Reaper of the Wicked | A Mafia Romance

IV||Prostitutes like nightclubs

I knock on the wooden double doors. They open to the Semenov's butler. 

Mikhail Semenov, my sister's husband and the sovietnik of the Russian bratva, is a rich man who likes to spend his money. Servants are just some of the people he splurges on. 

"Hello Ms. Vittoria," he says

"Good morning Mr. Smirnoff. You look as handsome as the day I first laid eyes on you." 

His lips quirk slightly. I like Mr. Smirnoff. He's good at his job. We have a lot in common in that sense.

"Mrs. Semenov will be seeing you in the drawing room," He says. He opens the door gesturing for me to enter. He leads me to the drawing room as I have a one sided heavily flirtatious conversation with him. "You know Mr. Smirnoff, I dreamt of you last night. It started just like this. Although it ended with a lot less clothing." Mr. Smirnoff ignores me as any gentleman would. 

Entering the drawing room before me he lets my sister know I've arrived then makes an exit. "I'll miss you." I call after him. My sister rolls her eyes at my antics. "It's been 8 years and I still don't think I'll ever get used to having a butler," she says. We grew up with enough money for servants but Leopoldo has always been too paranoid to hire more than two housekeepers and a chef. I sit on the couch across from her taking in the painfully beige room.

"Have you found anything?" I ask her."No, sadly I couldn't find Nonna's recipes online. Although I do remember telling you to give me two weeks."I get the memo. We're being watched. "Maybe try a little harder because I'm really craving her struffoli. In fact I might die without it." I say."Father could help. He has more resources. But since you insist on me doing it I'm sure you don't think you'll actually die without it. You need to be more patient." She raises an eyebrow. I grind my teeth. Talking in code is a pain in the ass. "Maybe we can try that new Italian restaurant. It might have some good desserts." I hope she understands that I'm trying to get her out of the house so we can have an actual conversation. She nods. "I'll ask Mikhail." She gets up, leaving me alone in the depressing drawing room. 

Mikhail has the final say in everything my sister does. He's one of those men who thinks a ring is equivalent to a collar. My sister is smart. The manipulative Bianchi gene didn't skip her. Regardless of how cunning her husband thinks he is, Bella usually ends up getting what she wants. But constantly having to think 10 steps ahead takes a toll. She shouldn't have to convince her husband to let her go out with her sister. She should be able to leave the house knowing when she gets back there will be no consequences. 

Bella walks into the room with Mikhail behind her. I stand up doing my best to give him the respect he has neither earned nor deserved. If even slight disrespect can be perceived he'll punish Bella for it. 

Mikhail gives me an up and down. "Your sister is dressed like a streetwalker." He says it as if I'm not standing directly in front of him. 

I want to beat the shit out of the cocky, ugly, beer bellied prick so bad but I restrain myself giggling instead. I'm still wearing my night club clothes which consist of a tight and short pink dress and black suede stiletto pumps. I do look the appropriate amount of slutty for a night club but I don't appreciate being called a cheap hooker. If anything I'd be an escort. 

"Fine you may go," He says as he leaves the room. He couldn't even bother with a good morning. Bella's shoulder's sag slightly, a barely audibly sigh passes through her lips. "Let's go before he changes his mind." She punctuates her words with a laugh but I can tell from the urgency in her eyes that she's being serious.

^~^~^~^

I pull out of the gate sending a quick wave towards the guards. "Where are we going?" I ask my sister. "33rd Lyaka street North, It's in Westor." Westor is half an hour outside of the city. There's not much to do there. 

"What's in Westor?" She turns on the radio without responding to the question. "How very intriguing," I say, earning a scoff from Bella. I can be patient. 

The next hour and a half are silent except for the bubblegum pop that blasts from the radio. 

I turn into Lyaka street. "You can park right there." She points to one of the 'resident only' parking spaces. "Is my car going to get towed?" I ask her. "Just park." I follow her orders and park. She immediately exits the car and I follow her. 

"I trust you'll keep this between us." She doesn't even look at me as she says it, instead focusing on typing in a code to a small apartment building's door. "Of course, Puffetta." She rolls her eyes at the old nickname then opens the door gesturing for me to enter. 

"So does my darling brother in law know you have your own place?" I ask her as we make our way up the stairs. "Mikhail," She pauses taking a deep reassuring breath. "has been getting more aggressive." I grasp her lightly by the arm, turning her around in the middle of the stairwell. 

 "Did he hit you?" 

She gently pulls her arm away continuing up the stairs. Her silence is answer enough. Mikhail is my least favorite brother in law. He's the only one I can't threaten with violence. The alliance between the mafia and the bratva is fragile. Me threatening him would only make things worse for the Mafia and for my favorite sister. 

I clench my fists so hard they begin to shake. Deep breaths. I can't lose my temper or I may do something with lasting consequences. 

"Jesus, hurry up." She calls. I take the steps, two at a time. When we get to the third floor we stop our upward journey walking through the doorway into the corridor. The carpet is a red and beige pattern that has been worn and smells slightly of mildew. 

The apartment door we end up in front of has fingerprint ridden brass numbers screwed on that read 304. The blue paint of the door is peeling around the handle. My sister unlocks it and holds it open for me. The inside of the apartment is surprisingly nice. The hardwood floors are clean, the green couch looks new, the walls are painted a pastel yellow, and the kitchen, although small, looks sufficient. "It's beautiful," I say. My sister's face pulls into a modest smile. "It is," She agrees. 

Bella walks over to a desk that stands in the corner and turns on the huge monitor that sits on top. "How did you afford all this?" I ask her. Her smile turns smug. "I've been scraping money off the top of Mikhail's income for years and putting it in an offshore account. The magic of technology." The sound of Mikhail's name makes me want to punch something. "Bella." The tone of my voice makes her turn to face me. "What if I could get you out?" Her smile wavers then disappears replaced by the grim pressing of her lips. "You couldn't," She states, her eyes downcast with defeat. 

Before Bella had gotten married when her husband was just her betrothed she had never met, we had talked about running away but we were kids who were too scared of their father to disobey even the smallest order. I grab both her hands.

"But what if I could?"