Mafia Boss’s Arranged Bride by Bella King
Chapter 27
Nikolai
What kind of a person would my father hire?
I’ve met so many of my father’s goons in the past, and I’m trying to put together a profile of what kind of people they are so that I can more easily infiltrate their headspace. When I remember them, they’re almost always tall, well-built, and kind of dead-eyed.
Okay, so I can at least play that part. They’re not typically very well-spoken, and they’re almost always posturing a little bit. I know how to deal with big egos. I thrive off giving people what they want, then pulling the rug out from them at the last second and leaving them vulnerable.
I have power. I have connections. This fight isn’t hopeless.
I doubt very much that my father would interact with Corey Gillespie in person given the nature of their arrangement, so I need to be able to fit the profile of someone my father would trust to relay information. I look the part, so it can’t be that difficult.
I also doubt that my father ever told Corey about anyone but Michail, the shining heir to the mafia throne. I was never around, nor did I have an interest in inheriting the crown when my father finally keeled over and died. Corey won’t know who I am.
Annika would likely have to drive a getaway car in the event that we needed one, which is entirely possible. As much as I want to trust her as an equal accomplice, I just don’t think she’s had the same exposure to situations like this that I have, and I fear she will become too emotionally involved and get distracted.
Maybe I’m just worried about her wellbeing, but I need to be the one in the face of danger. I can’t have her getting hurt, and worse, killed because I thought she’d be invincible in a situation where even highly skilled people get caught off-guard.
No. I’m not going to let that happen. I’m going to be the one going in and risking my life. She can drive the car. I’ll give her a gun if she wants, but that’s as far as this is going.
Morning brings with it new energy, and I’ve already instructed Annika to run upstairs and grab what little belongings we have with us. As she does so, I venture into the main room that doubles as the dining hall, calling James’ name as I spot him.
He turns his head, his eyes widening when he sees me approaching. He’s probably afraid that I’ll lash out at him over something small, but I haven’t come to make trouble. What I’m about to tell him will make peace instead.
“It’s time,” I grumble, coming to a stop just a foot in front of him. “I’m going to need a car. DO you have those guns ready?”
He nods, crossing his arms. “I have a few, but Martin is still cleaning the rifle, so it’ll probably be a few minutes until it’s ready.”
“Fine,” I reply. “And the car. Where can I get one of those around here? I need something that looks civilian.”
“You can take mine, so long as you promise not to destroy it. I’ve had that thing for ten years, and it’s managed to survive just about everything I’ve thrown at it. It’d be a shame if you were the one to put it to rest.”
“I’ll try not to, but no guarantee,” I reply.
“Please.”
“How’s the engine?” I ask, refusing to acknowledge his odd emotional connection to a vehicle. To me, they’re a dispensable tool for transportation, not something to get into a relationship with. That’s what women are for. I suspect a lot of men get that backward.
James looks down at his feet. “I mean, it works. It’s not going to get over 120 MPH, but it’ll get you where you need to go, no problem.”
“So much for rolling in cash. Do you guys even make any money around here, or was that just a convenient lie?” I ask.
“You know what we were making before,” James says, lowering his voice in fear that someone will hear our conversation and tell me the truth.
I shake my head. “Alright, James, I don’t want to talk about it. I can see you’ve run this place into the ground, but I’ll try to help you get it back up and functioning when I get done with business. I have shit to handle right now, so that might be a while.”
James’ cheeks turn a slightly darker shade of pink in embarrassment. He’s not the master black market dealer that he makes himself out to be, but he is my friend, so I’m going to help him when I have the time. I used to help run this place, but I’ve had other business with my father. Now that that’s clearly over, it might be viable to return the favor to James for letting me stay here with Annika.
Martin, a short blonde guy with the boxy stomach of a 50-year-old man, walks up to James as he hands me the keys to his car. “Guns are ready, sir,” he says, glancing at me for a moment before turning around and leaving.
James nods in Martin’s direction. “Follow him, and he’ll give you what you need. Stay safe out there, man.”
I grin. “I’m unstoppable, James. You should know that by now.”
“That makes two of us.”
I leave James to trail after Martin. He walks with a pace that betrays his stature, swinging one foot out in front of the other so fast that they become a blur below him as he quickly leads me into one of the back rooms where they keep the weapons.
The lights in this room are much brighter, made to illuminate even the smallest particles of burnt-up gunpowder on the slides of the pistols laid out on the table. The heavy scent of cleaning fluids, oil, and metal bristle fills my nose as I follow Martin in.
He motions to one of the tables that hold an array of pistols and a semi-automatic rifle. “These are ready for use.”
I step up to the table, examining the excessive number of tools made only to kill my fellow men. Some people use them for hunting, while others want them for self defense. Still, others want them only to show off, but I’m burdened with the reality of using them to kill my enemies. Holding them is holding death against my leathery palms.
I smile as I take one into my hand, feeling the familiar weight and remembering all the times I’ve had to use them. Killing shouldn’t be so gratifying, but the thought of finally putting a bullet in the head of all those who have wronged me over the years feels good. I have more enemies now than ever and more reasons to enjoy the hunt and the eventual kill.
Annika won’t understand, and I won’t share this with her. I’m a murderer, a true mafia man, and I won’t deny that I take joy in the job. Like the bitter edge of black coffee, I revel in what I’m about to do.
I hear Annika’s soft footsteps, cautious yet curious, behind me, and I put the gun back down at the table before she can witness my pleasure in holding it. Some things are better left unsaid.
“Have you shot a gun before?” I ask as I turn around.
Annika pulls her corset, the only thing left from the wedding and the only thing we have to bring back with us, up to her chin. She looks at me with her bright eyes and nods. “I’ve shot one a few times, but only in secret.”
I smirk. “You’re a devious one, for sure.”
“I thought I might need to know one day,” she says, as though she doesn’t want to be seen as a trouble-maker. I know that she is. I’ve known it since she engaged in conversation with me even though she was due to wed my brother, but that’s one of the things I like about her. She has the spark of a woman who wants to live life, not just exist in it.
“Take this one,” I say, picking up a smaller handgun from the arrangement. “Keep a round in the chamber and don’t ever put it on safety. You need to be milliseconds from pulling that trigger at all times.” I hand it to her, feeling the soft warmth of her hand as she wraps her fingers around the gun.
I’d give anything right now to be in a bed, a real one, with those soft hands and nothing to do for the rest of the day. I’d spend every waking moment moving in and out of her, filling her up raw like I did in the shower, no matter how reckless and stupid it was.
“Are you ready to leave?” I ask Annika, who has become enamored by the pistol in her small hand.
She looks up at me, a smile creeping over her face like she’s only just begun to realize the power that she now holds. “I’ve never been more ready for anything.”
