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

Forget the fact that I have no clue how to do said job, but I’ll just worry about that when the time comes. The most important thing is making sure I get the damn job in the first place.

The plane finally hits the runway, bouncing a few times before gaining traction on the pavement, and I let out a huge sigh of relief, gathering my stuff together so I can make a run for it as soon as the doors open.

The woman next to me, who introduced herself as Dottie, busies herself with putting her own bags together while she prattles on about the jerkoff husband of one of her friends who wouldn’t let her join in the weekend fun. I swear, she hasn’t taken a single breath since she started this one-sided conversation. She also hasn’t asked me a single thing about myself, which is fine by me. The last thing I need is for some lonely old woman to interrogate me about my own life choices.

I get enough of that at home from Olga, the seamstress I’ve been working with over the past few years. She taught me to sew when I first came to Brooklyn at thirteen and it helped calm the demons battling inside of my head and heart. It became therapeutic for me to work beside her, and I learned to use the needles in all sorts of creative ways. I even took up crocheting to get comfortable using the larger, longer variety.

Olga is now my only friend aside from Uncle Boris.

It’s a self-imposed occupational hazard.

I try to keep my circle small. Makes it easier to slip in and out of my everyday life to handle a hit when there aren’t many people interested in my whereabouts.

I never get caught in a lie because Olga is the only person who ever asks about things I can’t actually divulge. My stories are simple and straightforward, and I never mix up details because there is only one narrative.

But it’s damn lonely.

I’m suddenly a little jealous of Dottie and all of the girlfriends she’ll be spending the week with here in Vegas.

I guess it’s just not a life I was ever meant to have.

Building big circles of friends means willingly putting trust in people, and I just don’t have that luxury.

When the door opens and people begin filing out of the plane, I expel a grateful sigh. I need to get my head screwed on straight, and getting out of this airport is step one. I sling my bag over my shoulder and turn to Dottie and give her a cheerful wave. “So great talking to you,” I gush. “Have a great time with your—”

Then she grabs my arm and links it with hers, tugging at me as I try to walk up the aisle. “It was so rude of me to not even ask your name, dear!”

My lips stretch into a tight line. “It’s Anya,” I say.

“Anya! What a beautiful name! Just like you,” she says, patting my arm. “Now, Anya, I would be so appreciative if you could help me carry my things to the baggage claim area. I’m afraid if I have to lug them myself, my friends will leave me here!” She chuckles. “I move so slowly these days, you know, because I had a hip replacement not too long ago…”

Fuuuuck.

How can I leave her now?

I grit my teeth and hoist her bags over my free shoulder as she yammers on about her bionic hip.

Eh. This won’t set me back too much and hey, I need all the good karma I can get, especially with this new job hanging in the balance.

Speaking of which…I really need to binge watch some YouTube videos before I head over to the interview.

I’ve given good performances before, but this one will have to be the best one of my career if I can pull it off.

Dottie clings to me like Saran Wrap as I guide her through the throngs of people in the terminal. We sidestep men, women, wheelchairs, wayward kids, and rows of slot machines. That’s when I almost lose Dottie…and my mind.

I can tune out her nasally voice, but I refuse to chase her around the slots like a kid let loose in a goddamn candy store.

So I firmly place a hand over hers, keeping it stuck to my arm as we wind our way around the airport toward the luggage carousels.

I search the origin points for JFK International Airport. “There it is!” I exclaim. Carousel 3. And as luck would have it, the bags are already circling. Dottie really is a pretty slow walker.

Now is my chance to make a break for it.

“Dottie!” Another woman calls out from a neighboring carousel. I turn around to see another Estelle Getty lookalike waving her hands over head.

“Bette!” Dottie says in an excited voice. “Anya, look, it’s my dear friend, Bette!”

I smile and walk Dottie over to her friend. “It was such a pleasure to meet you. Best of luck for a fun weekend!” I say with a bright smile, backing away.

Thankfully, Dottie and Bette are already talking and laughing like I’ve disappeared into thin air, which is exactly what I’m about to do.

I swivel around and dash out of the first door I can find, a blast of dry heat pummeling me like a huge hair dryer that opened fire on humanity.

Holy shit.

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