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Four years ago I wished it was a Sabatini I encountered leaving Carlo’s house, only for it to be Milos Levin. All these years later, I’m truly grateful it wasn’t a Sabatini.
Chapter2
Celia
Four yearsago
The door closesbehind me with an ominous thud, telling me what I already know—my mother is pissed. I refuse to feel guilty for calling Carlo a fucker, especially when he is. As I walk away from his house a gust of wind slams into me—fuck, that’s cold. Everything I knew would happen had. This was a waste of time. I wish I was home in bed. It’s too cold to be up this early on a Saturday morning.
Almost a hundred feet up from the long driveway of the house, a large black SUV is idling. The rear windows are tinted completely black while the driver and passenger are smoky gray, so they won’t get a ticket. Whoever they are, they’re mafia. If there was any doubt the tinted windows clinched it. That and they were carefully out of shot of the cameras—that they know where the cameras are speaks volumes.
All mafia Carlo does business with comes to him—usually at his huge house. A house empty of anyone except him and sometimes my mother, when he allowed her to stay the night. Carlo got off on power plays, and showing off his home always made him feel powerful.
I check my watch, almost ten minutes to nine o’clock. They are waiting until they were right on time, well aware Carlo hated when people were late. Disappointment hits me—that means it isn’t one of the Sabatinis. The Sabatinis are pretty much the only mafia men I like.
Either Dominic or Tony would have made the day better. They were so nice, and neither one of them would allow me to walk home. It’s one of the ways I came to know them so well. If they saw me leaving Carlo’s, they always drove me wherever I needed to go, even if it made them late or pissed Carlo off. Every time I see them, I’m jealous Dominic has Tony for a father. How different would my life be if my father actually gave a shit about his kids and the woman who bore them?
I stop as I pass the SUV. The sound is barely loud enough to be heard over the wind. It’s one of those luxury SUVs so expensive the engine barely makes a sound. The only way you can tell it’s on is from the steam of the hot air coming out of the tailpipe. I hear it again. Oh no.
Frantically, I bang on the hood as I run to the driver’s door and knock on the window. “Turn the car off! There’s a kitten in the engine.”
Men are in both the driver and passenger seats. The driver is bursting out of a plain black suit, white shirt, and black tie. Tattoos run up his neck, and all over the back of his hands down to his fingers. Any other day of the week I would be running fast and far away from him. Passenger guy is the same level of scary. He’s so big his head nearly brushes across the hood of the car. His dirty blond hair and piercing blue eyes don’t miss a thing—definitely security. Definitely wearing a gun, probably two, and has no problem ending a problem his boss has with a bullet to the head.
The passenger says something to the driver. The driver doesn’t even look at me—he’s going to ignore me. Fuck this. I don’t knock, I bang on the window so hard my hand hurts in the thick woolen mittens I’m wearing. “Turn off the car, you fucking—”
“Maylshka.”Gravel and smoke hit me from above. “Is there a problem?”
I turn to find a wall of black, black suit, black shirt, black tie, wrapped in an elegant, long black coat. I’m well aware at five foot six I’m not all that tall, but I have to crane my neck to find yellow eyes glowing down at me. Yellow eyes? Gold and amber eyes I’ve seen, but nowhere except the cats I love have I have ever seen yellow as bright as in this man’s eyes.
Even with his spooky eyes, he’s gorgeous. Skin the color of warm honey is taut over hard lines and angles. A heavily lined forehead adds years to him, putting him in at least his thirties but could be even older. I’m guessing his nose has been broken and set at least twice—it doesn’t detract from his appearance in the slightest. He has cheekbones so sharp I wouldn’t dare touch them for fear of being cut. His jaw and chin are the kind of square I thought only existed in the old comic books my sister collects. He has a thin beard and it takes a second before I realize it’s there among the dark bristles—scar tissue. I recognize a gunshot when I see one. He’s been shot in the face. Mafia, Russian mafia, and I’m yelling at his men.
From across the hood of the SUV another voice says something low in Russian. I focus on that guy. The passenger—him I can deal with. The man in front of me, the solid wall of black…nope, can’t do it, can’t cope.
“Turn off the fucking car. There is a kitten in the engine. You’re going to kill it, dumbass!” I yell.
The words aren’t even out of my mouth before the SUV is off and the hood is popped. Passenger guy is opening the hood. I try to look inside. “Kitty, here. Kitty,” I call out, trying to see where the kitten is hiding. Another meow is my answer.
A clamp comes around my arm, his hand is huge. I have a feeling he could break my arm easily even through my coat with just one hand. That isn’t what unnerves me, though—it’s how even through my thick wool coat I’m hit with heat as I’m pulled back.
“Nyet, you will not burn yourself,” Gravel-Voice guy says. “Go sit inside. It’s too cold for you out here.”
Once again I’m struck dumb as I look up at him. God, six foot four, maybe even six foot five. I’ve stood in front of men as tall and wide as him, yet none have overwhelmed me the way he does.
Another meow, this one is followed by an angry hiss. I swing around to find passenger guy clutching a tiny black kitten. I’m at his side, holding out my hands for the kitten. He drops it into my hands. So small. “Oh no, baby, you’re burned. Are you okay? Don’t worry. I’ll fix you up, I promise.”
The vet clinic I work at is more than three miles away. I need to get moving. But the clamp is back, holding me in place.
“Where is your car?” Gravel-Voice guy asks.
Opening my coat, I place the kitten inside and zip it back up. “I don’t have one. Which means I have to move my ass to get to the vet clinic. It’s almost a forty-five-minute walk.”
The clamp propels me toward the back door. It opens but I stop. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to keep you from freezing to death. Get in.” It’s an order.
I’m annoyed I like it when usually I loathe being told what to do by anyone. It causes me to take a step back. He mutters something in Russian that sounds bad, then I’m up in his arms. Holy shit. He’s picked me up like I weigh nothing. I barely have time to enjoy it before he drops me on the back seat.
The back of the SUV is huge but with a man inside, it doesn’t feel that way. A ghost of a smile is on his face. He has to be Gravel-Voice’s brother or some kind of relation because he looks like him, maybe a few years younger. While he isn’t quite as big as Gravel-Voice, he’s still larger than I’m used to in close quarters.
