Without Mercy, page 27
part #4 of Running with the Devil Series
This elicited a fresh set of tears. Her eyes felt like they’d been scored by sandpaper and she was getting impatient with herself, for not being able to have this conversation without her nose running, her eyes leaking.
Anto stroked her hair as he talked to her. “Rusya is a powerful man, but putting you under his protection, inviting your father to a meeting – he’s taking a risk. Maybe it will make him look weak. Maybe it will make him look stronger. It will depend on your father and what he chooses to do with the information Rusya is sharing.”
“What information?”
“I can’t share that with you. That’s information you can’t know.”
Mari tapped at his chest with her hand but said nothing.
“If we’re together, it will be that way. You’ll become part of my world. Very few women have a role other than to be a good faithful wife or girlfriend. You’d never get to come and go freely. You’d have to follow the strict codes of Russian bratva. You’d have to be loyal and you’d have to prove your loyalty, over and over again. You would have to find a way make sure Rusya trusts you from the inside out. You could never betray him or me. You are the daughter of the Chief Constable and even a petty betrayal would take on bigger meaning. It means that you would have to sever ties with your family.”
“Anto,” Mari started but Anto gave her arm a squeeze.
“Let me finish. We’re running out of time.”
Mari swallowed her words.
“You would have to listen to me, follow my instructions. It’s a tightrope we walk. Again, I’ll have to be twice as mean, twice the tyrant to stay on top, to keep you protected. I’d do that for you, Marisol.” He breathed in deeply. “But I wouldn’t be able to stop that from leaking into our private lives. It would be impossible.”
He paused for a minute and Mari wondered if it were her turn to talk. But it wasn’t.
“I would do anything for you, to the extent that I could. But walking away from this life is not an option. It’s who I am. It’s what defines me. And even if it were an option, it would mean that I… we would have to go underground for the rest of our lives. The Russian mafia has a long reach and an even longer memory. You could never reach out to your family. We could never stay in one place for long. You could never have friends, you could never show your talents to the world. Eventually we would be found and we would be executed.”
He ran his hand down her arm, stroking it gently. She shivered under the caress even as her mind rebelled against his words. He wasn’t giving her choices and his next words chilled her to the bone. “They’d blame you for this. They’d kill your family. Destroy everything you care about. They’d kill me first if they caught us. They’d make sure I suffered, make sure you watched.”
“Oh my god.” She struggled off his lap, needed space from him. Her legs wouldn’t hold her and she sat heavily on the coffee table in front of him.
He reached for her but she flinched back. His words were too brutal, too horrific. If she was to be with him, she had to give up everything else. She had to live in his world, follow their code, their rules. And still, they wouldn’t be safe. Was there enough love for him inside her to do that? He would own her, he would dictate her freedom. He would rule her.
“These are not options, Anto.” Her voice was whisper soft, her hands shaking. She clasped them between her knees to steady her. “If I stayed –”
“You’re not staying. You’re leaving with your father.” Anto’s hard mask slipped into place. “Because you need time to decide this. I want you with me willingly –”
“Why?” Mari felt a surge of anger. “So when I complain about my life, you can say I told you so.”
Anto’s face reddened and he stood up abruptly, stomping away from her, his hands clenched to his sides. “I guess you don’t really know me, do you Marisol? If you would think that? And if you don’t know me, then how could you love me? Your pretty words, what are they? Silly romantic bullshit that you say because you want to believe them? Because you want me to play house with you?”
Mari squeezed her eyes shut and brought the heels of her hands up to them, pressing on them. He was confusing her, pushing her out, intentionally or because he was in pain too, but his words settled into her, making her doubt herself. Making her unsure of who she was and what she wanted. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Their attention was drawn to the front entrance as Rusya and Andrew emerged from the study.
“Me too, Marisol,” Anto said gruffly as he made his way towards the men, watched as Rusya and Andrew shook hands. Mari struggled to her feet, testing her shaking legs, making sure they would hold her. All eyes turned to her and she knew what they saw. A little rabbit, red eyes, red face. Shaking, faltering.
