4. Dante
CHAPTER 4
DANTE
“S omething is up with Conor. I just don’t know what the hell it is,” my friend Patrick Mulligan mutters as we walk down Brighton 6 th Street in Brighton Beach toward our destination.
I rub the back of my neck, thinking of the flight I have back to Las Vegas tomorrow morning and how I’d really like to get at least an hour of sleep before I have to drag myself out of the hotel to head for the airport.
But, duty calls.
I came out to New York City for a few days at my brother Matteo’s request to do a little investigation. And to be honest, I needed the break. I’ve been out in Vegas for months now as my niece and sister-in-law’s personal bodyguard. Matteo has been focused on all of the threats to our family that have surfaced over the past couple of years, and since I’m paid very well to eliminate them, he asked me to provide my own brand of security for his family.
And I’ve been a good soldier because family comes before everything. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect them.
But I’m getting damn tired of my life out there in the sweltering desert heat.
There’s no action, no suspense, and definitely no sniper rifles in my midst.
Christ, I haven’t even spotted anyone cheating in our casino.
At least then I’d have the chance to smash in some skulls.
But my life has become as stagnant as the thick and heavy air out there.
I miss the thrill of the hunt and with each passing, boring-as-fuck day, I’m losing my edge.
So I was happy to hop a flight out here to stalk my family’s latest threat.
Conor Mulligan.
But he’s not just any enemy.
He’s the worst type — a fucking lunatic with a serious grudge and a taste for bloodlust.
He also happens to be my sister-in-law Heaven’s estranged and seriously disturbed brother.
After being forced to marry my oldest brother, Matteo, Heaven’s relationship with her family pretty much went to shit. Her father is a controlling, sexist asshole, and her brother Conor snagged her spot as underboss of the Mulligan family only because he’s got a dick.
I look up at the nondescript sign next to the door to the restaurant and nightclub. If you look fast, you’d completely miss it.
Tatiana.
This is it.
I did my own investigating when Patrick gave me the name of the place Conor was planning to visit tonight and found out there’s an underground casino in the hidden lower level of the place run by the Russian bratva brigadier , Vigo Kosolov. He oversees an elite group of soldiers and runs his businesses on behalf of Ivan Volkov. Volkov is the pakhan …the boss of this bratva. But casinos aren’t Vigo’s real game. His big businesses are drugs and prostitution, and he uses the girls to mule his product. He sends them to nightclubs all over the tri-state area to distribute them.
Working with the Mulligan family wouldn’t do anything for Vigo.
They have nothing to offer him. They don’t deal in pussy, and they’ve gotten burned by one of the biggest cartels in the area.
They’re the ones who really need the strong backing.
But why keep the meeting with Vigo a secret from everyone, Conor? What the hell are you really up to?
Vigo is a dangerous motherfucker, too. He’ll set fire to your life if you cross him.
Your life and the lives of everyone you love.
And Conor doesn’t have a great track record of playing nice in the sandbox, which means anyone associated with him has their necks on the chopping block.
One wrong move and the machetes will fly.
And because I like my head attached to my body, I agreed to check things out before going to Conor and putting him through a brick wall.
“Tell me again what you heard, Patty,” I mutter as we walk inside of the restaurant. Red floods my vision. The walls, floors, and much of the décor have red tones and gold accents. The lights are dim enough that you can’t exactly make out faces, which is very good for us since we both play roles that require us to fly under the radar.
I am paid very well to take care of “problems.”
And part of that job description is to be invisible.
Unfortunately for us, Patrick is a little more well-known in the city, especially since he looks like the rest of the Mulligan brothers. But he refused to let me go in alone. If Conor is pulling something with the Russians, he wants to see it for himself.
Patrick’s jaw tightens as he takes in the scene. The bar is packed and loud, the restaurant overflowing with patrons.
But we’re not here for food or drink.
What we’re interested in is what happens beneath all of this drunken chaos.
I lead the way to the bar where we find a spot on one end. The bartender is a tall blonde with clear blue eyes and deep red lips. She saunters toward us, and I order two double shots of Stolichnaya vodka on the rocks.
Patrick grins at her and I roll my eyes once she walks away. “Dude, we’re not picking up tonight.”
“Sorry,” he says with a sheepish smile. “Couldn’t help myself.”
“Well, try,” I grumble, rubbing the back of my neck. “Now let’s go through it all one more time.”
“Like I told you, he didn’t tell me anything direct. Shit, he barely talks to me at all anymore because he knows I report everything back to Heaven, and that pisses him off to no end.”
