Owning the Mafia Don

Lucien

They blundered into the woods, relying on their instincts, listening alertly to the sounds coming from around them. Rhyme had joined them, and he pointed out, wordlessly, to the path where it appeared as if someone had pushed through the tangled twigs and branches in a hurry. The light snow also revealed indentures made by three pairs of boots. One was smaller than the others, noted Lucien as they moved, carefully.

The sound of water could be heard as they moved away from the now burning little house, and in the distance; Lucien had been listening to the noise of an approaching chopper.

It had to be the one he had had stationed in a field nearby. Aiyana must have been informed, and she must have radioed the chopper crew.

As for Salam Khan, the gangster had been stopped at the border by the Slovakian authorities, based on the tip-off provided by the Interpol agencies.

Now it had zeroed down to just one man: Dmitri Rudenko who he was determined to bring down that day.

Or die in the process.

***

The snow had begun to fall again, lightly, but he knew from having stayed there for a few weeks, that it could suddenly increase and then, they would be at a disadvantage. The more they walked, the louder the sound of the water appeared to become.

It was Schwartz, who actually put his misgivings into words,

“Mate, looks like they are heading to the edge of the cliff. I can hear the waterfall.’ he said grimly.

Lucien glanced at his second in command, the man he trusted the most in his life, he thought wryly.

In fact, the only man he trusted, he thought. Schwartz had pulled his parka over him, the hood concealing his bright golden hair but a few tendrils still flopped over his forehead and made him look disarmingly handsome

If he had looked into a mirror, Lucien knew he would see the cold, hard and ruthless expression of a killer on his own face, the grey facial hair making him look even more sinister. Not the attractive, appealing look like that on his companion’s.

Ears attuned to listen for the slightest sound; they were nevertheless caught by surprise when a single shot rang out.

Immediately, they fell down onto the snow, Lucien and his two companions.

The shot had come from the side and they lay in the undergrowth, panting, hearts racing.

The water seemed to be gushing at their feet, it was so very loud.

Lucien lay on his stomach, watching the surroundings, guns cocked.

Then he turned to his friend,

“Mate, ‘he said in an urgent growl,’ If anything happens to me, I want you to go back and be there for my woman.’

Schwartz spun his head to look at his mentor, the man he owed his life to, the man he revered above all else, his face blank with shock.

‘The f*ck are you saying, mate?’ he whispered back hoarsely, eyes wide in astonishment.

‘I want you to marry her, damn it!’ said Lucien thickly.

***

Dmitri

Dmitri Rudenko lay gasping on the ground, his chest constricting as he tried not to breathe loudly. He closed his eyes , his body shivering as he felt the fear flooding through him. He knew that Lucien had come after him when they fled from the house, his trusted man, Mihai and of course, Dusak.NôvelDrama.Org owns this.

Mihai had been his lover when the man was younger, but he had stayed with Dmitri, loyal to his master. His gipsy ancestry was evident in his dark colouring, the wavy black hair and keen brown eyes, the slender figure, and the sharp features. He lay, panting, holding his arm which had been shot at and injured, as he tried to shield Dmitri from the shooting that had erupted.

Damn St. Claire. Damn Schwartz, thought Dmitri savagely.

There was a deep wound on his thigh, a result of Schwartz’s firing when Dmitri was trying to flee the burning house. The man had appeared as though out of thin air, firing straight at Dmitri. Mihai had leapt in; taking the brunt of the shots but Dmitri had been hit.

The large wound on his thigh was bleeding heavily as he glanced at his nephew. The youth looked as cold and resolute as ever and Dmitri knew he was a born killer.

“Duska,’ he growled feebly,’ Remember, what I told you…’

The boy glanced at him, pale green eyes empty, emotionless.

“Ano.’ he said flatly, ‘yes.’

***

Lucien

His chest hurt just to think of his beautiful wife with another man. That lovely body he hungered for, her warm, fragrant, silky body beside him at night, her laughing mouth, her dimpled smile, the feel of her soft, tight sweetness that flooded his member when he took her savagely as was his wont.

He felt an almost physical pain, a searing jolt of envy, of covetousness and longing, shoot through him again.

But he knew that Schwartz had loved her all the while, silently, but adoringly. If he could imagine any man with her, it would be his friend. He held down the feelings of pain and jealousy that tore through him at the thought. He wanted her to be safe. For that, he would willingly do anything.

Schwartz swore, long and softly.

“The f*ck, mate!’ he said in a hoarse, agitated whisper, ‘You Eejit! Howlin’ scabby Nyaff!”

Lucien ignored him, concentrating fiercely on the landscape around, his eyes looking out for any slight movement among the trees around them.

Schwartz was really into it now,

‘Bite ma bawsack a look ye radge wee shite!’ he hissed, his face red with anger.

Coolly, Lucien turned to him and ordered in a snarl,

‘Shut the f*ck up.’

Rhyme turned to them, exasperated desperation on his dark face. The man was sweating despite the cold and Lucien felt a pang of remorse.

‘Boss, they might hear us,’ he said in a low voice and Schwartz quieted down, still mumbling swearing Scottish insults under his breath.

Lucien moved swiftly and gripped his friend’s throat. Enough to get the man to quieten down and listen.

“I would never let her have another man, but you are the only man I can ever think of leaving her to.’ he said in a hoarse whisper, eyes narrowed in pain.

They stared at each other, the years of being together, the unspoken bond between them as resolute and firm as ever. Then Schwartz gave a pained gasp.

‘Whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye! ‘ said Schwartz finally, in a wheeze, stifling his cough as his friend removed his thick, gloved hand from his throat.

“What is meant to be, will be.’ thought Lucien, translating in his mind even as he adjusted the knuckle dusters firmly and positioned his gun, eyes on the undergrowth before them…

Schwartz nodded, his throat constricting with emotion. He knew how Lucien loved Proserpina. These were the words of a man who adored his woman and wanted her to be happy even when he was not around.

“Sorry mate,’ he whispered, blabbering in his passion, ‘ I just became an auld blether. I dinnae ken…’

“Shut the f*ck up.’ snapped Lucien.

***

Rhyme

Rhyme was pointing to a clump of dry bracken a few miles away, where a sudden flash of brown had moved. A man wearing a brown overcoat, but a slightly different colour had been noticed by the ever alert, ever observant Rhyme.

All three of them watched. And then Lucien nodded his head, his eyes on the area where they had just glimpsed a movement.

Subtle, but it was there.

And he felt a coldness in him as he realized that he was staring into the eyes of his dreaded enemy, Dmitri Rudenko.

Finally, he thought, a wave of emotion flooding him, just as he felt before he went into the ring.

Finally.

‘Yes.’ he grunted softly, his voice a rasp.