Sold to the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Novel (18 page)

I
’m sitting
in the office of the warehouse in the dark, the room lit only by the unnatural glow of a laptop screen. The little digital clock in the corner of the screen reads 2:27 AM. My nails, formerly smooth and painted bright pink at one of the many salons Andrei took me to, have been bitten down to the quick. I’m shivering, even though I’m perched under three blankets, my legs folded under me on the bedroll. At this point in my pregnancy, this is the closest to comfortable I can possibly manage. Standing up for too long is agony. I’ve tried lying down on my back, my left side, my right side — nothing works. So I just sit.

If I’d been spending all this time alone, I surely would have lost my mind by now. The cold silence and dull, tedious surroundings make a powerful case for cabin fever — a term I learned from a series of excessive, boredom-induced Wikipedia searches. But with Andrei around, the time has been significantly less awful. He’s been so sweet and attentive, even talkative. But now he’s left me here. I’m not sure where he’s gone to, but I know exactly what he is going there to do.

He’s going to kill the man who’s forced us to hide here.

Underneath the pile of blankets, my left hand rests on my stomach, gently rubbing slow circles over the protruding bump there. These motions are just as much to soothe myself as they are meant to comfort the baby inside. He kicks every now and then, as if to remind me that he’s here with me still. And my right hand… well, it’s wrapped around the handle of a gun.

The safety is off and I dare not even approach the trigger for fear of accidentally firing the shiny little widow-maker. I wonder to myself if my unborn son can sense how frightened I am, how close he is in proximity to a powerful weapon. I hope with all my racing heart that he can’t tell where we are or what’s going on. I would never wish this kind of terror on anyone, much less my own tiny child. The laptop screen goes dark as it’s sat untouched for too long, leaving me totally blind. A shiver runs a cold trail down my spine.

“It’s okay, little one,” I murmur, my voice thin and shaking. “Daddy will be back soon, I’m sure. He’s going to make everything alright and we’ll get to leave this place for good. And as soon as he gets back I’m going to throw this stupid gun into a dumpster. Or a volcano.”

At first when Andrei showed me — carefully — how to use it, I told him over and over that I would sooner die than fire a gun. But then he reminded me that I’m not just carrying it to protect myself — it’s our son’s life I must protect, as well. He told me that once this is over, I will never have to so much as look at a gun again for the rest of my life. He promised me that this would be the end of the terror, the end of the war.

For that’s what it feels like right now. I am a fugitive, hiding in the dark. The forces of evil are stalking me, desperately trying to pin down my location so they can finally put an end to me and my baby. But I refuse to give in so easily. The old Cassandra would be cowering, completely inconsolable, totally hysterical with panic.

But right now I am surprisingly calm. Sure, my hands are shaking and my stomach is twisting in knots, but I’m done hiding. My strong, noble husband is out there somewhere, finding the big boss so he can chop off the head of the snake and put an end to this. He’s on the offense.

It is my job to maintain the defense here.

I know I’m in danger. Andrei has already explained to me that these men are totally ruthless, that they’ll do anything in their power to stop him — to
hurt
him. And he says that they know about me now. They know how to hit him where it really hurts: his heart.

That means me. And our son.

So I’ve got to be strong, for the three of us. I clench my teeth, staring into the darkness expectantly. I don’t know what is going to come through that door first: my husband, returning triumphantly from battle, or some lowlife criminal, hell-bent on using me and my baby as bargaining chips. Or as collateral. Or… just to kill us for the sake of killing.

I shudder to myself but won’t look away from the direction of the door. I must stay vigilant and patient while the war rages far beyond these walls.

“I swear I’m going to give you the happiest life any little boy could have,” I whisper, patting my stomach. “You’re going to have a toy boat, and a teddy bear, and a —”

Just then, a small sliver of light pierces the darkness.

The door is slowly, slowly opening. I hold my breath, too afraid to even blink. Under my left hand, my baby kicks. I pray silently, desperately, that it’s because his father is approaching. It must be Andrei. It has to be.

Still, I tighten my grip on the gun.

The shaft of light across the floor widens ever so slightly as somebody walks into the warehouse. I strain my eyes and ears, watching and listening for any hint, any trace of my husband. I listen closely to the approaching footsteps, hoping to somehow discern from their weight and rhythm whether they belong to Andrei. But it’s a futile attempt. In my current state of paralyzed terror combined with the pitch-black darkness, I have no idea who is walking in.

The footfalls are heavy, dragging. They don’t sound like my husband, who is surprisingly light-footed in spite of his size. But I could be wrong. What if it
is
Andrei, and he’s hurt? A limp of some kind would certainly account for the change in gait. My heart pounds so loudly that I worry the intruder might hear it and be able to find me that way.

