It takes me a second to remember I told her it means pain in the ass, and when I do I start laughing, noticing the way she’s trying hard to not join in.
“You don’t look near as scary when you’re laughing.”
“You think I look scary?”
“You can definitely look scary. I was wondering yesterday if there’s a hitman school that teaches you how to scowl. If there is, I bet you aced that particular class.”
“No, there’s no school,” I tell her, gathering up our plates and walking to the sink. “It’s nice to know my hitman scowl is up to par, though.”
She comes to stand next to me, helping me with the dishes like we’ve done this a million times before, and I can’t help but think about how angry she’s going to be when she finds out what’s about to happen. We make quick work of the kitchen, and when I’ve put it off long enough, I pull out my phone and dial my uncle’s number.
Uncle Viktor has been head of the Orlov Bratva ever since his older brother was killed by a rival Bratva that was trying to take over an area of Moscow that my mom’s family had owned for years. The resulting war had been long and bloody, and my own father hadn’t survived it, but it had taught me many things. The most important being that I had no desire to ever be a Bratva boss, and the second being that I had an uncanny ability to orchestrate and perform hits on whatever target was given to me.
At this point, I’ve killed more people than I can remember, but I haven’t lost a minute’s sleep over it. I don’t kill indiscriminately. Every person I’m told to kill, I research, and if I feel they’re guilty, I go through with it. I’ve never not gone through with a hit, because every single one of those fuckers was guilty as hell.
My uncle’s voice cuts through my thoughts and brings me back to the reality at hand. I don’t bother going into another room since Holly can’t understand me anyway.
“Uncle Viktor, I’m guessing Ivan’s filled you in on what happened last night.”
“He did.” My uncle gives a harsh laugh and then says in his gravelly voice, “I never thought anyone would get the upper hand on you.”
“I would hardly call it getting the upper hand,” I say, feeling my pride start to get a bit bruised at getting caught red-handed by a pint-sized woman dressed like an elf.
“She’s still walking around, isn’t she?”
I eye her from across the room, watching as she cuddles with her mangy, black cat. “Yes, she is.”
He lets out another laugh. “So you’ll be here soon then?”
“Yeah, we’ll be there.”
“Can’t wait to meet the woman who made my top guy falter.”
“I didn’t falter,” I correct. “I made a choice.”
“Whatever you say, nephew. See you in a few.” He hangs up before I can say anything else.
“We need to go somewhere,” I tell Holly, who looks up at me but doesn’t stop petting Nutmeg. He leans into her touch, stretching his neck to rub against her hand even harder. My cat lost a long battle with cancer a month ago, and as much as I hate to admit it, it’s kind of nice having another one in the house. Plus, every time I look at him, I remember how Holly had stood her ground and told me I’d have to shoot her if I didn’t let her bring him with her, as if I couldn’t have just ripped him from her hands and hauled her over my shoulder if I’d wanted to. It reminds me of how naïve she is, and that’s a quality I haven’t been around in a long, long time. Everyone I spend time with is jaded as hell. They never assume the best in people because they’ve learned that the best is rarely what you get. To be around someone who is still capable of seeing the good is refreshing, even if I can’t share in it. It’s still nice to be around.
“Where are we going?” She puts Nutmeg down and comes over to me when I hold out her jacket.
“You’ll see soon enough.” I help her slip her puffy, down coat on, and then hand her the knit scarf and hat before grabbing my own black, down jacket.
She shoves her hands in her pockets and looks up at me. “You haven’t changed your mind about just offing me, have you?”
I groan and scrub a hand over my face. “For fuck’s sake,lisichka, I’m not going to hurt you. What’s about to happen is because I won’t hurt you.”
“Oh, God, you’re not handing me off to someone else to do it, are you?”
Cupping her face, I lean in close, ignoring the desire that immediately fills her eyes. “That’s insulting. I’m going to forget you suggested I was going to hand you off to be killed because it really pisses me off that you would think it. No one is going to lay a hand on you. Just remember that what is about to happen is because I want to ensure you’ll be safe.”
“Okay,” she whispers, dropping her gaze to my lips.
Instead of kissing her like I really want to, I pull back and grab onto her arm, leading her out the door to my truck. She looks around at the neighborhood, almost falling on her ass because her eyes are focused on the neighbors’ outdoor Christmas decorations instead of the icy patch of driveway she nearly broke her tailbone on. I’m apparently going to have to spend the rest of my life making sure she doesn’t hurt herself.
Professional hitman to full-time babysitter. Lovely.
Once she’s safely inside, I walk around to the driver’s side and get in, starting it up and turning the heat on, even though I know it’s going to be freezing air coming out. The drive to the Russian restaurant, one of the many businesses the Orlov Bratva owns and uses to funnel money, is only about twenty minutes away, but I swear it feels like it takes even less than that. I keep worrying about what Holly is going to do when she finds out. I’m not crazy about getting married this quickly either, but it’s going to be a whole lot shittier if I’m saying “I do” to a crying, hysterical bride who makes it clear she’d rather a bullet to the head than me for a husband.