Bratva Sinner (A Possessive Mafia Romance)

I shot in the window, killing the young guy trying desperately to start the engine again. His blood splattered the window and made it impossible to see the last guy, hiding on the far side, but German was already there. I heard a scream, three shots, and then nothing.

I slumped down onto the street, breathing hard, sweating like crazy and bleeding. It felt like my body was about to give out—when I heard a groan from not too far away.

One of the Lionetti boys was still alive.

I crawled over to him. The man was young, in his early twenties, with thick eyebrows and dark hair. He was bleeding from a chest wound and when he coughed, blood splattered from his lips. I grabbed the front of his shirt and shook him, then slammed him back down against the ground.

“Why’d you come after me?” I growled, as if I didn’t know the answer.

“Boss is pissed,” the guy said, staring up at the sky with wide eyes. Blood dribbled down the corner of his lips. “Cops came. Arrested… fuck.” He tried to suck in another breath, but it sounded like his lungs were blocked—likely filled with blood.

I pressed my gun against his head and put him out of his misery.

“Luke!” Cara staggered over to me as I rolled onto my back with a groan. German appeared beside her, looking grim.

“Yuri?” I grunted.

“Dead,” German said.

“Fuck.” I squeezed my eyes shut as Cara knelt next to me.

“You’re hurt,” she said, touching me gently, trying to pull my clothes away from the wounds. Fresh blood seeped out and I shivered in pain. “You need a doctor.”

“Already calling,” German said, shoving a phone against his head. “Drag him inside, away from all this. Cops are going to come soon.”

“It’s okay,” I whispered to Cara, reaching up to touch her cheek. “You’re okay. It’s okay.”

“Fuck that,” she said and stood up. She grabbed me by the arms and heaved, dragging me across the pavement. I gasped in pain, but she didn’t stop, putting all her strength into it. She got me up to the curb and onto the sidewalk before German appeared and helped get me up the stoop and into the house.

I must’ve passed out at that point, because I couldn’t remember how I ended up on the couch. Fresh towels were shoved against my wounds and the cushions beneath me felt sodden and damp.

Cara hovered above me and German paced across the living room, checking out the front blinds every few minutes.

“Hey,” she whispered and took my hand in hers. “German said the doctor’s on the way. He’s talking to your Pakhan right now. Apparently, the cops hit the Lionettis hard.”

“Good.” I grinned at her. “Serves them right.”

“Seems like the captain got through to the chief.” Her smile was strained, her face ashen white, her eyes watery and wild. “All you have to do is hold on, okay? The doctor will be here soon.”

“Cara.” I pulled her hand against my lips. God, what I wouldn’t give for one more night with her—

But I had my night. I could savor that at least.

“Don’t say something stupid,” she whispered, visibly fighting tears.

“I love you. Have ever since I saw you in that alley.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “God, no, don’t say it now, okay? You can tell me whatever you want later, after you’re better. Don’t say that like you’re going to die.”

“Cara,” I said softly, but managed to smile. “All right. I’ll tell you all the filthy things I want from you when I make it through this.”

She laughed once, sharp and pained. “I give you permission to think up the dirtiest, most debased things you can possibly imagine, and I’ll sit there and listen to it all, just make sure you live, okay?”

“For the chance to whisper all that in your ear, I’ll do my very best.”

She squeezed my hand, but it felt very far away. Dizzy exhaustion hit me like a gunshot to the head and I blinked, trying to get the darkness from my vision, trying to hold on to her face for just a few more seconds—

22

Cara

Pakhan Evgeni sat across from me and glowered down at his cup of tea.

The house was dead silent except for the sound of German pacing over and over again. I’d never seen him so anxious before—he was like a man waiting for his wife to give birth.

Or like a man waiting for his boss to die.

Evgeni lifted his tea to his lips and took a long sip. Outside, cops took witness statements—though Evgeni swore nobody would say a word about me or German or Luke, not in this neighborhood. I believed him, since the police hadn’t kicked down our door yet.

Otherwise, I was sure Chief James would’ve taken his chance. We were sitting ducks if the cops came, and they’d easily be able to confiscate that dossier and make it disappear.