Page 5 of Dima's Vision
“Wh-what!?” Giuseppe splutters.
“I said, don’t talk to her like that.” The blonde leans into Giuseppe’s space, my cousin’s fat double chin wobbling as he opens and closes his mouth, as if to argue.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here, then?” La Strega’s light tinkling voice bounces off the machinery and Doc Marten’s boots gently thud on the concrete floor.
“Witch,” I greet her, surprised when the blonde answers at the same time as La Strega.
“Ah, she was talking to me, hot guy,” La Strega says, smirking.
“Was she?” His deep voice reverberates through the factory.
Chapter 3
Dima
“Well, unless your name actually translates to “The Witch” then yeah, she was talking to me.” The sassy little woman crosses her arms over her chest, planting her feet, and delight courses through my veins.
I can’t help but stare at her. My body knew who she was before I even laid eyes on her. Fire tore through me, not hot and uncomfortable, more warm and loving. There’s no other way to explain it. The pull toward her is so strong that for the first time ever, I want to abandon my mission.
I had stalked Glenn Leggat right to the railing he was standing at. I was more than ready to take him to my home, to get revenge for the little souls he had taken, and then that’s when I heard that fat bald fucker threatening the dark haired woman. I had seen her earlier and initially thought she was who my heart desired. But when I looked at her I felt…nothing. Nothing at all other than the need to protect her from someone wanting to do her harm.
And thenshewalked in.
Her black boots thudded on the concrete factory floor, the lilt of her voice too bright to be shrouded in the dark. Leaningforward I caught my first glimpse of the woman who is haunting my dreams. Ethereal. Passionate. Curious. So many words to describe her and yet none seems to quite capture not only what I’m seeing, but what I’m feeling.
I keep my gun on the slimy man in front of me, his foot still hovering in midair where I stopped him with my words alone, his flabby thigh shaking with the effort.
I ignore him, staring at the woman who has haunted my dreams. “My name is Dima, but I, too, am called Witch.”
Her beautiful hazel eyes, almost too large for her face, widen slightly before her mask slips back into place. “Aren’t male witches called warlocks?”
I lift one shoulder “Where I come from I’d be called akoldun. But that’s neither here nor there.” La Strega, that’s what the other woman called her, she opens her mouth as if to argue with me, and I welcome the challenge. I welcome anything this woman wants to offer me.
“What the fuck is going on? Who the fuck do you think you are, you Russian pig?” The fat man spits.
I shift my gaze to him, pissed that I’m having to look away from the woman.Mywoman, “I’m here for Glenn Leggat, but saw you getting pissy at her-” I wave toward the other woman in the room, the one that oozes power, the one that pisses off this little bald fucker, “-and thought I better step in.”
“What do you want with Glenn?” Fat fuck’s eyes narrow, ignoring my comment about the other woman, only worried about Glenn, and I start to wonder if he knows about his employee’s proclivities.
“Well, I was going to brutally and thoroughly anally rape him with a blunt object, but now that I’m here I may have changed my mind.”
La Strega cackles and my brain shorts out. The sound is light, airy and full of joy, misplaced in a place like this. She wandersto a stainless steel table in the middle of the room, placing her hands on it to boost herself up to sit. She’s fucking tiny. No, not tiny. Short. Tiny would suggest that her whole body is small, whereas hers is anything but. Thick thighs that rub as she walks, a fantastically round ass and plump tits, she’s everything I could ever want wrapped up in a black, goth punk pixie package.
The short, bald man splutters, some spittle getting on my shirt. I look down at it, my lip curling involuntarily. La Strega, the little witch, giggles from her place on the metal table.
“Well, hot guy, you’ve surprised me,” she says, wagging her finger at me.
Tilting my head ever so slightly I glance between her and the other woman. They’re not sisters, that much I can tell. While both dark haired and clearly Mafia, there are no similarities between the two. The one in charge, she’s poised. I could tell immediately that she was a Mafia woman, however she isn’t like any principessa I’ve ever come across, and I’ve come across a lot. When I first arrived in the US, Sasha was already well ensconced in Bratva life. Because I’m his little brother I was welcomed by Roman and his family fairly easily, especially once I showed my gift and how I could use it to further the business. Once I was in I went to the parties, the arranged marriages between the Italians and us. All the women were the same. Meek, perfect little carbon copies of each other. Painfully thin, too much makeup, not a hair out of place. Classy, poised, educated to please, much like the tall, dark haired woman, although she oozes more power and confidence than I’ve ever seen before. But the woman who haunts me? The one my soul recognized immediately? She’s different. She’s a puzzle. A beautiful mystery. And one that takes glee in my plans to hurt and kill.
“So, are you going to tell us who you are? Or just eye fuck me all night?” She raises a dark brow and my lips tip up at her sass. “Ooookay, looks like we’re going with the eye fuckingoption then,” she says, kicking her legs and hopping off the table, landing with her booted feet on the concrete floor. “I’ll take it from here, hot guy. You can stay and watch, or you can go off and find the guy you want to anally rape, your call.”
She pulls a gun far too large for her small body from the waistband at the back of her jeans, pointing it at the man who threatened the other woman. “Come on Giuseppe. If you’re lucky I’ll let you touch my tits before I kill you.”
A growl rips out of me at her words, her hazel eyes snapping to mine. They’re mesmerizing, the color changing from bright grass green to more dark forest as they watch me. “Why do they call you Witch?”
“Because I bewitch men and women with my feminine wiles before I kill them.” She grins wide, her crooked eye teeth making her appear younger than she is. “I have no gag reflex and a talented tongue.” To illustrate she flicks it in the air at me.
“She’s cursed,” a husky voice says, my head snapping toward the other woman. “She’s been surrounded by death since she was a child. Everyone she loves, dies.”
