Romeo The Mafia Casanova

Five months later

Rhia put one foot in front of the other knowing in her heart she should turn on her heel and run the other way.

Away from them.

She wished the nightmare she’d lived for the past five months would end. That she would wake up and everything would be back the way it was. No mafia kings. No murder. No chaos. It’s all her life churned out now.

She shook her head, and tipped her eyes to the pavement, ducking around one filled book shelf after another weaving her way to the exit.

She never wished for her old accounting job more. Plain books and numbers. At least with them, she knew what to expect. Numbers didn’t lie, cheat, kill or want to fuck you.

Most importantly, her father would be alive and she wouldn’t be hunting a killer.

But as she stepped from the cool enclosure of Chicago’s library into the hellish summer heat with newfound information slipped between her breasts, the first rung of the ladder out of hell appeared. All she had to do was put one foot up and then another.

The information had been hard to come by and cost her a few favors in return. Once she promised to pay. She could only hope it would be worth it in the end.

Perspiration gathered on her brow and left a wet trail along the slope of her breasts. The sun dipped below the city’s skyline, leaving behind a blanket of heat to smother the cement jungle.

Humidity clung to the ends of her hair as waves of heat shimmered from the slabs of sunbaked sidewalk. Each step was harder than the last and the heat did its best to slow her steady strides and melt away her resolve.

She pulled dark masses of curls off her neck and clipped them high upon her head before she stepped off the curb among tens of other pedestrians out enjoying an early evening stroll along Old Town’s lesser-known streets. One patio restaurant after another melded into the next as the sidewalks flared to accommodate large terraces.

The late afternoon quickly faded to twilight as the sun set behind the tall peaked buildings and with each block the buildings aged by a decade, sometimes a century. From cement to hand-chiseled stone.

Patrons poured into the vast sidewalks turning the street into an extension of the party, carrying with them a curious mixture of lust and sin. The gray cement was has broken up with shards of bright light and neon signs from the restaurants and bars.

Although she couldn’t compare Chicago in the dead of summer to anything enjoyable, the locals seemed to thrive in the sweltering heat. And so did killers, she reminded herself.

And by locals, she meant the Volkov family and everyone who fell under their protection. This was their turf; hard-won with enough blood to make the most hardened of criminals flinch with fear. And they did. No one went against the Volkov family. Not and keep their heart in their chests.

She caught hints of leather gun holsters tucked beneath jackets and black-inked spiders peeking out from beneath low-cut collars denoting their position as an active criminals.

She wiped at the droplets of sweat dampening her brow and neck making sure to keep her gaze flowing and never catching the eye of one single person.

Horns blared from the bustling street and she considered one of the many taxis. Given the time of the evening, though, she’d likely make it the remaining seven blocks on foot before the traffic cleared.

Clinking glasses and laughter mingled with the delicious smells of fresh basil on tomatoes and garlic to whip a grumble of hunger from her. She shoved it down and picked up her pace. A deep belly laugh caught her off guard and pulled her attention around to a man sitting with what she assumed were his children and wife. Or mistress. Hard to tell. Or she’d turned jaded in the last several months. Which was entirely possible.

Either way, the sound of the man’s laughter came so similar to her father’s, her step faltered.

Until his eyes met hers and the lethal power of death stared back at her sending shivers up her spine.

Like every other man who made up the Volkov criminal empire. Cold. Ruthless. Loud, dominant and so cock-sure of themselves she could taste the testosterone with every inhalation. The women who loved them were compliant and submissive.

She’d learned by proxy these men were not anyone she wanted to tango with. On her second night as a hostess for Haven, she’d witnessed a very pissed off and very aroused man pulls out of the submissive he was taking in the middle of a room, pick up his gun, and shoot another.

Why? Who the hell knew and she didn’t wait around to ask questions? An hour later the body was gone and everything went back to normal. Except for her frayed nerves. She almost quit that night and slinked back to her home.

Fucking Russian mobsters. She would never understand them, but staying ignorant was not an option. After the bullet-to-the-head incident, she’d quickly educated herself on the various crime families prominent in this part of the world, and for good reason.

She twisted her hand around the strap of her bag and kept her head down when a couple of men called to her. Their voices were low and they looked to be new at their job. Two older men came up behind them and smacked their heads saying something in a rush of Russian. What they said, she didn’t know. But it was obvious the older men recognized her from the club. They gave her a nod and she picked up the pace. A block away she finally took a steadying breath. None of these men could touch her. Not when she fell under their protection.

Only they held the power to sway her from the path she chose five months ago or end her life.

She needed to remember that.

Dotted among the crowds she caught sight of daring couples with their lovers held close as they turned the wide city sidewalks into a makeshift dance floor. Flowing skirts swayed to soft rhythms. Lovers embraced and families laughed together.

She pushed all of it to the back of her mind and let a darker agenda carry her deeper into the heart of the city.

She picked up her pace, weaving through the open terrace cafes around waiters carrying trays laden with rich delicacies.

Another couple of blocks and the pedestrian nightlife gave way to posh limos easing along the congested drags.

A large illuminated sign announced her arrival.

Rhia’s heart tapped an erratic rhythm against her chest as she drew to a stop in front of the three-story convent turned into Chicago’s most luxurious and exclusive sex club.

Haven.

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Tall spires brushed the sky from the four corners with enormous archangels standing watch between the peaks. Their stone-cold eyes stared down from atop their high perch as they clung to the darkened shadows of the night with fierce protective expressions etched into their stone faces. Like most nights she stared back waiting, wondering. For what she didn’t have a clue.

Were they protectors of the innocent or avengers here to slay the sinners of the dark world she’d entered?

Both.

She liked to think of them as her guardians, silly as it seemed. It made stepping into the viper pit a little easier every night. Illusions were a dangerous game though.

She inhaled a ragged breath and blew it out slowly and let the thought retreat so she could focus more on the real dangers.

One foot after another she closed the half-block distance and rounded the side of the building, following the same path she took six nights a week.

The scuttling sound of feet against craggy cement brought her head around. She ground to a halt, her spiked heel catching on a crack in the sidewalk.

Shit. She cursed under her breath at her foolish nerves when it was just a stranger crossing the street.

“Everything all right, ma’am?”

Rhia was startled and turned at the rough male voice.

She swung her gaze around. “Maddox, good evening,” she answered, over the moon, she managed not to sound like a complete fool to Haven’s head of security. They must be shorthanded tonight if he was manning the employees’ entrance. He usually worked the floor, making sure the hostesses were left alone to do their job.

“The heat is making me a little crazy. Everything good out here?” Their exchange of simple pleasantries offered her an odd comfort. She didn’t see him much but got a hum of electricity when they did cross paths. Like there was something more to him but that’s where the idea died. Probably the energies of bad juju clinging to him and all the others like him.