19. Laszlo
Islumped into my office chair, the security feed on my screen. Lyn was down the hall, in another part of the penthouse, watching a movie in the theatre. She was curled up on the plush sofa, a blanket drawn over her, but I knew she was wearing my hoodie.
I told her to buy all the clothes she wanted, fill the closet up, but she practically lived in the thing. Even though I’d ordered a dozen of the same sweaters, she never touched them. They weren’t the same, according to her, so I started wearing those to see if that helped.
She usually watched musicals, and I’d brought home a bunch of new ones for her yesterday.
Why she chose a mafia movie, I couldn’t imagine. A Cronenberg one, no less.
She had taken me off guard when she slipped into the role in the club, pretending we’d been intimate before. How she came up to that during such distress was phenomenal.
‘I want you to take me.’ Her words echoed in my skull. She did. Not then, not like that, but she wanted me.
I hated that the only memory I had of her body on mine was that night, with a jeering crowd trying to get a look at my girl. Insulting her perfect body! Making her tremble with fear.
It did nothing for me.
I wasn’t a brute that got off on scared women.
What I wouldn’t give to go back in time, do things differently. Her first time should have been gentle. She should have been made love to.
But I couldn’t be selfish with her. My past clung to me like a spectre, ridding me of any fantasy of a different future for me. She was at the start of her life. I was thirty, chasing death and the ghosts of my past, chewed up by the guilt of hurting her.
The dread that I would hurt her again. I’d never force myself on her, but I needed to have a clear head. My mission was dangerous. If I fucked up and the Bratva discovered I was infiltrating them, she would be a target.
How could I let her stay in that situation?
She was innocent, but the Bratva didn’t care about things like that. They would torture her for information about me.
On my desk was her purse. Inside it was my tracker, and the drawing she’d made me, wrapped around my manilla business card. I stared at the art of my hands, the snake tattoo peaking out from the cuff of my jacket. A ring, carefully designed.
She made it for me.
I’d told her to pack and dream of a life where she didn’t have to work, and instead, she designed me the most unique ring I could have imagined. Her creativity was astounding. The small, unbroken parts of me ached.
I glanced at the security feed in the theatre room. The camera was at the side, giving me a view of her face as the light of the movie flashed upon it. Her fingers worked through her hair, braiding and unbraiding the same section.
The phone vibrated on my desk, and I answered.
Lyn leaned forward in the sofa, watching a man get his ass beat in a sauna.
She covered her eyes at the nudity.
“Good girl,” I mumbled.
There was a cackle from my phone. “Am I really your good girl, Python? I haven’t even told you what I did!”
I jolted, forgetting I’d answered the call.
“Scorpion, what?”
My voice was clipped, but Scorpion was used to my shitty moods. His rivaled mine, after all, and I tolerated them. We were both good at what we did, so a little snark was excused.
“The feed from the mansion’s erased. No idea if anyone watched it live, but it wasn’t accessed after it was recorded.”
Relief sank down my spine. I still couldn’t believe how reckless I’d been. I hadn’t relied on nepotism or my father’s name to infiltrate the Bratva, but they knew who I was. My connections to them. To that place. If they knew I was there, my entire plan would’ve been up in smoke.
“Thanks.”
Scorpion snorted.
“What?”
“Nothin’, man. That’s the first time you’ve ever fucking thanked me for anything. You alright?”
No, I wasn’t, but the hacker I was blackmailing into helping me didn’t need to know that.
“Yea, grateful is all. I’ll send you a bonus.”
Another chuckle. “Uh-oh.”
“What?”
“Our relationship is gonna get more complicated now, isn’t it? Trying to butter me up for something big?”
Was I that transparent?
“I need some dirt on a man. My resources turned nothing up, no history until eight years ago; he was someone else before then.”
“Cop?”
That was what I feared. Jimmy Chernyk was a problem. I didn’t think he would stalk Lyn to Idaho, but if he had federal clearance, he could. Once I took care of him, I could send her on her way with a clean-ish conscience. The bratskaya didn’t care about Lyn. They wouldn’t look for her.
Jimmy might.
“Maybe. Could be another of the bad guys. I’m sending you the details. Talk later.”
My stomach churned, reminding me I had eaten next to nothing for over a week, since that shitty night. Nothing stayed down, so I wasn’t eager to tempt it. The pain was a reminder of what happened when I let my guard down, but my mind was getting hazy.
