Lia has secrets that she's been hiding for six years and only three people know a small amount of them, most know her as a designer while the underworld knows her as a completely different thing.
What happens when Luciano the Italian Mafia Don dives...
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White flakes fell on my face as I stood on the descending staircase of the private jet.
We arrived a few minutes ago and it was snowing.
The little white speckles held a beauty that the plain eye couldn't see, the patterns forming together to create a breathtaking sight yet not many people were interested in taking a closer look.
Opening my eyes I took a few more steps while pulling on my leather gloves ready to get my hands a little dirty.
The car Luciano sent to pick me up had to go seeing that I had my way of doing things when it came to going on missions and the fucker wouldn't let me drive.
Telling the driver to drop me off at the nearest motorcycle shop he gave me an unsure look before changing our route.
I turned off my phone the second we landed and left it on the plane, along with all my electronic devices.
I didn't need any distractions right now.
Stopping at an old building I stood in front of the door looking around.
The maroon-colored paint was peeling off the walls and in need of a new paint job while the windows that weren't broken were full of dust.
The place looked abandoned but the man walking out of the door toward me grabbed my attention.
"Chem ya, mogu pomoch' tebe, dorogaya?" he asked giving me a kind smile.
[How can I help you, darling?]
His Russian accent was wrapped around each word he spoke, I could tell he's been smoking a long time by the tone he used, it was deep yet held a scratchy pitch.
"Vy prodayete mototsikly?" I haven't spoken Russian in a while so it took me a few tries to collect my sentence, going over all the words I learned four years ago.
[Do you sell motorcycles]
Nodding, he turned around motioning me to follow while he took slow steps leading the way. His gray hair was short and struggled to shield most of his head leaving bold spots here and there, looking him over I only noticed he had three fingers on his left hand when he pointed to the row of motorcycles lined up perfectly.
The skin was fully healed showcasing the small scars that were left behind.
Someone cut them off and it was not done professionally by a doctor which made my suspicion rise.
When the man saw what I was looking at, he quickly placed his hand behind his back still smiling at me.
"Polunochnyy gonshchik - luchshiy variant, kotoryy u nas yest" he informed me while standing next to a black beauty.
[The midnight rider is the best option we have ]
Running my hand over the seat, I wrapped them around the handles, I smirked loving the feeling.
