Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance(21)

I know those tattoos. Russian tattoos. They’re Russian mob. They have to be.

Oh my God, what have I done?





CHAPTER 5


ROMAN

When I wake up, the girl is gone. I didn't expect her to stay, of course, but it still feels sort of strange that she just disappeared. I must have fallen asleep while she was still here which is something I don't think I've ever done in my life. Usually I like to watch them fall asleep and then leave while they’re passed out, before any questions can come up.

Once, I think Alek dozed off but I know I've never simply slept all night and just let a woman decide on her own whether or not to stay. I don’t want them deciding whether or not to go through my things or maybe leave a bullet in one of our heads as a thank you.

Strange, to say the least.

Hungry and cotton-headed, I leave Alek still snoring on the bed head for the shower. The room is nice. Bathroom is nice. The last couple of days we have been staying in a loft apartment that belonged to the guy before me, the guy I was brought here to replace. Dimi. That sorry fuck.

It's a nice brick-walled place on the southwest side, private and secure in a building that used to be a corset factory. I like it well enough. Alek likes it better but he cares more about that sort of thing than I do. He said something about the kitchen set-up, the vintage of the floors. All I know is that it's clean and open, with a row of windows that go up to the ceiling. Much nicer than the one bedroom, cockroach-infested hole we had in Atlanta. The organization in Chicago is doing much better.

Just as I'm really enjoying this hot, steamy shower and the small bars of oatmeal soap in here, I hear my cell phone vibrating on the granite countertop. I watch the water and soap swirl down my front, obscuring my tattoos in sheets. The soap spirals around my feet and then twirls down the drain.

Snapping off the tap and grabbing a towel from the rack, I walk along the heated floor to the counter. It’s Stosh.

“Hello?” I say, rubbing my face with a towel.

“Good morning, Roman! You sleep well?"

“Actually, I did. Thank you for asking and good morning.”

“That's nice to hear. So glad you're settling in. Can you meet me for a coffee in twenty minutes? That bakery down the block from you?”

I shake my head, though he can't see me. Wiping the steam from the mirror I can see have got a few scratches, a few love bites. That girl… Marie? She was some kind of hellcat. You would never have known, just looking at her…

“Roman?”

“Ah, yes, Stosh. Excuse me, I'm just out of the shower now. Actually I'm not at home. I stayed downtown last night. Violet hotel. You know it?”

“Ah yes,” Stosh says with a sound of approval. “I'll send a car for you.”

“Alek too?”

There’s a pause. “Alek is with you?”

I make a noise that he can take as a Yes.

“No…” Stosh sighs. “No need for Alek at this point. See you soon.”

Disconnecting the call, I set the phone back on the counter and lean forward. Such an ugly face. It's a wonder that Marie didn't run away as soon as she saw me. What kind of a girl isn’t scared of a face like this? Alek is usually the one making eye contact.

And yet, she looked right at me. She's probably the first person in Chicago to look directly at me for anything more than a half second. That was a curious sensation. I wouldn't mind more of it. It's a pity I’ll never see her again.

Batting at Alek’s limp foot, I snatch my trousers off the floor and sniff at the shirt I discarded. He wakes slowly, blinking and rolling his head back and forth as he takes in the room.

“You up?” he mumbles, sleepy.

“Yeah, Stosh wants me.”

“When?”

I shrug and pull the shirt over my head. “Now I guess.”

“Me?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Just me.”

Picking his head up off the sheet, Alek quirks an eyebrow at me in question.

“Yeah, don’t worry,” I answer. I toss him his clothes and turn to leave, flicking the wetness from my hair. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

***

The car lets me out in front of Sonya's bakery. The morning sun beats down on the sidewalk concrete so hard it's almost loud. I squint against the light and head for the striped green awning.

The bakery is filled with the sounds of chatting, the smells of kolacky and Swedish flop. I scan the room until I find Stosh sitting at the back corner table and head toward him. He gestures with his chin at the small wooden chair across from him.

“You like something sweet?” Stosh asks, pushing a cup of coffee toward me and gesturing at three plates of cookies and sweet cakes. I nod and drag an apple turnover toward me then think better of it and grab a slice of poppyseed cake instead.