Page 65 of Triplets for the Russian Boss

Bonnie

Stepping off the plane feels like I’m entering an alternate dimension, one in which none of this ever happened. The crazy run-ins with the 37th Street Bratva, the sex appointments thinly disguised as massages, and the constant need to keep everything about me a secret – all gone.

I’m free, but it doesn’t feel as good as I thought it would. I enjoyed spending time with Kostin, even through the wild ups and downs, and now that it’s over, I can’t help but to feel a bit empty.

A taxi drops me off at the house, where Kate is already waiting outside for me. She has her hands on the hips of her light-blue jeans, but she looks more relieved than annoyed that I’ve been away for so long.

“That was the shortest three months I’ve ever had,” she says, shaking her head as I walk up to the door.

I laugh. “Things didn’t go as anticipated, but that’s alright. I’ve realized some things, and I feel like I’ve grown.”

“Was this some kind of spiritual retreat?” she asks, cocking her head to the side. “I was thinking it might have been a cult.”

“Keep thinking,” I say, this time with a more genuine laugh. “But I don’t think I’ll be working at a club anymore. I need a normal job.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” she replies. “The boys are upstairs, but they’re all sleeping, so be quiet going in.”

“I won’t bother them. To be honest, I think I’m just going to take a nap.”

She nods. “Alright, then. Give me a hug before I go. I have a date.”

She comes down the small set of stairs at the front door, opening her arms. I accept her hug, pulling her close and feeling the warmth of her body against mine. Compared to Kostin, she’s small and cold.

Fuck, I miss him already.

I break from the embrace, giving Kate a forced smile before letting her go to her car. She doesn’t even look back as she leaves, racing off to continue her life like none of this ever happened. I doubt she’ll be babysitting for me again.

I stand next to the door for a moment, breathing in the fresh summer air. It’s more humid in Florida, and I think I prefer the dryness of California. I know I’ll never be able to go back, though, for fear of running into Kostin again.

I catch a whiff of tobacco, right as I’m about to turn around and go inside. I know the smell of a cigar from the time I’ve spent around Kostin, and I also know that he knows where my house is. The fact that he let this go, that he let me go, is astounding, but I can’t rule out that this could be some kind of weird trap.

I’m sure that he could easily find out where I live and pay me a visit, but why would he do that? I know that he doesn’t want me. He only used me, and that’s the bitter truth.

I wipe of tear from my cheek, trying to hold it together as I reach for the handle on the front door. That smell of cigar smoke is even stronger now, and I have to look over my shoulder to check for Kostin.

Kostin would be a lot better than what I am seeing, though. A black sedan has stopped in front of the house, and Kate’s already gone. It’s not my car, so who could it be?

The door opens, and a man steps out. I can tell by the way that he looks that he’s here to cause trouble. He’s tall, but lankier than Kostin, with thick black hair and a scowl on his face. He’s wearing a suit, which raises more flags than it would in a normal person.

He looks like he’s in the Mafia.

“Nice day for a drive,” he says, with a slight Russian accent, lifting a cigar to his thin lips and puffing thick smoke into the air as he meanders toward me.

“I don’t want anything. Go away,” I say, turning the doorknob, only to find that Kate locked it after she came out to wait for me.

“Hey, the weather is nice, baby. Let’s take a ride together,” the man says, his words slipping from his lips like the smoke he exhales.

“No, thank you,” I say, panic rising in my blood like a tidal wave. I know this man is here to do something bad, but I doubt Kostin would’ve sent him.

Is this the infamous 37th Street Bratva, that almost killed me earlier? Kostin mentioned they had guys in Florida, and that Jerry owed them money.

“I wasn’t asking,” the man says, sliding his hand under his lapel.

I’m struck with a jolt of panic so hard that I feel like I’ve been shocked by actual electricity. Suddenly, I’m moving in slow motion, but my thoughts are racing like a cocaine-fueled frenzy. It’s as clear as day what this man intends to pull from his jacket, but I don’t have the defenses to stop him.

I freeze, even though I want to run. A glint gives me temporary relief, as the man isn’t pulling a gun. Instead, he’s opting for a jagged silver knife with a handle make of wood. It looks like something you’d use to saw through branches in the woods.

But I doubt he intends to use it on sticks and wood. He’ll probably saw right through my bones if I don’t listen to him and obey his every command, but the only men I’ve obeyed where the ones paying me… and Kostin.

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