Anto walked to her and took her in his arms, held her tightly as he whispered into her ear, “When you have decided, come to me.” He slipped a small white envelope into her hand.
Then he stepped back from her, pulled her towards her father, handed her off to him. Andrew drew her to him, his arm circled her shoulder. The two men stood facing each other, studying each other. The Andrew offered Anto his hand. “Thank you for saving her life. I will be forever indebted to you.” Anto nodded as he shook the proffered hand. Then he turned from them and walked into Rusya’s study. Andrew nodded once at Rusya, an unspoken message passing between them, then steered a weeping Mari out the front door, into the cool night, away from Anto and his dangerous world.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Anto went home that night, to his condo. A penthouse suite, with glass enough to allow him to see in every direction. All of Vancouver, in its neon radiance swept out in front of him. The condo had a private elevator and no one could come up unless expressly permitted – only one other person besides himself was allowed entry to his suite. The condos on the two floors below his home belonged to Rusya and were used by Anto. There were four large suites on each floor, six of which were often occupied by Anto’s men. The seventh condo was open and used as needed. The last condo was Anto’s operations centre. A place for planning. A high-tech room, a weapons stash. Anto had little use for it. He was not the kind of man that used technology to do his work. He preferred relying on his skills, his knowledge and his killer instinct. Right now, his killer instinct was pounding through his head. He wanted to kill someone. He knew who. But he was drained, physically and emotionally. He’d had so little sleep the last couple of nights, he was swaying where he stood. Of course the bottle of vodka he downed after Marisol left with her father might have contributed to his unsteadiness.
“Marisol,” he groaned out loud as he flopped into an armchair and dropped his head into his hands. She left at his fucking insistence! What a jackass he was, letting her go, talking all that sentimental bullshit about whether she was confusing romance with reality. He was too stupid to be Rusya’s 2IC. Too soft, too pliable. He should have kicked Doherty to the curb and hauled Marisol’s ass up here, made her understand she was his to keep at least until he didn’t want her anymore.
He laughed with bitterness. That would never happen – he would never not want her. He was as certain of that as he was about who gave up his location in Whistler and that fucker was going to die for his role in this mess. No asshole firebombed his house.
Rusya, after Doherty and Marisol left, drank with him. Matched him shot for shot. He was a good man for doing that. Even if he wasn’t sympathetic to Anto’s pain, he understood that a jilted man should not drink alone. As they drank, they talked about Doherty, the particulars of the meeting between the two leaders of men. Rusya told Doherty about Randall Scott. A huge betrayal to Scott and both the cop and the villain knew it. But Rusya wasn’t afraid of Scott. He’d become a nuisance, not someone who could be trusted. Not after the names on the list Isabelle Sterling stole revealed how subtly Scott was undermining Rusya’s operations. Targeting middle-men, not too high profile that a pattern would be noticed, but enough to distract and inflict damage.
This last one, targeting the Vancouver Chief Constable was over the top. How did Scott think he could get away with it? Were his delusions of grandeur beyond his grasp of reality? It was insane to think that he thought himself a puppet master – that he could manipulate men in such powerful positions and there not be consequences. But Rusya was clear that Anto was not to touch Scott. Anto was to leave it up the Doherty and Savisin. Anto protested, but Rusya was insistent. He couldn’t save Anto if Anto killed Scott, but working together, Doherty and Rusya could destroy Scott.
Doherty was out for blood once Rusya shared information about Scott’s illegal activities, convinced him of Scott’s duplicity. Then Rusya brought Marisol into the conversation, told Anto that the death of Scott would put Marisol’s life in danger again. Scott had loyal men who would avenge the asshole, because that was the street code. The successor to Scott’s empire could not be seen as weak or tolerant of a strike against him. It wouldn’t be an easy or gentle death for Anto’s woman. Rusya’s words were convincing enough for Anto to let go of his vendetta against Scott. For now, he warned Savisin, but not forever. Scott had to fall soon and hard. Rusya nodded at that and told him that Anto would be fully involved when they cut Scott off at the knees. Literally because Rusya knew Anto didn’t like metaphors.
