Page 3 of The Russian Retribution (New York Criminal Empire #2)

3

ERIK

“ N o, no, listen—listen!” I snort, unable to contain my laughter.

“All I’m saying is that if you can get that drunk on just a couple of shots, then you should not be coming out drinking with us, okay? I need real people. People with substance, you understand?”

“You’re a dick,” replies Ryan, and his voice crackles slightly down the phone.

“Honestly, I want to see you take those shots after two days of not eating, okay? Because then you’ll be the one falling headfirst into that fucking toilet and I’ll be filming it.”

“Not gonna happen.” I sigh gleefully.

“One, I never skip a meal. And two, I have far too much responsibility to be playing silly drinking games with you.”

“Oh, really?” Ryan mocks.

“Because being that bitch’s security adviser is such a tough gig.”

“It is,” I reply easily.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to map out secure routes and vet twenty-seven different men all because the ice princess decides she wants a frappe at three in the morning?”

Ryan laughs, and I chuckle along, but it’s a little forced.

I haven’t been in this position long.

Sure, security adviser to the Remizova Godmother sounds fancy when you say it out loud, but I don’t see her as often as people assume I do.

I mostly follow her at a distance as she moves from place to place and ensure that everyone on her rather small security team is up to date on their weapons training and medical history and aren’t going to slit her throat in her sleep.

That team currently consists of Igor.

Her requirements, not mine.

In my four months in this position, I’ve spoken to Anastasia maybe five times in total.

Anything else I have to say goes into the weekly reports, which makes getting close to her pretty tricky.

Not from a lack of trying.

Ryan continues his rambling about what happened last night after I left, but his words fall into just background noise as across the parking lot, Anastasia comes striding out of the building with Viktor in tow.

She pauses and stares upward, causing her platinum-blonde hair to cascade off her shoulders and pour down her back like liquid silk.

Even this late at night, it stands out like a beacon in a sea of black.

Her body is tense, and whatever discussion she’s having with Viktor doesn’t seem to be going smoothly.

Not that it ever does.

Anyone can see that she keeps him around because of his relationship with her father, as they’re both on very different tracks regarding the future of this family.

Maybe Ryan is right.

Maybe this position will lead to nothing but my demise.

Then again, he doesn’t know what I know.

“I gotta go,” I say, cutting off Ryan’s tirade.

“Ice Princess is on the move.”

“Frappe time?”

“Something like that.”

“Alright, catch you later. Asshole.”

“Uh-huh.” I end the call with a touch to my earpiece and reach for the car door handle.

Then all hell breaks loose.

Anastasia’s car is engulfed in a ball of flame and the explosion rocks the entire parking lot.

I immediately start sprinting toward the fire, fearing that she was close enough to be consumed and I’ll forever be remembered as the security lead who let his Godmother die.

I make it three steps before other random cars in the parking lot start exploding one after the other, like popcorn escaping the pan and rolling right into the fire.

Viktor melts through some smoke and stumbles with blood pouring from the side of his head, then he’s grabbed by a member of his security and dragged to cover.

People yell and scream, fire and smoke consume the air, and the next car I pass explodes so suddenly that I’m swept right off my feet with a gasp.

I land on the windshield of a vehicle thankfully safe from the explosions, completely winded.

My body screams and aches, and the back of my neck tenses up like a rock.

For a few precious seconds, I can’t move.

Embers and ash rain down on me, threatening to ignite my suit.

Metal screeches, flames crackle and scream, and my heart pounds so violently in my chest that I can taste iron on the back of my tongue.

Get up, Erik.

Get up!

I roll off the windshield and hit the ground on all fours.

Small stones cut into my palms, but it’s a distant pain as I scramble up and resume my sprinting toward the source of the first explosion.

People’s screams of terror mingle with loud yells and the sharp screech of car brakes.

Darting around one of the ambulances, I stumble through a column of smoke and skid to a stop on the sidewalk when I spot a charred body lying a few feet away.

Oh, no .

No, no, no, no.

Crashing to my knees, I gingerly grab the figure by the shoulders and haul them onto their back, only to be met with a bulkier build than Anastasia's.

Igor.

Her bodyguard.

“Shit.”

Wiping sweat from my brow, I glance up and peer through the inferno in time to see three masked men dressed in complete black dragging Anastasia into the back of their silver car.

I’d recognize her hair anywhere.

And those aren’t my men.

“Hey!” I bellow, racing toward them. One man looks up at me, and then he throws himself into the backseat with her. The door slams, and the car races off down the street just as I reach the burned skid marks left in their wake. “Fuck!”

