Chapter 14
14
Roman
T hank fuck for some peace and quiet.
My house is uncharacteristically empty; typically, many friends and associates are dotted about the place, waiting to talk my ear off about God knows what. The assassination attempt needs to be addressed, but then again, I’m a pakhan. Someone always wants me dead. So fucking what?
My father wasn’t a boss. He was an enforcer who collected debts paid in dollars, blood, and lives. By all accounts, he was pretty good at it until a guy got the drop on him one night, and that was the story of him. I didn’t care; he was out of my life by then.
After my father left, I had to step up and look after Mama. She didn’t like it, but what choice did I have but to offer my services to the mafia? There was no other way to stack green fast, and I’d heard the Vercotti famiglia looked after their people. I worked my way up, and many people didn’t make it, but I did. That’s why I’m where I am today.
I walk into my cinema room, which is kitted out with a three-hundred-inch screen and a console covered in smaller monitors. I take a beer from the mini fridge and crack it open before settling in a chair and loading the evening’s entertainment.
Being Quinn’s new landlord affords me privileges, some more legal than others. I have a key to her apartment, which is legit, but this camera setup definitely isn’t. I can watch her whenever I want, twenty-four-seven, and there’s no way she’ll ever know. The Quinn Show, round the clock, for my viewing pleasure only.
She’s wearing a fluffy robe and writing in a notebook at a small desk in her bedroom. Is it a journal? My face cracks into a lascivious smirk. I’ll bet that’ll be an interesting read when I get my hands on it.
I move the console’s joystick and zoom in. The quality is excellent, and I can see her flushed cheeks and frantic scribbling.
Whatever it is, she’s desperate to get it down, but that’s no surprise. She’s had a hell of a day, and the thought of her writing my name in her diary gives me an unexpected thrill.
Her every movement fascinates me, and I watch her, taking notes in my mind. She’s in the kitchen now, microwaving something that comes with chopsticks and pouring a glass of white wine. The split in her robe parts as she sits on the couch, revealing an expanse of milky thigh, and I groan aloud.
I’m in big fucking trouble. How can I let her go? Despite the million good reasons to leave Quinn be, I already know I won’t be able to resist.
She’s so beautiful, so naive. Even if she suspects I’m behind her run of good fortune, it hasn’t occurred to her that I might have eyes on her apartment.
It’s partly because of assholes like me that this pretty girl can’t live in blissful ignorance of the darker side of human nature. She’s innocent and sweet in a way this city is not, and I feel responsible for her safety.
My phone rings, and I curse as I answer it. “Leon, this better be good.”
“I got word from the streets. Ricky Lubomski was hiding out at the abandoned DEA safehouse out by Hudson Yards. Don’t ask me how I found out, but I may have knocked a few heads together.”
“You there now?”
“Sure am. Fuck me, is that kid stupid. I hope for his sake he has a big dick because God sure as hell shorted him on brains.”
“Yep.” I pause, distracted, as I watch Quinn eat. “Ricky has a room-temperature IQ but solid instincts, which is the only reason he gets the time of day from anyone. Otherwise, he’s conclusive proof that some people shit in the gene pool. What have you done with him?”
He snorts. “The fat fuck came at me with a knife as though he thought I was made of chocolate cake. So I slapped him about a bit and told him you’ll be wanting a word. Seems safer to keep him here away from prying eyes.”
“ Tovarisch , it’s lucky for both of us that your hands move faster than your brain. I’ll be down there soon.”
I hang up with a sigh. I had planned to spend the evening edging myself and enjoying this covert surveillance in the hope of catching Quinn in the shower again, or even better, masturbating, but there’s always tomorrow.
I power down the console and grab my keys.
Ricky peers at me, his eye a tiny sliver below his swollen, plum-like eyebrow. “I told you—it was a misunderstanding. My guy was meant to go after someone else. I don’t know why he tried to take you out, Mr. Kazanov. I mean, how dumb can you get?”
I flex my fingers. My knuckles are numb, but I can and will punch him again if he doesn’t stop talking shit.
“Ricky, your lies have dimmed my already mood-lit view of you.” I bend down to where he’s lying on the ground and raise my eyebrows at him. “There are things crawling at the bottom of ponds that I’d hesitate to kill, but you?”
“No. Please, don’t.” Ricky’s voice rises hysterically as he pleads. “Don’t do it. You can’t, not if I tell you what I know.”
“So a mafia boss set you on the task?” I grab him by the scruff of his shirt and drop him again with a thud. “Why pretend otherwise?”
“Because I wanted to show loyalty by not squealing,” Ricky cries. “No one wants me to work for them, not as a full-timer. Vercotti said it was my chance to prove myself.”
Vercotti. Well, well, well.
“Jesus fuck.” I haul him to his feet. “That went well, didn’t it? Having a prick like you as an employee would be like two good guys quitting. You wanna save your hide?”
I don’t wait for an answer. “I assume Silvio Vercotti knows the hit failed, but he also knows an attempt was made. So far, you haven’t done anything wrong by him. Now you’re gonna be my inside man. My puppet.”
Ricky nods like a marionette, and Leon bursts into laughter. “Say, Ricky, I was wondering,” he asks. “How’d you get so fat when you do so much meth?”
“I can’t help it,” Ricky sneers. “Every time I fuck your mother, she bakes me a pie.”
“Alright, that’s enough.” I shove him into a chair. “Quit the flirting, and we’ll talk terms.”
“You think we can trust a guy who tried to have you murdered?” Leon asks as we watch Ricky leave. “I have a feeling this decision will haunt you like a dodgy burrito.”
“I don’t eat burritos.” I nod at our snitch’s retreating back. “And that idiot is terrified. He’s got no choice now; every other option leads to his death. All he has to do is report to us about Silvio’s dipshit plans, and we’ll intercept. Silvio will soon realize I can hit far harder than he can.”
“So if Ricky Lubomski steps out of line, I can kill him?”
“Yep. You’ll be obliged to, in fact.”
“I almost hope he does.” Leon stretches and yawns. “Now I need my beauty sleep.”
“Fucking right you do,” I say with a grin. “Ten thousand year’s worth might take the edge off. Your face could scare away a graverobber.”
Leon flips me off. “Later, boss. Much later.”
I’m going home to watch my new favorite show, but I’ll get on with business tomorrow and leave Quinn alone. I mean it this time.