The Mafia Contract Series

Now ow we are here in Mother Russia, it breaks me all over again. I hate coming home. It’s never a pleasure and bringing a woman like Charlotte here seems wrong on every level. Girls like her don’t deserve the harshness of my homeland. She deserves sunshine and luxury. It’s all she’s used to, and I appear to have conveniently forgotten my animosity toward her.

I now want to protect her, which makes me an idiot because the only one she needs protecting from here is me.

The usual black car awaits us and as we walk down the steps, my ever-present guards are standing by, looking out for danger. It’s how we live. I’ve never known any different unless you count the glorious time I spent at Rockwell Academy. There I was free to be a college kid like everyone else. I had friends, like me, who are jaded with this life. We formed a close bond and when Winter came to stay with her friend Emma, every single one of us learned the importance of family. The fact Winter was stolen before graduation and forced to marry a man old enough to be her father tore us apart. We made a vow to set her free and Charlotte Richmond is the key to that because the man who holds the woman we love with all our hearts, is Charlotte Richmond’s biological father, Massimo Delauren.

Possibly the most feared Mafia Don in the world and definitely the maddest. His reputation alone causes grown men to shake in fear. A sadist, a cold-blooded killer who makes it his hobby. A psychopath and a man with zero morals. That is Charlotte’s future, and for the first time since learning of this plan, I’m not liking my part in this. In fact, just imagining sending this innocent angel into hell is making me doubt I can see this one through.

I can tell she’s frightened. Her silence tells me that and the way she is gripping my hand so hard tells me she’s sticking with the devil she knows.

As we step into the car, she shrinks into the corner as if she hopes to remain invisible and I sigh inside. Now I feel like a bastard and that wasn’t supposed to happen.

The driver pulls away from the aircraft, leaving my men to continue their journey back to a much more hospitable location, and I briefly wonder if I’ve thought this through. Norilsk is the perfect place to hide among the menagerie of apartment buildings in a town accessible only by air. However, Massimo Delauren has a far-reaching grip and possibly even has spies in Russia who would tell him this is the most likely bolt hole for any kidnapper hoping to stay under the radar.

We are silent as we speed through the streets, and I’m guessing Charlotte must be wondering how we bypassed customs. The fact my father is so powerful means most government officials are in his pocket and we come and go freely and could bring a container of heroin into the country and nothing would be said.

We take the short drive through the city and Charlotte says nothing at all. She just stares out of the window, and I wish I could be proud of my country, but this is a world away from her usual surroundings.

The silence that sits between us is awkward and threatening and I doubt that will change anytime soon. Now Charlotte will face the reality of her situation and I’m the idiot who was available for the job.

WE REACH the apartment set in the heart of the city and I look around with a sinking feeling. I hate this place. I could have taken her anywhere. We own enough luxurious homes that are well guarded all around the world that would have been perfect. Even the super yachts dotted around the globe are better options. It would have been better if we had sailed into the middle of the ocean and been perfectly protected, but I chose Sodom and Gomora and I’m the idiot who must deal with that.

As I help Charlotte from the car, she says in disbelief, “We’re staying here.”

I follow her glance and take in the huge apartment blocks crowding the city, each one a carbon copy of the next one. Old, decaying and built from concrete, these blocks are enough to make the happiest, most positive person in the world depressed. All around us are litter and discarded objects.

A burned-out car mixing with debris from an overflowing dumpster act like the filthiest work of art.

Corrugated iron on gray stone facades, speak of more decaying inside. Even the concrete walls are crumbling, and the iron fencing looks rusty in parts and bent out of shape.

The block we are staying in looks as if it barely survived a bomb attack, and I sigh heavily and guide her toward the door leading into hell.

“I don’t think…” She falters and stops dead in her tracks and just the pitiful edge to her voice strikes me deep where I never knew I had a heart.

“It’s fine, you’ll get used to it and hopefully it won’t be for long.”

Gripping her hand hard, I pull her with me and as we enter the dark, gloomy building, it’s as if the prison gates are slamming shut behind us.

We head inside and rather than risk the ancient elevator, we take the concrete steps to the top floor. Cursing my father for keeping this place and not renovating it into luxury, I prepare myself for an ordeal of the most uncomfortable kind.

By the time we reach the top floor, even I’m out of breath and Charlotte looks as if she’s about to pass out and I growl irritably, “Hurry up, the sooner we get inside, the better.”

“You think?”

Her smart reply doesn’t help my mood and as I unlock the many locks on the door, I take a deep breath and prepare for a hellish few days.

Inside smells dusty and I’m guessing nobody has been here for several months and I don’t blame them. The fading wallpaper has definitely seen better days and the mismatched carpet looks as if it’s bald in places.

Sighing, I look around at the old-fashioned light fittings that I’m not convinced would pass any safety check and the ornate mirrors with years of dust trapped in their gilded edges.

Charlotte gasps and says in a small voice, “Is this it?”

“Of course this is it.” I snarl. “What did you expect, Buckingham Palace?”

I’m irritable and antsy and start prowling around the apartment, wishing I could smash it to pieces.

To my surprise, her soft voice wafts across the room like a summer breeze on a stifling day. “Then we must make the best of it. Show me to the kitchen. There must be some cleaning things here.

Perhaps I can smarten it up a little and brighten the place up. It may not be so bad.”

Her voice shakes as she forces a brightness to it and I snarl, “Then you’re deluded if you believe anything can smarten this shithole up, but be my guest and try.”This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org: ©.

I head to the crumbling cupboard in the corner where I retrieve a bottle of vodka and, tearing the cap off, I chug down a strong measure.

“That won’t help the situation.” She sounds disapproving and I growl, “Maybe not, but it may make it bearable. Want some.”

I thrust the bottle toward her, and she sniffs. “I’d prefer a cup of tea. Do you think we should find a shop to get some milk? Unless there is a well-stocked fridge, that is.”

“You’re going nowhere.”

She looks a little shocked as I storm pass her into the small kitchen and wrenching open the door see it’s crammed full as requested. We employ someone local who looks after this place and stocks up on demand and there is enough food in here to last for several weeks. The cupboard is no exception and as I open it, I see it is stocked with everything I requested.

Charlotte gasps over my shoulder. “Is that English tea, or is it a mirage?”

I conceal the grin her words create and pull the box down.

“As ordered. You see, princess, I did my research and made sure to order everything a British girl loves, and we have no need to leave these four walls until our ride home.”

The fact the space is so small means she is always within reach and as she tries to shuffle back awkwardly, I feel the heat building between us and it’s not because of the close confinement of the room.

I briefly wonder if it would help pass the time to corrupt this delectable English Rose, but always standing there like an avenging angel on her shoulder is the bastard she will call daddy from now on.

Tossing the box toward her, I say rudely, “Sort yourself out. I’ll be entertaining my new best friend.”

Grabbing the vodka, I leave her behind and head to my room. Luckily, we have two bedrooms, so it will give me some space and, as I lie on the bed and shift up against the pillows, I prepare myself for a very difficult stay.