Page 109 of The Mafia Assassin's Redemption
She’s bratva.
But it’s all the same, I guess.
Maybe she’s Italian and was sold to the Russians through marriage. I can relate to that in a way. I suck in a breath. “Water, tea? Coffee?”
“Something,” she says, “stronger?”
I open the cupboard and pull out the whiskey and two coffee mugs. And I slosh some into both.
“Your tattoo’s a pretty color,” I say. It’s an easy opener to see how she responds.
“My family married me off. So that’s what that is.” And she laughs and shakes her head, her eyes still dark and brooding. “Sometimes it sucks to be female.”
“The Russian Orthodox church not your jam?”
“Italian, actually,” she says. I just smile and nod.
She tells me a meandering story about her poor father, how her brother was murdered, and she was married off as an asset, but he could be worse.
I don’t know if it’s the truth or it’s made up, and I don’t care because I never expect the truth from someone scared or wanting out. She wants something, though. I know that. So she probably wants out and is making up her mind about how serious she is about running.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
She eyes my rings, too. “Same boat?”
“Different ship completely,” I say.
Then she sighs. “I just wanted to breathe, to be somewhere that isn’t mafia or bratva and is Italian.”
“This church is loved by the mafia. It doesn’t take much research to know that. I just help out. But… Father Luigi is wonderful.”
Hereyes widen.
“I know that. I just meant… it feels free here, more so than being watched all the time. It’s a nice break.”
I just nod and continue with the flowers in the kitchen. And I make small talk, the kind that I can weave my spiel into, about a coffee or tea house and the best ones, the best book stores, and my favorite ones. All the right moves, the right words to subtly offer a beginning step on a path to freedom.
If that’s what she wants.
But she sits, sipping her whiskey, helping herself to another before she says in a soft voice, “Ever wanted to hunt someone down and kill them?”
I think of Torin and my entire body immediately responds. “Yes.” Shit, I realize what I’ve said and I twist the rings as I turn to her. “I’m sure everyone has. Jokingly.”
“Hmm,” she says, sipping her whiskey. “Sometimes I dream of hunting down and killing the man responsible for my brother’s death.”
Once I would have agreed with her, but now, it turns my stomach.
And it hits me.
I don’t want to kill Torin.
I don’t want to harm him.
I’m finding it impossible to even lie to myself about hating him now.
I don’t know what that makes me.
But…
