Page 9 of Mafia Saint


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The door to the diner swings open and a man in a Grateful Dead hoodie casts his eyes over the room, settling on me. He gives me a nod and I get to my feet.

A strange sense of peace settles over me. After all the waiting, at least things are happening. One way or another, this whole thing is going to be over soon.

Alexsei told me to do whatever it takes to bring Diego to him. I’ve no idea how I’m going to do that.

The man who’s collecting me says nothing, simply opens the back door of his BMW so I can climb inside.

I sit to the right so I can watch him while he drives. Any sign of this being a trap and I’m bailing, jumping out and running like I did with Terry.

I’ve got to do this. If I don’t, I’ll have Alexsei after me forever. Do I really want that?

I want to be free of him. I can’t handle how he makes me feel. It’s like looking directly at the sun. When I’m with him, I feel too much. It’s all too intense. I don’t like it. It scares me way more than this.

At least I have a level of control over what’s happening now. I look out the window and I see the city out there and I think of Alexsei and our child. It couldn’t work but what if it could?

That thought brings warm feelings bubbling up inside me. I pop the bubbles. Not happening. He’s a violent criminal. That’s all he is. Nothing else.

I have to trust him though. What choice do I have? It’s possible death versus definite death. I don’t like either option but here I am, turning the corner with a mute driver who might as well be a robot.

We get off the widest streets and work our way into an industrial area, trash piled up on corners, a burned out car half on the sidewalk. Another turn and the light vanishes.

We’ve turned into a warehouse, the door rolling shut a moment later. The warehouse is filled with wooden crates but we don’t stop.

We keep driving forward toward another door that opens as we approach, rolling up to let us out onto a gravel drive that makes me think I’ve gone mad.

The warehouse was hiding the grounds of a futuristic looking house. All white and chrome and floor to ceiling windows, set on one level. Immaculate green lawn surrounds it.

There are bushes, neatly trimmed, trees, even a pond with fountain. Sitting beside it, wrapped up in a fur coat, is the man I’m here to see.

Alexsei showed me photos of Diego Garcia. He looks older in person, more wrinkles on his face. Gaunt, like he’s lost weight recently, a lot of weight.

He’s on the phone as the car comes to a halt, yelling at someone. Beside him is a low glass table with a small wooden box on top.

My door is opened and I step out in time to hear him hanging up. He sets the phone next to the box, retrieving a cigar from an ash tray behind the box. He nods my way. “Miss Belucci,” he says in a Mexican accent. “Won’t you take a seat?”

A lawn chair is dragged over by one of half a dozen guards wandering around. It’s set in front of him and I sit down, wondering why my heart is so steady.

“Or is it Mrs. Volkov?” he continues with a smile. “Do you have a preference?”

“Mila.”

He claps his hands together, sending cigar ash onto the front of his fur coat. “Mila, it is. Delighted to have you here, Mila. Cigar?”

“No, thanks.”

“Straight to business then. I must say I was surprised to hear you wanted to meet up. How did you get hold of my number?”

“My family has contacts.”

“Playing your cards close to your chest, a woman after my own heart. What can I do for you, Mila?”

“I want Alexsei Volkov dead.”

He claps his hands together again. “I like you. No bullshitting. Just out with it and to hell with the consequences. Why do you want your husband dead?”

“Because he’s a violent asshole who trapped me in a marriage I don’t want by paying my father for my hand. I want my freedom. I want him dead. Can you make that happen?”

He taps the top of the box. “I have something here that will help with your problem and mine. Tell me, have you seen Breaking Bad at all.”

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