There’s no time to wait or to call anyone else. I have to get after her. I sprint back to my own car, which has mercifully survived the series of explosions, and throw myself inside so violently that the pain of clipping my elbow on the door doesn’t hit me until I’m speeding down the road chasing the kidnappers’ vehicle.

“Ow,” I groan softly as pain radiates from my elbow and sends a numbness fluttering across my forearm. “Fuck, fuck!”

It doesn’t take me long to catch up to their vehicle. They’re driving recklessly, likely just trying to escape, while I drive with a goal. My time in the military was short-lived, but it birthed my skills as a driver that Viktor put to use quite a few times when it came to robberies. That’s where I existed in this crazy Mafia world until he found a new job for me and a new goal.

That goal is Anastasia, and I’m not letting some ratty vermin take her from me.

It doesn’t matter that she doesn’t know who I am.

I manage the gears with ease, weaving through traffic with practiced skill until I’m right behind the kidnappers. They try to throw me off by taking side streets and crashing through several dumpsters, but I’ve driven these roads more times than I care to count. I know everything there is to know. Hell, I’d feel at home on any road in New York, but especially here. We race toward the highway, but just before they take the ramp, they attempt a one-eighty to trick me. I’m ready for them and as they spin past me, I quickly wrench my car to the side and nudge their back bumper. Their car shakes and sways, taking the next turn much slower than before as their driver fights to remain in control.

I take the turn much smoother, and soon, we’re racing toward the river. I have to be careful. The last thing I need is Anastasia ending up in the drink. This close, I ease on the accelerator and use bursts of speed to nudge into them just enough to jolt them forward and make the car unstable. A few taps here, a shunt there, and then I jolt my car to lurch them forward.

Their driver loses control, and the car starts swaying dangerously from side to side. My victory is short-lived as the car hits an incline, clips a low wall, and flips up into the air.

“Shit!”

The car spins, wheels screaming and horn blaring as it does a complete three-sixty. Thankfully, it lands upright and then proceeds to roll onto its roof and smash into the front window of a barber shop, where it finally comes to rest.

Snatching my gun from the passenger seat, I wrench myself out of my car once it’s barely come to a stop and sprint toward the wreck. One door swings open, forcing me to slow down. A man slides out like he’s made of liquid. He’s groaning and coughing, and a large red gash streaks across his chest. As soon as he hits the ground, I aim and shoot him clean in the skull. Then I run to the car and skid to a stop on broken glass and crumbling stone. Inside, another man is fighting to get to his gun after it slipped from its holster during the crash. I kill him as cleanly as I kill the first. The third is twisted up in the driver’s seat, and his eyes are full of panic as our gazes meet.

I lift the gun, ready to aim, when something gushes down from above. The smell is crystal clear.

Gas.

Killing that man takes a backseat in my mind as I move to the back of the upturned car where I find Anastasia unconscious and sprawled across the roof. Holstering my weapon, I reach for her while praying that none of her injuries will be aggravated by my dragging her from the wreck. Using her arm for leverage, I pull her close to me and then scoop her limp form into my arms.

“Help me!” the driver gasps, slamming his hands against the steering wheel that traps him. “Help me!”

“No.”

I hurry away from the car and make it to my own just as sparks from the barber shop’s broken electrical sign rain down on the upturned car. One spark is all it takes to ignite the gas pouring from the car, and it immediately erupts into an explosive ball of fire. I cradle Anatasia against me, shielding her with my body as I huddle beside my vehicle. Several things impact my back, but the pain is an afterthought when fingers suddenly curl against my chest.

I glance down, panting heavily, and Anastasia’s gorgeous, gemstone-green eyes gaze blearily up at me.

“I’ve got you, Miss Remizova,” I pant. “You’re safe.”

“Erik?” she croaks weakly.

Holy shit.

She knows my name.

“Four broken ribs, severe internal bruising, but nothing that requires surgery… and a concerning headwound that I’d like to monitor.” The doctor adjusts her glasses, then closes the file in her hands and fixes me with a stern look. “You have to understand that if she wants to leave, she has to sign this.” She thrusts a sheet of paper at me. “She will be leaving against medical advice and we will not be responsible for anything that happens. Although…” She pauses and sighs. “If anything does happen, make sure you bring her back.”

Eyeing the form, I nod slowly and offer my most sympathetic smile. “Sorry. You’ve treated her before. You know how she can get.”