The elevator door drew his attention. “Come,” he commanded to its occupant.
A young woman stepped off, soft curves, long wavy hair, the colour of mink. Wearing a sleeveless pajama top and matching shorts, her face a little flushed from being roused from sleep by his call. She stood in the hall hesitantly, her arms crossed over her perfect breasts. It irritated Anto that she was always like this in his presence. He never understood why. He paid her well and he’d done nothing to her to make her fear him, not even raised his voice. And she was here willingly. He offered her the job and she accepted. But she was always so reticent in his presence, more so than even Marisol had been.
“Mr. Kharzin,” she said. “I’ve located him.”
“Address?”
She told him and he filed it away. His disinterested eyes raked over her. “That was fast, Katerina. Either you are that good or you are that motivated to get back to sleep.”
Katerina threw a small smile. “Perhaps both, Anatoly Tarasovich.”
“Good night, Katerina.” Anto turned his back to her. He waited a moment until the elevator doors closed, taking her down to the condo below. The operations centre. Her home, her safe house. Not one of his men touched her and she showed no interest in any of them. It was a good thing, Anto thought. She was the best and he didn’t want her distracted.
He looked at the clock. 4am now. The effects of the vodka were wearing off and his mind was working better. He only needed an hour and 2 minutes. Half hour out, half hour back. Two minutes to beat the fucking doctor to death for selling him out to Scott. If he were dispassionate, he might extend the beating, but he knew better. He wouldn’t be able to contain his rage with he saw the prick.
Everyone else thought that Hugh Medford linked the mountain hide-out and his home in Whistler together, but he knew better. The timing was off. Amsterdam, his Floridian landlord died just prior to Anto’s house being firebombed in Whistler. Too close together for such an organized attack. It could only be one other person. Yuri. Too bad. Anto had liked the little fucker.
He looked out at the streaks of dawn cresting the horizon and thought about Marisol with tension gnawing at him. Right now, she would be home, reunited with her family, safe under the roof of the Vancouver Chief Constable. It made his bones ache to think of her there and not with him. It made him want to punch his fist through the glass in front of him. He had a lot of anger he needed to rid himself of. He knew exactly how he was going to do that. He picked up his jacket and drew it on. He didn’t care that he was about to ruin an expensive suit.
Chapter Forty-Nine
After Anto left, Rusya Savisin sat alone in his dark study and contemplated his day. His brain felt sluggish from all the vodka. He rarely drank enough to get drunk, certainly was no match for Anto. Anatoly Tarasovich could outdrink any man and had proven it on several occasions. This week had taken a toll on his second-in-command – he was edgy, his rage barely leashed, and his grief over the woman, tangible. Anto had done what Rusya needed from him this week and Rusya rewarded him by drinking with him, being his friend. Rusya had no doubt he would regret it in the morning.
He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair as he tried to make sense of his thoughts. He missed Lukov during these times, not because he was smart, but because he was not. Lukov was a dog: uncomplicated, easy to read, loyal.
Anto was none of this. He was intelligent, choosing what to share and when. Rusya turned to Lukov when he needed a job done, quickly and efficiently. Rusya turned to Anto when he needed to talk about his operations, work through a complication. Anto was the right choice to replace Lukov, should have always been his 2IC. Anto tolerated Lukov because he understood why Rusya kept the barrier between the two of them. And Anto was patient.
The problem was that Anto had an agenda and Rusya didn’t quite know what it was. He could never be sure of Anto’s loyalty to him – it was nothing he did or said, but it was his manner – the way he talked, the way he smiled, the way his face shuttered. Rusya wondered if Anto was loyal to anyone.