“So who knows?”
“Quinn,” he says, nodding at the bartender when she places our shot glasses on the bar.
“He overheard Conor on the phone in his office, talking about a new business opportunity in this area. He’d just gotten there for a meeting, so he hung around outside the office to catch any bits of information since Conor never mentioned Brooklyn, or the Russians, to any of them. He heard the names Tatiana and Vigo and today’s date. Then when the call ended, he waited a few minutes and went inside. He asked some vague questions, just to see if Conor would give anything. He didn’t, so Quinn got suspicious and came to me.”
“He was smart to do that. The last thing he should have done was to tip Conor off.” I rub the back of my neck. “Vigo Kosolov is the right hand to Ivan Volkov. I’d bet my left nut that’s the Vigo he was talking to. Conor is too much of an egotistical prick to talk to anyone low level.” But that connection has warning bells going off in my mind. I’d heard that the Russian bratva is trying to edge into Manhattan, and Matteo doesn’t want them closing in on our territory, especially since there’s some bad blood between us. My brother Roman and I had an altercation with some soldiers from the Volkov Bratva months ago, and while we haven’t gotten caught in each others’ crosshairs since then, this hits a little too close to home.
It could just be Conor building himself up, looking for quick cash opportunities with new partners whom he hasn’t yet fucked over.
Or it could be something else.
Either way, I don’t want any of his dealings to touch my family.
I’ll fucking kill him if his poison seeps into anything of ours.
That’s why I’m here, to make sure that doesn’t happen.
And by that, I mean presenting Vigo with a very clear picture of what will happen to him if he tries to invade the empire we’ve built. A little charge zips through me when I think of pulling the trigger of my Glock 19…
It’s been too fucking long.
“Yeah, but then why not tell us? Why hide it?” Patrick asks.
“Well, that’s what we’re gonna find out, yeah?” I toss back my shot and slam the glass on the table. The bartender catches my eye and walks back over, with a seductive swing of her hips. She leans over onto the bar, her tits practically spilling out of her tiny top. “What else can I get you gentlemen tonight?”
I run a hand through my longish hair and lean toward her. “We’re looking for a seat at the chef’s table,” I murmur. “Can you get us in?”
Her eyes sweep over us both, and a slow smile lifts her lips. “Let me see if there’s space.” She backs away and picks up a phone hidden behind the alcohol bottles, speaking into it as her eyes travel back toward us.
“I didn’t think we were gonna eat, Dante,” Patrick mutters. “I figured we were gonna do a little recon.”
“Relax,” I mumble. “And finish your shot.”
The bartender comes back. “They’re holding a spot for you downstairs.” She nods toward the far right corner of the place. “There is a staircase beyond a black and gold door down that hallway. It will lead you to the private dining area.”
I flash a grin and drop a hundred-dollar bill onto the bar. “Thanks.”
“If you want to come back for a nightcap…” She grins at me. “I get off at two.”
Ah, fuck it. Who needs sleep?
I wink at her and give a small nod.
Patrick grumbles the entire way to the back of the restaurant. “I thought you said no hooking up tonight. And what the hell are we doing at the chef’s table? I didn’t come here to eat! I came here for fucking answers!”
I grab his arm and pull him toward me once we’re out of sight. “There is no goddamn chef’s table,” I hiss at him. “It’s an underground casino, for fuck’s sake. You have to ask for the chef’s table to get entrance.” I shake my head. “Jesus, Patty.”
He lets out a snort. “Look, I don’t do all of the business-y shit for my family. I’m a fixer, not a fucking secretary.”
“Well, if you wanna save your ass and your family’s livelihood from one of Conor’s fuck-ups, you’d better start paying attention. Take some notes, bro.” I pull open the black and gold door and step onto the landing, the din of voices drifting up from the lower level.
I usually work alone, so having Patrick dragging behind me is like having a ball and chain clanging against the floor announcing my arrival.
It’s hard to be invisible when you have a six-foot-six, blue-eyed blond guy who looks like a young Brad Pitt bringing up the rear.
I square my shoulders and walk down the stairs. Wall sconces line the hallway, giving off a golden glow to the surrounding deep burgundy décor. The floors are black marble, our shoes clicking along the shiny polished surface as we approach the main room.
“I was able to get my hands on a floor plan of the place,” I hiss over my shoulder at Patrick. “Vigo should be here tonight. He only shows up one night a week, usually Wednesdays. But my sources tell me he switched things up tonight.”
