Read Online Wicked Mafia Prince: A dark mafia romance (Dangerous Royals Book 2) by Annika Martin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Annika Martin
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and over, an extension of my hand. “Maybe you’re dead weight.”
“Okay, okay.”
“Santa beard is going to come and knock to warn me in two minutes. Will he come alone?”
“Yeah,” she says. “But there have been times when the men don’t want to go when their two hours are up, and then they come in with three guards. But that’s after.”
“Okay.” I draw a map of the basement on the carpet with my finger. Nikki helps me do the next floor and together we develop a plan. The girl’s good; she’s been paying attention to her environment, making plans of her own. She knows about a large duct. It’s good information that I didn’t have.
We decide she’ll hold the obsessed guard at gunpoint inside this room while I get Tanechka. I stress that her job is to hold him and keep him quiet until I’m back.
“I got it,” she says.
I nod at the shiv in her hand. “You may have to use that. We may have to get bloody before this is over.”
She nods. This girl will lose no sleep over getting bloody in this place.
“The gun is the last resort. Any noise will fuck up our escape.”
“I got it!” she says again, impatient this time.
I text Aleksio with instructions. He knows not to argue in the middle of the mission. I adjust my fat suit and put it right. I listen at the door for footsteps. Eventually the Santa-bearded guard comes. He knocks. “Ten minutes.”
“I’m ready now.” I jiggle the doorknob as though I can’t get it open. I flatten to the wall, and when he opens it I yank him in and disarm him easily. I hold his piece to his temple while Nikki searches him. She pulls out car keys. “Score,” she whispers.
“You want to live? You cooperate,” I growl.
The guard gives up the location, make, and model of his car. I tie his hands; Nikki stuffs part of the pillowcase in his mouth and gags him in a dead fucking serious way. I let her keep his revolver.
I take the guard’s cap and shirt and another ring of keys. These would be the keys to the women’s rooms. I close the door behind me. I don’t have his beard, but this will be enough. I know how to move in front of the cameras.
I beeline down the hall to the boiler room. Every feeling in the world swirls inside of me as I near Tanechka. I unscrew a vent in the ceiling duct, hands trembling. This is the duct Nikki told me about. She’d been saving it for herself, thinking to hide in it if she ever got free. I pull up to the upper floor, just under the hall. I wait out the footsteps, aware that my ten-minute window has gone to five.
When the hall is vacant I push up. I go to Tanechka’s room, hesitating at her door, frightened it might be her. Frightened it might not.
I unlock it and pull it open.
There she is, kneeling, just as she does on the camera.
Tanechka.
She doesn’t look at me, but I know it’s her as sure as I know the sun in the sky. Tears come so hard, they blind me.
“Tanechka,” I whisper, pressed back against the door. If she recognizes my voice, she doesn’t show it. I’m shaking, resisting the impulse to fall to her, cover her body with mine.
I want to rip out my bloody heart and lay it at her feet, destroy it in front of her as she watches.
She focuses on the small icon, a replica of the many you find in Orthodox churches back home. I address her in Russian. “Eto ya,” I say. “It’s me.”
She remains mesmerized by the small portrait. She hears all. She waits. She assesses. So Tanechka.
But Tanechka wouldn’t want me to be stupid, sloppy. I slide behind her, allowing the camera to catch just my cap before I press a piece of tape over it. Framing this bearded guard.
Still she prays. I would expect nothing less. I kneel beside her and gaze upon the side of her face, trembling with joy and grief. It’s her.
“ Moya Tanechka.”
She turns to me finally. I was prepared for rage, fear, hatred. But the feeling of her regarding me as a stranger, this is a kind of hell I could never prepare
“Okay, okay.”
“Santa beard is going to come and knock to warn me in two minutes. Will he come alone?”
“Yeah,” she says. “But there have been times when the men don’t want to go when their two hours are up, and then they come in with three guards. But that’s after.”
“Okay.” I draw a map of the basement on the carpet with my finger. Nikki helps me do the next floor and together we develop a plan. The girl’s good; she’s been paying attention to her environment, making plans of her own. She knows about a large duct. It’s good information that I didn’t have.
We decide she’ll hold the obsessed guard at gunpoint inside this room while I get Tanechka. I stress that her job is to hold him and keep him quiet until I’m back.
“I got it,” she says.
I nod at the shiv in her hand. “You may have to use that. We may have to get bloody before this is over.”
She nods. This girl will lose no sleep over getting bloody in this place.
“The gun is the last resort. Any noise will fuck up our escape.”
“I got it!” she says again, impatient this time.
I text Aleksio with instructions. He knows not to argue in the middle of the mission. I adjust my fat suit and put it right. I listen at the door for footsteps. Eventually the Santa-bearded guard comes. He knocks. “Ten minutes.”
“I’m ready now.” I jiggle the doorknob as though I can’t get it open. I flatten to the wall, and when he opens it I yank him in and disarm him easily. I hold his piece to his temple while Nikki searches him. She pulls out car keys. “Score,” she whispers.
“You want to live? You cooperate,” I growl.
The guard gives up the location, make, and model of his car. I tie his hands; Nikki stuffs part of the pillowcase in his mouth and gags him in a dead fucking serious way. I let her keep his revolver.
I take the guard’s cap and shirt and another ring of keys. These would be the keys to the women’s rooms. I close the door behind me. I don’t have his beard, but this will be enough. I know how to move in front of the cameras.
I beeline down the hall to the boiler room. Every feeling in the world swirls inside of me as I near Tanechka. I unscrew a vent in the ceiling duct, hands trembling. This is the duct Nikki told me about. She’d been saving it for herself, thinking to hide in it if she ever got free. I pull up to the upper floor, just under the hall. I wait out the footsteps, aware that my ten-minute window has gone to five.
When the hall is vacant I push up. I go to Tanechka’s room, hesitating at her door, frightened it might be her. Frightened it might not.
I unlock it and pull it open.
There she is, kneeling, just as she does on the camera.
Tanechka.
She doesn’t look at me, but I know it’s her as sure as I know the sun in the sky. Tears come so hard, they blind me.
“Tanechka,” I whisper, pressed back against the door. If she recognizes my voice, she doesn’t show it. I’m shaking, resisting the impulse to fall to her, cover her body with mine.
I want to rip out my bloody heart and lay it at her feet, destroy it in front of her as she watches.
She focuses on the small icon, a replica of the many you find in Orthodox churches back home. I address her in Russian. “Eto ya,” I say. “It’s me.”
She remains mesmerized by the small portrait. She hears all. She waits. She assesses. So Tanechka.
But Tanechka wouldn’t want me to be stupid, sloppy. I slide behind her, allowing the camera to catch just my cap before I press a piece of tape over it. Framing this bearded guard.
Still she prays. I would expect nothing less. I kneel beside her and gaze upon the side of her face, trembling with joy and grief. It’s her.
“ Moya Tanechka.”
She turns to me finally. I was prepared for rage, fear, hatred. But the feeling of her regarding me as a stranger, this is a kind of hell I could never prepare
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