The Mafia Contract Series

I’m not proud that I lost my temper. If anything, I feel like a fool and as I clean myself up, I note the shattered door falling on its hinges and growl with annoyance.

I let her get to me and demonstrated why I deserve every syllable of my name. I am a savage and it’s never been any different.

Being the son of the most hated man in Russia, outside of the president, kind of makes you grow up fast. There was no love ever shown or father, son chats. Hell, I don’t even know who my mother is and I’m guessing whoever she was, she is long gone now. Women don’t last long in our world. They are there purely for entertainment value and as soon as they stop being a pleasant distraction, they are replaced by a new one.

Sighing, I press a pad against my face and try to stem the blood from a wound that’s merely irritating rather than serious and think about the woman who is currently tied to a chair in the living room.

She doesn’t deserve this treatment. She doesn’t deserve this life and must be fucking terrified.

One minute she’s in some freaking school still in the Victorian era and the next thing she knows, she’s sparring with a savage in the most depressing city in the world. It almost makes me laugh as I remember her challenge and the way she casually stood there and asked if I wanted a fight. The way she faced me down with her hands on her hips with all the fury of Hades flashing in her eyes piqued my interest.

It was a surprising switch from the domestic goddess cleaning the windows not moments earlier and that alone was surprising hearing her humming like a trapped bird in hell.

Now I’ve calmed down, I wonder if the cut affected me more than I first thought because I am a little nauseous. In fact, my reflection is starting to blur, and I wonder if I’ve got a concussion.

As I drop to my knees, I grip the side of the toilet basin and the bile rises in my throat, providing an overwhelming urge to be sick.

Something’s wrong. I’m never sick and certainly not after a fight. I’ve been hit worse than this before, much worse and never been affected other than bruising and a few broken bones for my sins.

Something definitely doesn’t feel right and as I empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet, the dizziness hits me and an unwelcome thought hits me hard.

I’ve been poisoned.

I recognize the signs and as I hurl again, I remember back over the past twenty-four hours and the only thing I can put it down to is the warm waffles the flight attendant served to us on the plane.

Knowing I wasn’t the only one who ate them, directs my thoughts to Charlotte and dragging my body to stand, I rinse out my mouth with the rather dubious water that flows from the taps.

As I lurch from the room, trying desperately to keep it together, I stagger into the living room and see an ashen face staring at me with fright.

“I’m going to be sick.”

She gasps as she hangs her head and I nod, stumbling across to her chair and reaching for my knife.

Her head snaps up and she gasps, “What are you doing?”

I can’t speak because the urge to hurl is too strong and mustering as much strength as I have left, I slice the bindings on her hands and feet and gasp, “Bathroom.”

She slaps her hand across her mouth and nods, barely making the short distance before I hear her retching into the pan and my heart beats out of control as I struggle to make sense of this.

My internal organs feel as if they are being dragged from my body and I break out into a cold sweat as I reach for my phone.

I know the signs, and this isn’t the result of E. coli. This is deliberate and I call the only man I can trust who answers immediately.

“Ivan.”

“Malik.” My voice is rough and dripping with torment and he says urgently, “What happened?”

“Poisoned.”

I must give him credit because he speaks in a measured, controlled voice, without a hint of panic in it, and says firmly, “If you survive, take the girl to the airfield. Steal a car if you must, but don’t tell anyone. I’ll send a plane.”

He cuts the call and I take a moment to get my breathing under control and take in some huge gulps of air. My stomach is churning, and my limbs are weak and I’m not even sure if I can walk, let alone make it from the apartment and steal a car. How long will it take Malik to send a plane, anyway? I’m doubtful he has one parked at the airfield and if I’m right, it will take several hours for it to land.Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.

When I hear Charlotte retching down the hall, it reminds me I’m not alone in this and so I grab the side of the chair and haul myself up, the room spinning around me as I try to remain conscious.

My body is violently rejecting whatever has made its way into my system and I just pray I never digested enough of the poison to cause serious harm.

My mind returns to how hungry Charlotte was and the huge plate of food I left her with fills me with even more concern for her than myself and I stagger down the hallway and find her sprawled on the ground, her white face staring up at the ceiling with glassy eyes that appear as if they left life already.

Quickly, I run the tap and fill the glass with water and dropping to my knees, I lift her head and hold the glass to her lips. There is no reaction and so I gently trickle the liquid into her mouth and hold her head so it doesn’t choke her.

“Wake up sleeping beauty.” I say through ragged breaths, and she gags as the liquid hits the back of her throat, causing her to choke a little.

Her body reacts to the danger and brings her back and as she recovers, I say roughly, “Drink some more.”

“I…” her voice sounds weak, and I snarl, “Drink it.”

She drinks some more water and then I take a gulp myself and we must be a strange sight cowering on the small bathroom floor, seemingly knocking at death’s door.

As her breathing speeds up, I say as if talking from a distance, “We must leave.”

“I don’t think…” her voice shakes and I say urgently, “We must leave. Can you stand?”

“I’ll try.”

As I grip the basin and haul my own large body to my feet, my head spins with the effort and I lean back against the wall, offering her my hand.

As hers closes around it, I hate the weakness in me as I try to help her to her feet.

Somehow, we manage it and without wasting any energy on words, I pull her along the hall with me and reach for the coats we discarded on the hook by the front door.

“We must run; this place is compromised.”

She nods, looking as if she’s about to hurl again but shrugs into the coat and attempts to help me with mine, causing me to smile a little. Despite everything, this small act of kindness hits me somewhere new, and as I stare at the pale beauty before me, I am strangely protective of her. That alone surprises me because I’ve only ever experienced that once before and it concerned my best friend’s sister, Winter. I cared for her like the sister I never had and yet I already know what I’m feeling toward my pretty English rose isn’t the love for a sister. It’s something else entirely. Just that thought alone brings me round quicker than any medical solution and it’s suddenly the most important thing in the world to get us both to safety.