can’t seem to find my words when I report back to Leonid.

“The Petrovs were not there.”

I face him in his study without sitting down, the weight of the Irishman’s gun in my pocket doing all kinds of strange things to my pulse. He didn’t take my weapons. He disarmed me easily, but he didn’t secure my weapons to save himself or try to harm me.