Page 70 of Angel of Light (Lords of The Commission: New York #5)

Sasha steadied herself with a hand on the curved wall coated with layers of peeling paint, rust, and probably pee. As ruthless as she had become, there was still a remnant of that little girl inside her, that resurfaced each time she was faced with the trauma from her past.

It shut her down immediately. Fear and shock took over her whole body, but it had the opposite effect on me and her brother.

“Stupid fuck.” I grunted, bolting towards the last carriage of the abandoned train where we kept Alison locked up before the coast was clear and we could leave the city.

That fucker had taken one step too far. For his sake, I hope he went for a piss.

Dmitri wasn’t one of mine. He was sent by my father to tackle along and report back with every damn detail of what went down.

He had been buried in the putrid division of Vladimir Volkov’s criminal organization, in charge of the more death-sensitive issues.

Meaning, Dmitri did all the dirty work father couldn’t stain his hands with.

He was more animal than man, feral and unrestrained beast, only loyal to his Pakhan who had somehow potty-trained him to perfection. Still, father kept his pet as far away as possible from his impeccable Ambassador image, in fear of wrinkling a perfectly tailored reputation.

The light from our spotlights were a whole lot dimmer down here, turning the already chilling scene into the perfect set for a damn horror movie.

I tried reining in my fury, making myself lighter on my feet so that he wouldn’t hear me coming.

There were muffled screams calling out to my rage, a woman’s voice made small and hushed by what I could figure was Dmitri’s hand covering her mouth.

Jack-fucking-pot.

I walked in to find him ripping her dress down the middle, grasping her naked breast with his free hand before gliding his hand downwards to push her underwear out of his way. His sorry excuse of a dick was out already, getting ready to be buried inside her without permission.

She was so much smaller than Dmitri that she could trash, kick, and squirm with all her strength that it still wouldn’t even make him budge.

I wouldn’t peg a Battaglia for a fool, she knew her odds but still chose to fight and not accept her ill fate.

Instead of stopping him, I found myself hesitating, looking for blood where I’d seen it on Sasha’s dress all those years ago, before my eyes turned left and locked with hers.

It was as if I could feel her pain through that gaze, her piercing glare went straight through my flesh, hitting me right in the soul.

That’s a first. I wasn’t aware I still owned one.

She didn’t need any words. The plea for mercy was written all over her expression, with the trail of tears running down her dirty face. I watched her swallow hard, before closing her eyes as tight as they went. She’d given up on the feeble hope of being saved by me.

Suddenly her eyes opened again, filled with disappointment judging me in silence.

Something about that reaction stabbed me right in the center of my chest, jolting me back to fucking reality from where I should have never left. Without more hesitation, I pulled my gun from the back of my jeans and shot Dmitri in the skull.

His body fell lifeless on top of her, covering her small frame completely, her face all splattered with blood. Her screams pierced through the carriage, as she fought free from his dead weight and crawled in manic fear towards the driver’s shut door.

She was cornered, with no place to go.

I took my time, looking at her, accessing the Mafia princess everyone had described as a firebird. She was supposed to be fierce and fiery, but what I saw in front of me was anything but that.

There was dirt all over her skin, mixing with the fresh blood from that fucking asshole, and nothing but shreds of her dress to cover her body from my stare. She was crouched down, curled into a ball, using her arms and legs as armor.

Starting on her right thigh, was a tattoo of a caterpillar evolving into what looked like a chrysalis. But there was more to it than that.

My eyes were stuck on the ink, trying to decipher the rest of the artwork that was covered by the way she bent her body, trying to shield herself from my prying eyes.

Her whole body shivered in terror, while her lungs were almost giving out on her.

Her screams turned hoarse and less loud, giving way to relentless tears of panic.

Her hand was stretched out towards me in defense, while she muttered what seemed like “please” into her other hand that covered her face.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” I firmly said, something inside me taking offense that she’d think I would save her from being raped by that fucker, only to end up doing the same. Still she didn’t stop her pleas.

Something about her was wrong. This wasn’t the reaction I’d expect from a Battaglia. Reaching for Dmitri’s gun and putting me out of my misery was far more like the Italian princess’s spirit. At least far more like what I’d been briefed about her.

“Look at me.” I ordered.

The girl didn’t move a muscle, but there was something off in her appearance, which alongside her fear triggered a warning inside me.

“Look at me.” I demanded louder this time, my voice rattling the remains of the broken windows of the carriage. I walked towards her and grabbed her jaw in my hand with more force than warranted.

I pulled her up until she was standing at full height, forcing her to look up at me. She was thin and small, the top of her head barely reaching the middle of my chest.

I wiped some of the blood away with the pad of my thumb revealing what I thought I’d seen.

Freckles. A beauty spot on the top of her forehead.

“Open your eyes.” I roared, shaking her jaw, demanding that she did as I said.

Warily, she peeked through her lashes, and my whole world rotated out of it’s fucking axis.

Brown. Brown fucking eyes.

Fuck!

“Who are you?” I roared through gritted teeth, bending down, my face an inch away from hers.

“What?” Confusion swirled in her eyes, but somehow the fear had cleared even if just an inch, replaced by surprise.

“What’s your name?” My voice was deep and demanding, just as dark as the impending dom I felt coming on. Anger coursed through my body and I dug the tips of my fingers further into her cheeks as a result.

“Adrianne Smith.” Her answer came too quickly to be a lie, too steady to have been rehearsed, even of her voice was small and some what frail.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Those useless motherfuckers had kidnapped the wrong girl. What was I supposed to do with her? This girl served me no purpose, and weeks of planning had just gone down the fucking drain.

There was no way we could hit the Battaglias twice in such a short span of time. Our leverage was gone, and what was worse? I was sure that dead rat Dmitri had already gloated to my father about the success of the mission.

I was fucked, to say the least.

It’s true what they say — If you want something done properly, you better fucking do it yourself.