“So that means he might have switched things up to meet with Conor,” Patrick mutters as we enter the large space. There are dice tables lining the perimeter of the room, blackjack tables in the center. Ornate bars are set up at each corner, and half-naked cocktail waitresses are carrying trays of drinks to the crowds of men in their midst.
“Exactly.” My eyes sweep the entire room, from the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, to every possible exit I can make out. I’m not planning on having to make a fast getaway, but in my line of work, you have to be prepared for anything.
“Hey, did Conor say anything about a?—?”
I don’t even get a chance to finish my question before the barrel of a gun presses into my back, accompanied by a voice that slithers over my skin like a snake. “Don’t fucking move. Don’t fucking speak. Just fucking walk .”
A quick glance to my right confirms that Patrick is also being discreetly shoved toward a darkened doorway just outside of the main gaming room. I don’t know who these guys are or what they want with us, but I don’t argue.
I never argue.
I only ever annihilate.
Once we’re out of the view of gamblers, the short, stout guy who stuck his gun into my spine shoves me against a wall, and the other guy throws Patrick right next to me. “So, Mulligan,” one of them says in a thick Russian accent. “Vigo will be very happy to see you here. He expects full repayment on the debt your brother Conor owes.”
“I don’t know anything about a fucking debt,” Patrick grunts, struggling against the guy who has his gun pointed right at his throat. “We came here to play.”
“Nobody just comes here to play ,” the guy in front of me hisses. “You’re here with an agenda, just like everyone else. You know what’s on our agenda? Taking your money and then leaving you for dead.” He narrows his watery blue eyes, his fat face twisted into a grimace. “Nobody fucks with Vigo, do you understand?”
I can’t even start to process all of this shit, but one thing is clear. Conor Mulligan is on Vigo’s hit list. He’s not looking to partner with them. I should have known he’d have never been able to pull off a business arrangement with the Russians. He’s probably up to his eyeballs in debt because he’s a gambling addict.
And now that there’s a debt to pay, someone is gonna have to fork over the cash. These people won’t rest until they get their money, that’s for shit sure.
Conor is a selfish, self-centered prick!
I should find him and put a bullet in his head myself.
Christ, I’d do it very happily, too.
Looks like Vigo and I need to have a little conversation, the kind where he assures me Conor’s dealings won’t blow back on my family and that I don’t put a bullet between his eyes.
And there’s no way I’m gonna get dragged into his lair like fucking cattle going to slaughter. I’m walking in there on my own two feet.
I don’t waste a single second. I drive my elbow into the throat of the guy in front of me and my knee into his groin, sending him crashing to the floor. Then, I swivel around, and with a palm heel strike to the nose of Patrick’s assailant, send him flying backward against a wall.
I pull out my gun and fire off two shots to the head of each one of them.
Thank fuck for silencers.
Patrick smirks at me. “You can never just go out, can you?”
I avoid his question and ask one of my own. “Why is it that whenever your family is involved, I end up with blood on my hands?” I grunt. “Come on. Let’s find Vigo and figure out what the hell is going on.”
“Are you nuts?” he asks. “If these guys recognized me, there will be more on the lookout. Are we just supposed to kill everyone who gets in our way?”
I level him with a stare. “That is my MO. You got an issue with that?”
He shakes his head. “Jesus Christ…”
“What’s the matter? You too pretty to get dirty?” I lift an eyebrow. Patrick isn’t known for being the most prepared gangster on the planet. Maybe that’s why he decided to go the GQ path. He can fire a gun, but isn’t great with hitting his targets. I mean, for fuck’s sake, he and Heaven once got jumped right next to his car in a park one morning after a run. Broad fucking daylight and he completely missed the ambush.
And this is exactly why I prefer to work alone.
But he’s here so he’s in this, too.
Besides, it’s his fucknut brother who put us on Vigo’s radar in the first place.
Patrick clenches his jaw. “Fine. Let’s go.”
I creep down the darkened hallway, hoping like hell we’ll find who we’re looking for before I have to set fire to the place with my gun.
“What in the fuck has Conor gotten us into this time? And why the hell are we going to find Vigo, by the way? If Conor really did screw him over, he’s not gonna be very welcoming,” Patrick mutters as he follows close behind me. “Besides, Conor isn’t supposed to find out that I know anything about him being involved with Vigo. He’ll fucking roast me if Vigo tells him we showed up here.”
