Bratva Sinner (A Possessive Mafia Romance)

Which meant I had to find some other way to get that file back.

3

Luke

Babin sat crossed legged on the stoop and took a long drink from a vodka bottle wrapped in a paper bag. He passed it over to me and I took a pull, since it was rude as hell to turn down a man’s drink like that.

“Been a while, Luke,” he said, squinting at me. He was older, in his fifties, with a craggy, pitted face and a scruffy white and red beard. He wore sweats with stains on the thighs and a sweatshirt that was too big for his skinny frame.

He was an artist type, loved to paint, and was a long-time addict deep into heroin. The guy knew everyone on the street though, and sometimes went weeks out in the homeless encampments just because he could. He knew all the dealers, all the players, and anyone in between. I came to him from time to time with cash in hand and questions that needed answering, and since we got along, he was happy to tell me what he could.

“I’ve been busy,” I said, shrugging. “You know how it goes.”

“I hope those Morozov guys haven’t been pushing you too hard.”

I grunted. “My bosses are fair as always.”

“I bet.” He grinned, showing crooked, yellow teeth. “Whatcha got for me today, eh?”

I passed him a small stack of twenties. “Got an easy question for you.”

He eyed the money with a frown. “Must be real easy.”

“I killed Justin O’Shay yesterday,” I said casually, looking down at my fingernails. “Took his daughter in under my protection.” German was back at the house, making sure she didn’t run away.

“I heard about that. There’s some drama going down around poor old Justin.”

“What’s the word on him?”

Babin licked his lips then grabbed the cash like a lizard catching a fly. “Word is he took something important from the Lionettis.”

“I thought it was money.”

“That was the story at first,” Babin said, passing me the bottle. I took another drink and handed it back. “But apparently now they’re telling the truth. Stupid, dumb fuck Justin took something important, and they really want it back.”

“What’s that have to do with the girl?”

“No clue,” he admitted, shrugging. “All I know is, a few crews are out looking for her right now. I think the Lionettis believe she knows where that thing is.”

“What did Justin take, exactly?”

Babin hesitated and took a drink. I slipped him another couple twenties, which disappeared into his pocket. The poor bastard would be rolling in heroin for the next few months at least now.

“Some files,” he said, shaking his head. “Papers and shit. Some dossier. I don’t really know what’s on it, but the Lionetti family says they’ll pay anyone a lot of money that can bring back the girl along with a folder full of paper. That’s all they’re saying.”

“That’s vague as hell,” I said softly, more to myself. The Lionettis didn’t normally give jobs like that. They were a straightforward crew and ran their work like professionals. If they hired someone, they told them exactly what they wanted and what they were looking for, no bullshit, no games.

The fact that the Lionettis have crews out looking for some vague folder and won’t give details about the thing means it’s very, very serious, and I dove headfirst right into the middle of it all.

Just my luck.

“You’ve been helpful,” I said, patting Babin’s knee. “Don’t get yourself killed, all right?”

“Don’t you worry. I’m a professional when it comes to dosing. No more, no less, that’s my motto.”

I stood up and stretched. Babin took a long chug from the vodka bottle and let out a satisfied breath.

“One more thing,” I said. “Is Maher looking for the girl?”

“Of course he is. You know Maher’s involved if you’re anywhere in the vicinity of something.”

“I really hate that guy.”

“He really hates you too. I don’t know why you two boys don’t just kiss and get it over with.” He cackled as I punched him in the leg then walked off. I left him half groaning, half laughing, clutching at his thigh. He’ll be bruised tomorrow, that asshole.

He was right though. Maher and me, we’ve been stalking around each other for years. We grew up together, went to the same schools, had the same friends, but we never got along, not back then and not now. He fell in with the Doyles and I took in with the Morozov, and slowly our rivalry progressed over the years until now we want to kill each other more than anything in the world.

I couldn’t remember how it started. Probably some girl, or maybe drugs or money. It didn’t matter though. If Maher was looking for Cara, that meant he’d find her sooner or later. That guy had a sixth sense when it came to me.