Page 65 of Stalked to the Altar

As for Giana, what we had wasn’t love, but we were good friends. She’d wanted a little kindness in her life and some pleasurable sex, and I wanted to fuck her husband over, so our agendas aligned. I’d always be grateful for her sacrifice. She knew she was already dead, but her defiant last stand saved my life.

A bump to my hip made me stumble back, and I reached out to detain the assaulter. I glanced down at what I held and saw the eyes of a small child glaring back up at me. Well, I say child, but he was likely ten or eleven. By eleven, I, myself was training to be a bratva soldier, and could hit any target with an array of weapons.

“Let go.” He tried to wrench his arm from my grasp and push me out of the way again.

“Is that anyway to speak to your elders?” I leaned into his space and gave him an indulgent smile.

He bristled and looked like he was going to slug me. “What are you? You some do-gooder from the church?” He then looked around like there would be more of me popping out.

“Not at all. If anything, I’m likely going straight to hell. What about you?”

He crossed his arms when I released him. “What about me?” “Are you some kind of do-gooder?” I mimicked his voice. “No, they say I’m an evil seed.” There was an unmistakable

gleam in the kid’s eyes that said he was proud of that label. “So, you should watch out.”

“Who says that?”

“All the people I’ve ever met. Even the woman who gave

birth to me.” His stomach gurgled and his cheeks turned pink.

I noticed his shabby clothes and smudged skin. He’d been on

the streets for a while. “Want to grab a bite to eat?”

He looked at me suspiciously. “What’s it gonna cost me?” “Not a damn thing,” I snarled, annoyed by the insinuation

that I was into kids or something like some goddamn pedo.

He shrugged, unconcerned with my irritation. “It’s smarter

to ask first than to assume.”

I liked that reply. Not only was the kid intelligent, but he had

common sense. Street smarts and a survivor mentality would do him better than any formal schooling. His obvious acumen along with the calculating gleam in his eyes said he might be sociopathic. But who was I to judge.? I, myself, often wished I had been born cold and calculating rather than have my child- like empathy snatched away through the brutal lessons of Bratva life.

I saw a small restaurant just up ahead and pointed to it. “That place any good?”

“It’s alright.” But the hunger in his gaze said differently.

“Lead the way,” My knees cracked as I straightened, but I ignored the reminder that I wasn’t getting any younger.

I didn’t bother to fill in the silence as we went. Instead, possibilities ran through my mind. I could use this kid. I’m sure he knew where I could forge connections around here. Once I did, I’d be one step closer to gaining my empire back.

I held the door open and let him walk ahead of me. I would need to get this kid to take a bath if we were going to be hanging out.

“How many?” a waitress asked. “Two, please,” the kid said.

Ah, a street urchin with manners.

The server led us along until we reached an empty booth. I stood beside the one that had the wall behind it. Those of us who lived by the gun expected to die by the gun, which meant your back was always against the wall and your eyes were on the door. While I knew I was wanted by the mafia, my father may have sent assassins after me as well.

“What’s your name, kid?” I asked as we sat down.

“Roman Puttanesci.” He said from behind a menu. He lowered it and stared at me. “What’s yours?”

“Alexie Petrov.” I waved the waitress over ready to order for the two of us. “And I want you to work for me.”

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