The column of light suddenly dissipates, leaving the three of us in total darkness: me, my unborn son, and the mysterious, possibly lethal stranger walking slowly toward us.

My head grows fuzzy as it dawns on me that I’ve been holding my breath this whole time. My lungs are so tightly constricted in my chest that my body aches, from more than just pregnancy pain. I have to take a breath before I pass out.

So I do. One quick, sharp inhale.

And that’s all it takes.

There’s a deafening crack — the unmistakable sound of a gun firing at mid-range. In the split second following, I gasp and close my eyes tightly, wrapping my left arm around my stomach, my mind going totally blank with fear as I brace myself for the inevitable pain.

But it doesn’t come. Instead, the office window breaks with a hail of broken glass and the laptop to my right shatters in a spark of electrical light, plastic bits flying. I scream involuntarily, and in response I hear a deep, cruel laugh.

He yells something in Russian that I don’t understand.

“Leave us alone!” I cry, fumbling to get a solid grip on the gun. Everything is still totally dark — I can’t even tell what direction the voice is coming from, other than vaguely in front of me. Trembling, gritting my teeth so hard it makes my jaw ache, I lift up the gun and point it weakly before me.

“
Vremya
umirat
!” he snarls.

I hear the distinct, horrifying sound of a gun cocking.

Before I have even a nanosecond to think about it, I pull the trigger.

The gun pops with such a powerful, loud jolt that it falls from my hand. There’s a strangled shout and then the sound of something heavy collapsing to the floor. I hyperventilate, rocking back and forth with both arms wrapped protectively around my belly. I have no idea if I have killed my attacker or if he is simply wounded and preparing to shoot at me again — but I know that I simply cannot bring myself to fire the gun another time.

Just then, the warehouse door swings open with a bang, admitting a wide column of moonlight to break through the shadows, the silhouette of a tall, broad-shouldered man in the doorway. Several yards in front of him, the dim light just barely illuminates the still, lifeless body of the intruder.

“Andrei?” I call out, my voice wavering. I am too frightened to even consider the possibility that this second person might be yet another enemy.

“Cassie!”

It’s Andrei’s voice. My heartbeat quickens and tears burn in my eyes as I struggle to get to my feet. I need to be near him, now. I need to hold him in my arms and make absolutely certain that he is real, that he’s alive.

He bolts toward me, sidestepping the dead body in front of him, bursting through the office door and sweeping me into his arms. He smells like gunpowder, like death — and yet, when he kisses the top of my head, I feel more alive than ever.

“
Moya
lyubova
, are you alright? Oh, my sweet
zhena
!” he murmurs, covering my face with kisses, his hands gripping me like he is afraid I’ll dematerialize at any moment.

“I — I shot him,” I reply through a thick layer of tears.

“You did,
malyshka
, and you got him. You did so well, and I am so proud of you.”

“Is he — is he dead?”

“
Da
, angel. He’s dead.”

“And Sergei?”

“We will never see the likes of him again,” Andrei assures me, his hand reaching down to rub my pregnant belly. “Our son will be born into a much safer world now.”

“Oh, Andrei!” I gush, burying my face in his strong chest. He strokes the back of my head, gently weaving his fingers in and out of my blonde hair.

“I promise you things will be different now. We don’t have to live in fear anymore. I’m going to protect us, and I’m never leaving you again.”

We cling to each other this way for what feels like an eternity, simply soaking in each other’s presence, breathing in a shared relief. I never want to let him go.

“
Ya
tebya lyublyu
,” I mumble into his shirt.

“I love you, too.”

“
S
mile
, Max!”

Andrei stands in front of us holding his iPhone, the camera flash lighting up and making the ten-month-old baby in my arms blink in confusion. I beam at the camera, tickling him to make him giggle. An infectious, delighted peal of laughter comes out of his little mouth, causing both Andrei and me to burst into laughter, too.

We’re sitting on a woolly blanket in Central Park, the three of us bundled up in thick sweaters, mittens, and scarves. My little son’s chubby, cherubic face is all rosy-cheeked from the brisk cold, so I reach into the diaper bag to retrieve his knit beanie with ear flaps. He hates the hat, I know, but the last thing we need is a sick baby on our hands. Especially since we are just about to leave on a trip tomorrow!

“Oh, that’s a good one,” Andrei says, grinning. Sometimes it still catches me off-guard to see him looking this way — so happy and carefree. He used to smile only rarely, and when he did, it was a tentative, fleeting expression. Like he was afraid to be happy. But nowadays he’s almost always smiling, laughing, making silly faces and sounds to entertain baby Maxim.

I didn’t know it was possible to love anyone as much as I love my husband and son. And I never knew just how much happiness I could squish into my life.

“Was he looking at the camera this time?” I ask, coming around to lean on Andrei’s shoulder and look at the iPhone screen.

