Page 342 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

SAVAGE SINNER

CHAPTER1

ANYA

Itug hard on the brass handle, pulling open the heavy steel door that leads into the ominous underbelly of Tatiana in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn.

At four o’clock in the afternoon, the parking lot of Vigo Kosolov’s premier nightclub and restaurant is empty save for two cars.

Vigo’s Mercedes-Maybach S 560 and my Uncle Boris’s Honda Accord.

I swallow hard, the ache in the back of my throat a very clear warning that this whole setup is bad with a capital B. Vigo doesn’t just take quaint pre-dinner meetings with his rivals and their nieces.

Makes me wonder who else might be inside and didn’t park in plain sight.

A shiver runs through me, and I adjust my glasses. I prefer to wear contacts, but the glasses give me a geeky appearance that is easily forgettable. Helps me stay invisible for the times when I need to do my job.

And by job, I mean, kill people for money.

I work for my uncle as an assassin for the Volkov Bratva. He took me and my brother, Maks, under his wing ten years ago when we escaped the Ukraine.

More specifically, when we escaped our parents’ murderers in the Ukraine.

But devastation continued to follow us.

Six months ago, my brother Maks fell prey to the bratva life and was shot to death in a parking lot for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I’ve been picking up the pieces of my shattered existence ever since, but my heart?

No amount of the strongest Gorilla Glue can patch it back together.

My best friend is gone.

Forever.

And my time since then has been spent extinguishing the lives of scumbags like the guy who pulled the trigger.

I guess maybe in some sick and twisted way, it’s been therapeutic.

But the only real way I can move on is if I find the person responsible and slit his throat from ear to ear. I keep thinking my Uncle Boris will uncover a name and an address and give me the order.

I’ve been holding on to that hope for a long time.

Maybe one day it’ll become a reality.

My sneakers squeak against the polished floor as I venture slowly into the labyrinth underneath the restaurant. My hand is closed tight around my gun as I walk. Vigo runs an underground casino here, as well as his own sex trafficking ring. Girls are brought in under the guise that they’re interviewing for waitressing positions, and he puts them to work so that his patrons can put in their bids.

It’s disgusting, and I’ve toyed with the idea of killing him several times since the big boss, Ivan Volkov, brought him up the ranks, trampling my uncle in the process.

Vigo’s fucked with my uncle plenty and deserves to have his lips pulled through his asshole.

But I stand down because Uncle Boris has been in enough trouble lately, most recently because of an altercation he had in Manhattan with the Villani crime family.

Vigo is one of the bratva’s top earners and is considered untouchable.

At least, that’s what he tells everyone.

I’d like to prove that claim fucking false.

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