Savage Sinner: An Enemies To Lovers Russian - Italian Dark Mafia Romance (Sinfully Savage Mafia)

We tear down the hallway, searching for the entrance to the casino floor since that’s where the staircase is located. I pull the girl behind me, checking constantly to make sure there is nobody skulking around behind us, ready to take us out.

Patrick rounds a corner and a shot explodes into the air. I back the girl against the wall, covering her with my body as Patrick fires off a couple of retaliatory shots. A loud thud confirms that he hit something, which is good. Of course, it would be better if there was only one person shooting at us.

I clench the gun in my hand, sliding against the wall to shield the girl when another shot sails past me and lodges itself into the wall. I twist around and fire two shots into the head of the guy who crept up behind us. I throw open the door to the staircase and shove the girl in front of me. She clambers up the steps, practically tripping over her feet to escape the dungeon where she’d been trapped only minutes earlier.

“Patty!” I hiss. “Now!”

He darts across the hallway and disappears into the stairwell with me right behind him.

Jesus Christ, what in the hell did we walk into and manage to escape?

Vigo Kosolov is dead.

The powerful Russian mafia brigadier is lying on the floor with a knife sticking out of his throat.

I should feel good about the fact that the piece of shit is in hell where he belongs.

But there are too many nagging questions eating away at my brain right now to feel like we dodged a bullet.

And the biggest one is poured into a tight red dress a few steps ahead of me.

Chapter Five

Anya

I scramble up the stairs headed toward the restaurant, not bothering to look back at the two guys who pulled me out of that room.

I don’t need them.

I’m perfectly capable of executing my own escape plan.

I didn’t intend to cower in a corner of that room like some panicked little bitch who’d just witnessed a murder, but in the end, it worked out in my favor.

An easy out if someone happened to come into the room to check on things. They’d have never expected me to jump out and snap their neck, which I most certainly would have done.

It was a smart move to leave my knife planted in Vigo’s throat…once I wiped off the fingerprints. It gives the perception that I am helpless, sans weapon.

I’m not.

Besides, you just never know when you’re going to be frisked by a gorgeous yet mysterious stranger with a gun.

I know from past experience that Tatiana has a hidden exit that doesn’t require you to go through the restaurant. It’s usually locked, but tonight I happen to have stolen the key from Vigo’s jacket after butchering him. I tucked it into my bra for safekeeping.

When I get to the top of the stairs, I swivel around, popping my eyes open wide like a deer in headlights, really playing up the role of damsel in distress. The guys totally eat it up and they flank me on both sides as we enter the back of the restaurant. The music from the lounge pulsates, vibrations rippling through me as I stand in the center of them, quivering with ‘fear’.

The guy who frisked me murmurs something against my hair, and his warm breath against my cheek makes the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

He knows about the other exit, too.

“I-I have a key,” I whisper, my words still heavily accented. “It fell out of his pocket and I grabbed it. Maybe we should try it?” I’ve been here in Brooklyn for ten years and worked tirelessly to drop my accent. It just helps me blend better and people don’t readily assume I fled the Ukraine because some psychopaths were on the hunt to destroy my family. But it comes in handy during times like these when I’m playing a part.

And doing a damn good job, if I say so myself.

The guy looks at me, his thick eyebrows knitting together. We hurry toward the exit door and I pull the key out of my bra, making sure my hand quivers just enough to be believable. It takes me a few seconds to stick it in the lock, but that’s all part of the ruse. Finally, it slides in and I twist the handle.

I rub my hands down the sides of my arms once we’re outside.

I need to ditch these guys fast and strip out of this costume.

I’ve already been spotted in the casino with Vigo tonight, so shedding this getup is the only way I can fly under the radar and avoid potential retaliation by any of his allies who might be watching.

But I can’t very well do it here on the street.

My eyes scout the desolate alleyway right next to the restaurant. If they would just piss off, I could go behind one of the dumpsters and do my quick change.

But the shorter, darker guy grabs my arm and pulls me toward the street. “Let’s go have a drink,” he mutters. “I’m sure you can use one.”

“No, no,” I say, holding up my hands in protest. “Please, I just want to go home. Thank you for saving me, but—”

He stops, his deep blue eyes narrowing. “It wasn’t a question.”

“But I’m not thirsty,” I say weakly.