“Relax,” I grunt. “I’ve got a plan.” Which, if translated, actually means I have no plan at all.
I didn’t come here tonight expecting to find out that Conor stiffed Vigo. I just figured Conor was running some scam with him, a scam I’d have to expose for all of our safety.
But if Vigo has it out for Conor, then he definitely has it out for the rest of the Mulligans, and that includes Heaven and my family, by association.
It’s only a matter of time before he launches an attack against us all, and while I want to see Conor go down in flames, it’s my job to worry about everyone else.
Although, I’m hoping we can avoid the hellfire. If this is just about money, let the Mulligans pay him back.
If it’s just about money, that is.
My reconnaissance activities usually involve some sort of torture techniques. Cutting throats, tongues, cocks, fingers — I do whatever I need to get whatever I need.
And I’ll make sure Conor never knows we were here. That’ll keep Patrick from getting his ass chewed out…or worse.
We creep farther down the hall and a door suddenly swings open to reveal a young, topless girl, shaking uncontrollably. A thin stream of blood trickles out of the corner of her mouth, her blue eyes wide with fear.
Some guy inside of the room growls at her in Russian, but she makes no move other than to shake her head. She is yanked backward into the room, a thick hand slapped over her mouth before she can let out a scream.
“Fuck,” I mutter. What in the fuck else do they have going on in this place? That girl has to be fifteen, for Christ’s sake! “I’m going in.”
“Dante, don’t forget why we’re here. This isn’t about starting a war with the Volkov Bratva,” Patrick hisses, pulling me backward.
I shake off his hand, glaring at him over my shoulder. “I didn’t start this fucking war, Patty, but now that I’m here, I’m gonna make sure these assholes don’t take one single prisoner on my watch.”
Patrick rolls his eyes, throwing his hands into the air. “Fine! Go!”
I kick in the door to find the beefy Russian straddling the girl. She struggles against his massive body, his hand still cemented to her mouth.
“Hey, asshole,” I bark, coming up behind him, my gun pointed at the back of his head. “Get off the girl now or I blow a hole through your fucking skull.”
The man turns slowly with a sick grin on his face. “Pull the trigger, bitch.” His words are heavily accented and he doesn’t make a move to get off of her.
“Dante,” Patrick mumbles. “ I hear footsteps. Plug his ass and let’s move.”
I keep the gun pointed at the fat Russian. “Get the fuck away from her and I’ll let you live.”
“Fuck you, pussy. You won’t shoot me. If you wanted me dead, I’d already be?—”
Pop!
“Yep, you’re right,” I say as he tumbles off of her, landing on the floor like a bag of cement. “Dead.”
I hold out a hand to the girl, pulling her up. I slip off my jacket and toss it at her. “Do you speak English?” I say.
She nods, her skin ghostly white. “Yes,” she whispers.
“Get out of here now. There’s a staircase at the end of the hall. Take it upstairs to the restaurant and disappear. Don’t look back.” I grip her shoulders. “Forget you were ever here and that you saw any of this.”
She nods again, her teeth chattering as she puts on the jacket and runs out the door. I don’t have time to make sure she gets to the stairs. I guess I’ll find out when we get there ourselves.
After we handle Vigo.
“Okay, Good Samaritan, now what? Who do we take care of first?” Patrick grimaces as several pairs of footsteps thump along the floor. Shit. None of this has gone the way I planned. We’ve wandered into some kind of elaborate labyrinth that is separated from the casino, and right now, our escape route is blocked. I shove Patrick aside and crouch low, pointing my gun in the direction of the approaching sounds. As soon as they appear, I fire off some shots. Bodies land in a heap in the middle of the floor and I jump over them, running down the hall with Patrick huffing behind me. “You need to get in some more cardio, man, and I don’t mean the kind that involves hooking up with random women,” I grumble as I stop next to another closed door, grasping the knob and pushing open the door. I hope this is it. Vigo has plenty of security hawking the casino floor, and if any of those guys wander back here, we’ll be outnumbered.
I twist the doorknob, shocked to find out it opens without me being forced to kick it in, but thankful because I’m really trying to limit the noise. I walk inside the darkened room blinking fast as I process the bloody scene splashed in front of my eyes. Vigo Kosolov is on the floor, face up, with a knife sticking out of his throat. “Looks like someone beat me to the punch,” I mutter as Patrick inches into the room behind me.
“Beat you ?” he says, quirking an eyebrow. “You mean us, right?”