But something shifted this week - Rusya could see it in Anto’s eyes. Something changed Anto from a man intent on forging his own path to someone who understood the strength of a partnership. And he’d chose Rusya to be his partner. Rusya was gratified because it meant he no longer had to watch his back around Anto. It was the woman, Marisol Doherty. Anto finally found something that gave his life meaning. Rusya didn’t judge. He’d had a wife a long time ago. Someone he loved. Someone who died, taking his heart with her. Taking his humanity. His thoughts wandered to Dmitrii L'vovich, Jackman as he called himself now. Maybe it was time to tell Anto the truth about Jackman, about the feud. Maybe now Anto would understand.
He shook himself. This was why he rarely drank this much. It fueled his anger, his desire for retribution. It took his mind off his operations and sucked him into a hellish black hole that stole his logic, his coldness, his façade. He stood and walked to his desk, reseated himself and picked up the phone, dialled a number, waited while it rang.
“Yes.” One word, polished, arrogant.
“Randall,” Rusya said. “Apologies for the lateness of this call, but you need to know that Marisol Doherty is under my protection.”
He heard Scott’s hesitation, maybe confusion, then, “That’s good news, Rusya. That she’s alive and safe.” A snake charmer, always the right words.
“Perhaps you should share the news with West. No one touches her.” He didn’t need to speak of the consequences. Even Scott feared Rusya’s wrath.
“I will,” Scott replied quietly. “He’s here with me now.”
Rusya hung up.
Chapter Fifty
Mari’s mother, Lillian, was overjoyed when Andrew walked Mari into the bedroom he and his wife shared. She couldn’t stop crying and Mari, who thought she had no tears left, sobbed alongside her as they clung to each other. On the way home, her father asked her not to talk about the attempts on her life. Just the plot and her need to disappear quickly with a friend, the need to wait until the worst was over before she’d contacted Andrew. For her mother’s sake, he said. Just enough information for it to make sense, but not too much that it would tip Lillian over the edge.
Andrew also insisted that Rusya Savisin’s name not be mentioned nor the meeting her father had with him. “And Randall Scott’s.” Her dad’s voice was tight with bitterness. “The sonofabitch has been with me every minute of this entire horrifying week, offering his support, advising me. And I listened to him, to what he had to say, because he’s such a goddamned good lawyer.” He’d slapped his palm against the steering wheel at his impotence. “And liar.”
Mari nodded her understanding and agreed. She wasn’t going to retell her story anyway. It was hers and Anto’s. It was a world that she didn’t dare betray, and she would never betray Anto, code or no code. She would die before that happened, because she owed him that and so much more. She knew things about Anto that should get her killed and she was truly surprised that he’d let her leave. She could destroy him, but he trusted her not to. He might be a hard man who didn’t love easily, but he also believed in her enough to trust she wouldn’t betray him.
She spent another hour with her mother and her brothers, talking with them, listening to them sharing their fears and panic of the last few days. Her sister, Amber, had been moved quietly out of the country. Once they realized that Mari’s kidnapping had not been a crime of opportunity, they were fearful for Amber’s safety. Mari talked to her younger sister on the phone, who cried at first, and then her brash, immature sixteen-year-old self surfaced. She was sorry that it’d been Mari. Wished it been her. She would have kicked them so hard in the nuts they would have had to have sex-change surgery just to function again. Mari let her ramble, said the words that were needed in the expected places until her father took the phone, told Amber that they would see her tomorrow and hung up.
Andrew didn’t contribute to the bedlam around them. Instead he kept a watchful eye on Mari as her brothers peppered with questions, as her mother held her too tight and fretted about Mari’s weight loss, her haircut, the horrible dye job. She would fix it all tomorrow, she promised. Today, she amended as dawn slipped through the windows.
Finally, Andrew rescued her by telling them all to go back to bed. Marisol needed her sleep and so did he. He led her to her bedroom, hugged her at the door and told her he loved her. Then he said, “I’ll be stepping down as Chief of Police.”
She started to protest, told him that was exactly what Randall Scott wanted.