“And yet each time, she assures me it will be the last.” The doctor sighs again. “Have her sign the form. I’ll make sure she’s well supplied with medication.”

“Thank you.” As the doctor leaves, striding down the hall to tend to other patients, the door beside me suddenly feels daunting.

Anastasia is on the other side, waiting to learn whether she can leave. Not that permission would influence her decision, but she does follow some rules. A woman I’ve spoken to directly five times in my life is waiting on me, and that’s oddly scary. On one hand, she’s just a person who comes across as quite cold, especially since her father was murdered. On the other hand, she’s the Remizova Godmother, my boss, and the most powerful woman in the Russian hierarchy.

I can’t pass this chance up. So much is riding on my ability to get her to talk to me.

Taking a deep breath, I step into the room.

The light is low. Anastasia lies on the bed with her eyes closed and her hair spread out around her head like some kind of golden halo. Medical treatment has removed the makeup from her face, but that doesn’t change how strikingly beautiful she is. Like this, her face is soft and her plump, red lips look seconds away from breaking into a soft smile. Even the bruising across her forehead and injuries shadowing her neck do nothing to change how she instantly takes my breath away.

I hesitate.

If she’s sleeping, I should come back later. The form crumples slightly in my hands, but just as I turn to leave, her eyes snap open and I’m suddenly pinned in place with such force that I can’t breathe.

“What is that?” Anastasia demands. The soft look that was in her eyes when she was huddled against my chest after the explosion is long gone, but oddly, I can still feel her warmth against me. Her trembling grip in my shirt as I cradled her has left some ghostly version of herself attached to me, even if just for a second.

“This?” I glance down at the form. “The doctor wants you to sign it. It will let you leave, but you have to acknowledge that it’s against their advice.”

“Give it.” She sits up with barely a wince and holds out her hand. “Now.”

I obey, walking closer and handing the form over.

“Pen?”

After patting my pockets, I locate one in my back pants pocket and hand it to her. The silence between us is palpable. I feel like I should fill it. After all, how am I going to get close to her if I can’t even talk to her? But the more I think about it, the harder it becomes to think of anything to say. I watch her skim the form, and then she signs down at the bottom with a sigh.

“Good,” she says. “Now I can leave.”

“About that,” I say, and my words halt when her eyes flick up and lock onto mine. “You can’t leave yet.”

“Why not?” Her dark brows pinch together, and there’s a softer look on her face now, as if she’s trying to anticipate my words so she can prepare herself. “Another form?”

“No,” I say, and I smile softly. “I just need to assign you another guard and secure a safe route back to the manor.”

“You haven’t done that yet?” she asks sharply.

“I had my own check-up,” I reply just as sharply. “It ain’t easy to walk off an explosion, y’know.”

“Oh. Of course.” Her eyes flick down me. “You’re alright?”

“For the most part. Better than you.”

She doesn’t smile, but her eyes meet mine once again. “Can’t you just get Igor to take me home?”

My stomach twists as the sight of his burned body bursts into my mind. “I can’t. I’m sorry, Ma’am. He died in the explosion. Quickly, I gather, but he’s no longer with us.”

“Oh…” Her gaze falls away from me and for a moment, her mask slips. There’s pain moving across her face and her grip tightens on the pen.

“But don’t worry, Viktor is fine. Superficial wounds, mostly.”

She nods slowly but doesn’t say a word. Strands of hair escape their resting place on her shoulder and fall forward like a shimmering curtain. “Did anyone else die?”

“Just Igor and one of the paramedics.” My teeth catch on the inside of my cheek. “But don’t worry. I will assign you an entirely new security team this time, and we will make sure that what happened doesn’t happen again.”

“I don’t want a team,” Anastasia replies. “That’s too many people.”

“With all due respect, your demand for just one guard resulted in this. There’s only so much I can do from afar, and Igor… I’d really advise a team this time, Ma’am.”

“Anastasia.”

“Huh?”

“My name is Anastasia.”

“I know, but you’re?—”

“What?” She looks back up at me. “I’m the Godmother so I don’t get to have people using my name?”

“No,” I reply cautiously. “But it’s a mark of respect. You’re my boss.”

“Igor was your friend?” she asks suddenly, ignoring my words.

“To an extent. So I think it would be better for everyone if we secured a full team.”

“No.” She sighs and pushes back the blanket. “I don’t need a team.”

“But—”

“You.” She points at me with one long finger. “You can be my bodyguard. You survived and you rescued me. That’s the kind of protection I need.”

And just like that, my window of opportunity to get close to Anastasia Remizova flies wide open.