Page 10 of Defiant Devotion

Moving on autopilot while I spied, I ruminated over all that was said. As an outsider looking—or listening—in, I could read between the lines.

According to what Geoff said, it seemed like this “long game” of having that daughter kidnapped to make her marry into the politician’s family would benefit the Ilyins.Onlythe Ilyins, not the Petrovs too.

For not the first time, I wondered if these two Mafia outfits would cancel each other out. They were both too eager to eliminate the Baranovs, but they weren’t actual allies with each other. That old saying about an enemy of one’s enemy being a friend could hold true, but in this case, I couldn’t believe that Igor and Geoff would actually be friends.

My hesitation seemed wise now. With how quick the Petrovs and Ilyins seemed to bicker and point fingers, it was smart not to be loyal with either of them. Both had been hiring me to do hits. Igor hired me to take out Yusef Ilyin, a drug dealer, but then Lev ended up killing him. Geoff and his family didn’t know that Igor was the man behind Yusef’s death, and if they did, I bet they’d put a hit out on Igor himself.

They’re all morons.I could only guess how long the Petrov-Ilyin grudges and scrimmages would last, but the one thing that remained constant was how the Baranovs didn’t fuck around with that nonsense.

Moments later, I filed out of the room with the waiters. I couldn’t linger in that dining room as a solo worker to hear anything else the two men would say, but I had a hunch I’d gotten all that I could from them.

As I left, I considered all that I’d learned. Most importantly, their attitudes further convinced me that I would do better not to take any more work from them. They were both going down, as far as I could tell.

But how much more work should I even take?I’d been at this for a long time. Killing was a solid career, but I was tired.

I was formerly in the military after being rejected by my Mafia relatives in Russia. Going independent had served me well. But now, as the big four-oh loomed near, I considered the option of not doing this alone anymore. Turning forty wasn’t a real milestone. My age was just a number, but somehow, it had been getting to me.

If I had to be honest about it, I’d admit that I wouldn’t mind settling and slowing down. I wouldn’t suffer from having a crewor team again, too. Backup would be nice if I wanted to finally make time for a wife and family.

Family?Now that I was away from the building and leaving the area, I felt free to huff out loud and roll my eyes. I was being ridiculous, thinking about settling down that much. Everyone was prone to midlife-crisis thoughts at some stage of their lives, but this was crazy talk.

A wife? A family?

I shook my head and stuffed my hands in my pockets. Neither of those fanciful things would make sense, not for me. No woman ever stayed on my mind for long—not like that sexy brunette upstate had.

I had yet to forget about her, but the more I thought back to how eager she was to lose her virginity to a stranger, insisting we didn’t share anything past our first names—which she could’ve lied about—I knew she wasn’t wife material. Sonya, as she’d claimed for her alias, had only been looking for a good time.

And it had been a good time. Showing her how to take what I gave her had been one of the sexiest experiences of my life. I’d never met a more responsive woman. Just thinking about her had me smiling and starting to get turned on.

But I’d never see her again. We’d made sure of that by keeping ourselves as strangers together for the night.

“Besides, I’ve got no time for that,” I mumbled to myself.

A woman? A family? Slowing down?

Nah. Not now.

Right now, I had to decide about the current jobs I’d been approached about, like O’Malley. Even Oleg Baranov.

Keeping my finger on the pulse of this antagonism between the Petrovs and Ilyins would require my attention too.

No time for a woman now.

Itwastime to get ahold of Lev, though. I had to make up my mind about whether I wanted to work with the Baranovs at all.

5

SONYA

Icy rain dripped down from the branches overhead. No leaves blocked the light precipitation out here in this dense wood line. Every chilling drop landed on my matted down hair until it collected at the back of my neck and slithered along my spine.

Shivers racked my body, but I didn’t pay any further notice to the cold. Or how wet I was.

Clutching the bloody butter knife in my hand, I scanned the lone building ahead of me.

I wasn’t sure I’d ever let go of the measly little dull blade I’d used to secure my freedom. It had seemed like a miracle when the guards hadn’t noticed the butter knife missing from my food tray. My meek demeanor had served me well for so long. The more docile and beaten-down I’d seemed, the looser they’d gotten with watching my every move.

The first time I suspected I could be pregnant—when my period was late and I felt so crampy—I started making the plans to escape. Tucking that butter knife under the edge of my mattresswas the first step. Ramming it into the guard’s neck yesterday was another step. The dull blade hadn’t made my first murder very clean or easy, but I’d done it. I ended his life when he came in to transport me to this Benson man for marriage. Then when the Ilyin guard’s partner lunged at me to constrain me, I fought him with every fiber of my being, every ounce of hatred.

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