Page 330 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

“What is he talking about?” Chella says, her voice quivering. “What else did you take, dammit?”

Chella’s panicked gaze locks with mine and I step forward, my hands in the air when Boris points his gun toward me.

“Roman Villani,” he says, narrowing his blue eyes. He holds a shotgun in one hand and his big, heavy black boots thump along the concrete floor as he approaches.

Dante points his own gun at Boris but I hold up a hand. “Listen, Boris, we have no interest in starting a war with you. For years, we’ve run our own territories without a problem. Let’s not create one now, yeah?”

Boris’s lips twist into a grimace as he closes the space between us. “I didn’t come here to start a war,” he grumbles. “And I have no interest in your money.” He holds out the shotgun and twists in Frankie’s direction. “We came for him.”

Frankie staggers backward, still clutching the gun. “Boris, what the hell are you…we had a deal! I delivered Villani, just like I said I would. I led you straight over here so you collect the rest!”

“The deal was thatyoupay a debt to us,” Boris yells.

“B-boris,” Frankie stammers. “I told you I’d get you all of the goods and then some. What fucking more do you want from me? You can’t seriously be pissed off about that guy I popped! I mean, he was a fucking low-level peon, for fuck’s sake! They’re a dime a dozen!”

Boris swings the shotgun at Frankie’s jaw. “He was my nephew, you piece of shit! And you don’t get to negotiate the life of family, do you understand?”

“What the hell is going on?” Chella screams. “He didn’t kill anyone that night! My father did!”

Boris levels her with a cold stare before scowling at Frankie. “Is that what you told her?”

Frankie’s jaw tightens, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as Boris’s gun settles between his eyes.

Chella’s hands fly up to her mouth when Frankie doesn’t answer. Fucking pussy doesn’t even own up to what he did. “No! All of this time, you’ve made me believe that Papa was the reason…and I turned my back on him for it!” She slams her hands against his chest, shoving him hard. “Oh my God, tell me that’s not true! Tell me you haven’t been lying to me all of this time!”

And still, he doesn’t acknowledge that the story he fed her is complete bullshit. Fury rages through me and the urge to put him through a wall overwhelms me. Frankie shakes uncontrollably as Boris’ shotgun slides down the side of his smashed-up face. “Boris, please, I’m so sorry. There has to be something else I can do to make up for it. I didn’t think anyone was gonna be in that car! Please, just tell me what will let me off the hook?—”

Chella reaches out a hand to Boris. “Please don’t hurt him,” she says, her voice choked with sobs. “Please, he’ll make it up to you. Please don’t take him.Roman!” she shrieks as Boris raises the gun to the side of Frankie’s head.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Dante mutters.

“Boris,” I say. “Let’s talk about this, okay? I know you lost someone close to you?—"

“The fuck we’ll talk!” Boris yells. “Don’t tell me how to conduct business, Villani, or I’ll make sure you’re next!”

“Hey!” I shout. “A little fucking respect, please. This is my goddamn place, do you understand? Let me handle the Amantes. He put a hit on me, letmetake care of the shithead instead!”

“I have my orders,” he seethes.

“Yeah, well, you’re in my fucking area,” I grunt. “And in my territory, I handle my own business!”

He raises the gun at me. “Don’t fuck with me. I have no problem with your family…yet. But that can change very quickly if you get in my way!” His nostrils flare and his jaw tightens as he growls his next words at me. “This is revenge, plain and simple. And I’m not leaving until I get it!”

As Boris takes his attention off of Frankie, the chicken shit shoves Chella away and makes a run for it and darts out of the garage. Boris fires his gun at Frankie’s back, the glass absorbing the impact of the shots. The panes crack but don’t shatter, a fact that clearly pisses him off and hampers his efforts to stop Frankie. With a demonic glare in my direction, Boris takes off like a shot after Frankie, both of them disappearing through the trees and into the private courtyard. The other two Russians run after them with Chella on their heels.

I don’t stop to think about the fact that I don’t have a weapon. I just run into the darkness without a lifeline.

I paid a lot of money for my secluded building…the privacy, the exclusivity. It’s nice to have your own space, away from the rest of the somewhat civilized world.

They say luxury comes with a price.

And it’s fucking steep.

“Boris! Don’t fucking do it!” I shout, squinting in the darkness since the dim lighting isn’t enough to make out much of anything. “I will take care?—"

Crack! Pop! Bang!

I can hear Chella’s thick sobs shattering the silence as I weave in and out of bushes to find her. She collapses next to where Frankie’s limp body is sprawled over the bricks. A large red puddle has spread under him and she grabs his hands, holding them tight to her chest. “No, Frankie! Don’t you leave me! Please don’t leave me!”

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