I couldn’t afford that. I was supposed to take Lyn for her driving practice in an hour, so I’d have to get some food into me. A smoothie.
I entered the kitchen, opened the fridge. Grabbing a bottled water, I closed the door before I realized something was off.
Opening it again, I took out the note.
Hi Laszlo,
Do you even check in here? If so, you better eat this. You need to keep your strength up. Put it in the oven at 350 for 15 minutes to warm it up.
xo Lyn
Next to the handwritten note in the fridge was a beautiful, flaky pot pie. Did she make it for me? Of course she did, there wasn’t a piece missing.
The scent of it baking warmed my heart. My parents never cooked for us, that was all down to the nannies and chefs. My father’s paranoia had the staff rotating at such a rapid pace that I never bonded with any of them.
No one had made me a meal because they worried about me.
Because they cared.
My heart ached, the sensation unfamiliar.
I didn’t want to let her go.
I wanted her.
As I started the oven and went through the motions of cooking—something I hadn’t done in years—I realized how deep she’d gotten under my skin.
She wasn’t just a troublesome witness, someone I feared would hunt me for revenge.
She was an obsession, the first woman to make me want something more than vengeance.
I was falling for her.
The realization knocked me off kilter, and I leaned into the countertop.
I didn’t think I was capable of feeling like this for a living, breathing person. I thought that part of me had been ripped out and destroyed.
But there it was, a seed of something real, germinating in the warm glow of her radiance.
I wished I could be a man worthy of her, but I wasn’t. I never would be. My life was forfeit, and falling for me would be a death sentence. She had to go, because one day, I would kill the man who stole my sister from me and ordered my torture.
Lord Ivan Vasilyev.
Pakhan of the New England cell of the Bratva.
The next week was marked by disappointments and complications, but the worst of them was confirmation that Jimmy was an undercover fed.
I was going to fucking ruin him for ever thinking about putting his hands on Lyn.
I would start with his bank accounts. He had several hidden ones that Scorpion found, and it was all fiat.
Government issued money, no crypto. I wouldn’t keep any of it.
There were charities for abused women that could use his ill-begotten gains.
When I got through with destroying him, he’d wish I’d killed him quick.
I was still seething, but I noticed on the security feed that Lyn had fallen asleep in the theatre. It was almost dawn, and I considered letting her sleep, but her neck was at an impossible angle.
“Hey, Lyn, wake up.”
“Ahh?”
Her lips parted in a yawn, her eyes blurry as they landed on me, then focussed.
“What time is it?”
“Late. Or early. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
It had been a long day. The financial scheme I was running took constant maintenance.
It was harder to run a scam when I was being discerning about who I was scamming, but it was a price I’d pay for a cleaner conscience.
It would be worth it once I toppled the finances of the Bratva and left them in ruin.
Finding out that Jimmy was undercover was just the shit icing on a shit day.
Being near her made it better, but I wouldn’t have her much longer.
“Mmokay.” She stood up, tripping forward, the blanket having caught beneath her barefoot. This time, I caught her before she fell with an ‘ooph’. “Sorry, clumsy.”
She yawned again, and I grinned. My arms laced in under her legs.
“Grab my neck.”
She obeyed, and I hoisted her up. Taking the stairs two at a time, I brought her into the bedroom, setting her on the side of the mattress.
She was drowning in my black hoodie, and it made her look smaller, more delicate. All the expensive clothing I bought her, and my favourite outfit was her in my oversized sweater.
Her hair was half braided, messy from sleep.
She was achingly beautiful.
I was just about to leave her to sleep when she stopped me in my tracks.
“Laszlo, do you feel guilty about what happened?”
Her words punched me in the gut and I almost buckled over with the shock.
I grabbed the bedpost, knuckles turning white beneath my tattoos with my rough grip.
She was expecting an answer from me, and we had to talk about it.
But what was there to say? I wasn’t a fucking monster. Of course I felt guilty.
If I’d been quicker to send her out of state, she’d still be a sweet virgin on the lookout for a good husband. I’d been selfish in my planning, in my paranoia of insisting I be the one to drive her to Idaho.
For the first time in years, I changed my plans because of what I wanted.
Time with her.
I could have saved her in time and I didn’t.
She didn’t blink or flinch away as I grappled with the enormity of my emotions. Her patience stretched out, unending, and I had to give her something.
“I hurt you.” It was said through clenched teeth, my molars aching as I bit back on everything else I wanted to add.
“No.”