MAFIA'S ANGEL

CHAPTER 17

Cracking fire from the fireplace cast an orange glow across the room. There he was, sitting in an armchair with glass of whiskey dangling from his long fingers. He held it so loosely it could drop and spill any moment. His back was facing her. She could only see the shack of his thick hair and his arm. 

The lush carpet muffled her footsteps. Angelique sneaked across the large bedroom, her firm resolve now wavering with heaviness of the crime she was about to commit. He hadn't hesitated when he ordered Dale killed. He didn't blink when Amanda was beaten and almost raped. Violence came as easy for him as breathing, and there she was, shaken to the core from thought of his blood on her hands alone. 

Desire to barf and bolt increased with each uncertain step. But she couldn't. Not after everything he had done to her....to all those innocent people. 

Knife held in white-knuckled grip, she rounded the armchair. The least she could do was give him the courtesy of knowing who killed him. Her eyes landed on him. 

Nikolai's chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. His eyes were closed and his features far softer. 

He's asleep. She noted. 

I'm about to kill a sleeping man. 

The idea didn't sit right with her. This could be her only chance, yet she hesitated to bring the knife to his throat. 

Suck it up. 

Her hand didn't move. 

Do it!  A dark voice within her urged.

Hesitantly, she brought the knife to the side of his neck. Her eyes closed. Angelique couldn't do this while seeing his peaceful expression. He looked too human. It was harder to remember the terrible things he did. 

Dale's face flashed in her memory, his warm smile and then the blood. How many more lives would he ruin if she didn't do this? What her own life would become if she did? 

"What are you planning on doing with that, Angel?" Deep, calm voice echoed. 

Her eyes snapped open. Nikolai was gazing up at her coldly. His features had once again hardened. The peaceful expression he wore when sleeping was wiped, replaced by sternness of a mob boss. 

Angelique froze, the edge of the knife inches from his throat. Inches from her freedom. She had the upper hand, and yet, with his eyes piercing through her, she couldn't finish what she came to do. 

"You killed my friend." She stated. "You abused Amanda...." Her voice trembled. 

"I know." For a man with a knife to his throat, he spoke very calmly, like he knew she wouldn't carry out the deed. 

This irked her. A lot. "You're a fucking monster." 

"I know." 

She grit her teeth. "Why? Why did you do this to me?" 

He remained silent for a moment, his steady gaze trailing down her features, as if he was trying to carve every subtle curve into his memory. "I'm a selfish man, Angel." 

"That's it? That's the best answer you can give me after killing my friend!?" She roared. The edge of the knife drew blood. He didn't even flinch when a thin trickle ran down to the collar of his shirt. "I will kill you." She really wanted to, but her hand still refused to move. 

Damnit! 

"Is that so?" Hint of...amusement....played through his features. One thick eyebrow arched upwards, taunting her. "I think not, Angel." Large hand encircled her wrist. He didn't move the knife from his throat, but the grip of her wrist had secured her arm so that she wouldn't be able to slice into his skin further. "If you wanted to kill me, I would be dead already."