I scrub a hand down the front of my face. “Don’t flatter yourself, Patty.”
“So now what?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at Vigo’s blade-torn neck.
“We get the fuck out of here.”
“Great, how the fuck is Conor not gonna be fingered for this, especially if he’s already on Vigo’s shit list?” Patty groans.
I hear a soft whimper from a corner and I step farther into the room, peering into the shadows. “Who the fuck is there?” I growl, pointing my gun into the empty space where the sound pricked my ears.
“P-Please,” a heavy female Russian accent responds in a quivering voice. “Don’t hurt me. I am innocent. I need help.”
I toss a glance at Patrick over my shoulder. “Cover me,” I mouth to him before creeping closer to the voice.
“Come out,” I say gruffly. “Or I start shooting.”
A rustling sound follows as the shadow morphs into a body…a fucking incredible one, not that I’m paying close attention to that fact. We’re on borrowed time, and who knows for how long it’s gonna last?
A girl who looks to be in her early twenties inches toward me, teetering on heels she probably has no business even wearing. My throat tightens. Is she one of Vigo’s girls? An innocent victim whose life he stole away?
He’s lucky he’s dead already.
“Please help me get out of here,” she cries. “He almost…he started to…” She breaks down again, choking on a sob as she recounts her story. “He told me I’d have a good job and make lots of money, but then…then…” She starts to sink back onto the floor again, but the clock is ticking and our window is closing fast.
I hold out a hand to her, and she steps over his body, her shoulders quaking as the tears stream down her face once again. Her eyeliner is smudged under her brown eyes and her dark hair is matted to her face.
But she’s alive.
Still, even though she looks like a hot mess right now, I don’t lower the gun. The reality is she probably just narrowly escaped being sold into some sex trafficking ring, but I don’t like to take unnecessary chances.
“Put up your hands,” I say as she moves closer to me.
She recoils. “I just told you that I’m?—”
“Yeah, innocent. I heard you the first time. Put up your hands. I don’t have all night, sweetheart.”
The girl slowly puts up her hands, her confused gaze traveling from me to Patrick and then back again.
So I quickly frisk her, ignoring the way her curves feel under the pads of my fingertips because above all else. I’m a goddamn hitman. Eliminating risk is a big part of my job, and until I can prove otherwise, that’s exactly what she is.
Hot as fuck, but still a risk.
Once my hands have completed their task and no weapons are found, I grasp her hand and pull her close. “I don’t know who you are, but if you wanna live, you’ll keep quiet and run fast. Got it?”
“You can help me get out of here?” Tears pool in her eyes, but there is a flicker of hope in the depths. “You can save me?”
I nod, pulling her close, her fresh floral scent wafting under my nostrils. I drink it in, unable to help myself, and for a split second it clouds my mind.
I grit my teeth. Assassins don’t get sidetracked by perfume, dammit!
I nod toward Patrick. “Go. I’ve got your back. We have to get the hell outta here before someone wanders back here to find Vigo.”
“Wait, I need my bag!” She grabs a small, beaded handbag and I grab her wrist, dragging her out of the office. I don’t bother to check it. Any good assassin would have a weapon on her person. You never know when your purse might get lost or stolen or confiscated by an enemy.
We tear down the hallway, searching for the entrance to the casino floor since that’s where the staircase is located. I pull the girl behind me, checking constantly to make sure there is nobody skulking around behind us, ready to take us out.
Patrick rounds a corner and a shot explodes into the air. I back the girl against the wall, covering her with my body as Patrick fires off a couple of retaliatory shots. A loud thud confirms that he hit something, which is good. Of course, it would be better if there was only one person shooting at us.
I clench the gun in my hand, sliding against the wall to shield the girl when another shot sails past me and lodges itself into the wall. I twist around and fire two shots into the head of the guy who crept up behind us. I throw open the door to the staircase and shove the girl in front of me. She clambers up the steps, practically tripping over her feet to escape the dungeon where she’d been trapped only minutes earlier.
“Patty!” I hiss. “Now!”
He darts across the hallway and disappears into the stairwell with me right behind him.
Jesus Christ, what in the hell did we walk into and manage to escape?
Vigo Kosolov is dead.
The powerful Russian mafia brigadier is lying on the floor with a knife sticking out of his throat.
I should feel good about the fact that the piece of shit is in hell where he belongs.
But there are too many nagging questions eating away at my brain right now to feel like we dodged a bullet.
And the biggest one is poured into a tight red dress a few steps ahead of me.