“
Nyet
, looking at his mama, as usual.” Andrei turns to kiss me on the cheek before doing the same to Max, who giggles again and reaches for his daddy’s face.

“You wanna go to daddy?” I coo, hugging Max close.

“Da-da,” he mumbles, his dark eyes crinkling up with delight at the mention of his father. The two of them are like two peas in a pod, totally fascinated by each other. Andrei takes Max from my arms and lifts him up, swinging him around in a circle while the baby laughs hysterically. My husband looks at Max with such tenderness and enchantment, like he’s the most wonderful creature on the planet. And Max often stares wide-eyed at his daddy, scarcely blinking, totally entranced by his every move. I can already tell that Andrei is his hero.

But he loves me, too. I’m his comfort. I’m the one he wants when he cries, when he’s hungry, when he’s scared. Andrei is the fun one, and I’m the safety blanket. We suit our roles very well, I’ve discovered. When I first met Andrei, I never would have imagined this side of him: so gentle and sweet.

Sometimes I feel like my life is too good to be true. But it’s totally real, and it’s mine.

“So what time are we leaving in the morning?” I ask, leaning forward to take a strawberry out of the picnic basket and pop it into my mouth.

“I’m thinking around eight. So we have enough time to arrive in your hometown before Isaiah’s piano lesson,” Andrei replies, retrieving a strawberry and offering it to Max. The baby takes it excitedly and starts pulling the little green leaves off the top with inexplicable glee.

“I can’t believe how fast he’s growing up,” I say, shaking my head. “Seems like just yesterday Isaiah was a baby, himself.”

“And now he’s an uncle,” Andrei says, smiling.

I grin at the idea of my eight-year-old brother being an uncle. “Crazy.”

After extensive research and intel, Andrei managed to track down my parents and Isaiah. They moved a county over from where I grew up, picking a new place to start over. Sure enough, Andrei found out through some particularly crafty sleuthing that my parents have been telling everyone that I moved to South America to be a missionary. They have no intentions of reaching out to me — I am essentially dead to them.

Honestly, even though it still hurts a little sometimes, I’ve gotten over that betrayal. My happiness with my current situation far outweighs my angst over what happened in the past. I no longer miss my mother and father. But I did miss my brother. Andrei couldn’t stand to see me suffering, and he knew how badly I wanted Isaiah to meet his new nephew.

Last month was the first time I got to see my little brother since the day of our wedding. It took a lot of secretive planning, as well as a hefty pinch of kismet, to pull it off. It just so happens that my best friend and ballet instructor Sonya has a friend named Peter who teaches piano lessons in upstate New York. Since my old teacher retired years ago and my family was new to their area, I knew my parents would be on the hunt for a piano teacher for Isaiah.

So Andrei talked to Sonya who talked to Peter, who surreptitiously put himself forward as a private piano tutor, advertising himself as a man who specializes in hymns. It didn’t take long for Jan and Arnold to sign up for Peter’s services. And it wasn’t long after that when Peter told Andrei he would be more than happy to facilitate a secret visit.

Overjoyed at the thought of being reunited, however temporarily, with Isaiah, I said yes and jumped at the opportunity. So last month we took a drive up north to see Isaiah during his piano lesson. I made him swear not to tell our parents, and he’s old enough to know how serious the situation is, at least on some level. I think he understands that if he tells anyone about the meetings, our parents will only try that much harder to keep us apart.

Tomorrow, we are going back up there to visit him for a second time. And after that, we are catching a plane to Madrid! It will be my first time out of the country. Actually, it will be my first time ever even leaving the state of New York! We’re going on a month-long tour of Europe, hitting Spain, France, Italy, and Switzerland before jetting up to Siberia for a short visit to Andrei’s hometown of Yakutsk. It will be blisteringly cold there, of course, but he assures me that we will be perfectly fine. After all, there are lots and lots of people who live there year-round! I’m excited to see where my husband grew up. I know he will have to confront a lot of difficult memories, but with me beside him, I think it will be a cathartic experience.

Besides, Sonya will be meeting up with us there to see her mother for the first time in many, many years, and I cannot wait to see that reunion!

“Do you think we have enough winter clothes for Max?” I ask, biting my lip.

Andrei shrugs and lifts an eyebrow, a mischievous look crossing his face.

“We could always take him shopping in Europe.”

I beam at him. “Europe,” I breathe dreamily. “I never thought I would leave my hometown, much less travel the world!”

“And I never thought I would have a wife or a baby,” Andrei says. “I never thought I could possibly have this kind of life.”

“Then that makes two of us,” I add, reaching over to take his hand.

He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it, causing Max to make a delighted gurgling noise.

All three of us laugh, snuggled together under the sunny skies, a colorful life full of love and adventure ahead. I can’t wait.