Aliona Lucia Vasilisa Monti Mikhailov, once an innocent five-year-old princess of the Monti family, is now the Donna of the Russian mafia and wife to Amir and Axton Mikhailov. Kidnapped as a child and shaped into a ruthless assassin, she has grown i...
Walking down the hallways to the east wing, each turn I make reveals an increasing number of guards, ensuring the confidentiality of my 'work' or, say, the mafia. Stopping at many doors and security points, I confirm it's me each time. It's annoying, but it keeps things safe and prevents unauthorized people from getting in.
Now, in my office, I start reading the monthly memos. As usual, I read about upcoming postable threats, current minor threats, complaints about equipment, conflicts with rival families, budget requests... There is just so much Nikita and Nikhil; my Consigliere, or assistants in other words, always have to sort by what's important and what's not.
Click. The sound of my office door opening reaches my ears. Looking up from my desk, I see Nikhil and Nikita here. "We are here, and guess what?" Nikhil says, entering with a huge smile.
"Where actually on time for once." Nikhil could not keep his energy contained and danced all the way over to my desk.
"I can see that, Nikhil." I chuckled but also raised my eyes up at Nikita's asking for an answer, which she just shrugged back in return, having no clue.
"What? No, congratulations or something?" Nikhil says in Russin, pouting and disappointed.
As Nikhil pouted, disappointed by the lack of congratulations, he suddenly tripped over his own feet and stumbled forward, nearly crashing into my desk. Nikita, trying to stifle a laugh, quickly reached out and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him back upright.
"Smooth, Nikhil," I teased, unable to contain my laughter.
Nikhil's cheeks turned bright red as he sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. "Just adding a bit of flair to the entrance," he mumbled.
Nikita rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the smirk on her lips. "Let's stick to the business at hand, shall we?" she interjected, shooting Nikhil a playful glare.
With a chuckle, we finally got back to the matter at hand, but the image of Nikhil's clumsy entrance lingered in the back of my mind, adding a much-needed dose of levity to our serious discussion.
Getting down into serious business, "What's the latest?" I command, deepening my voice.
Nikita hesitated but finally said, "The Italians are demanding face-to-face again." She still mentions it, even knowing my answer.
I'm not going to discard all the years of concealing my identity. I have endured many complicated things, witnessing, participating, and being the subject of death, torture, and beatings, ultimately which led to the demise of Aliona Lucia Monti, a once sweet and innocent girl, who became Vasilisa Mikhailov—a cruel and deadly woman to be feared.
"You know the answer, Nikita," I say, cruelty, not happy.
"Sorry. Donna." She apologizes while bowing her head.
Moving on, both Nikita and Nikhil quickly started looking over the papers they had brought, trying to find the next important thing to go over. Then Nikhil passed a piece of paper to Nikita.
Give or take a few moments as Nikita reads it and tenses up. "Something that stood out from the inventory reports is that... Some weapons from the warehouse I-3 stash are going missing." Nikita stated in Russian, gulping after finishing the sentence.
Weapons going missing indicated a traitor, and it also meant a financial loss. "Get the Gorshkov twins on this," I ordered.
"Didn't the twins just have a falling out?" Nikhil questioned because of the last incident at the base.
"They should know to put work before personal feelings while on the job." I raised my voice, pissed about being questioned.
Business couldn't be affected by minor rivalries or conflicts, especially if close relationships were involved. If we let small things affect us, you are the first to go crashing down.
"Yes. Donna." They both simultaneously replied while Nikhil was trying to get her fidget back.
For the next hour, I found myself incredibly busy reviewing multiple reports and memos. To be said, I really much prefer torturing and killing people versus sitting at a fucken wooden desk. However, paperwork is one of the main parts of being the boss.
R-I-N-G! R-I-N-G! My business phone went off, showing Ivan's ID. "Speak," I command, accepting the call of my underboss.
Listening to Ivan, he delivers the news that The Conti Family failed their task and had mysteriously managed to piss off the Italians by killing two and injuring five soldiers in the process. Like hell, did they do that?
Off the phone, I let out a frustrated groan, fully aware that I now had to fly out to fucken Italy all because those Conti bastards couldn't handle their straightforward task. A simple job of delivering the goods, nothing fricken else.
Oh, now, and to top it all off, I still need to find the traitors stealing the weapons. Like seriously, I already have enough on my plate. It's not just a failed delivery; it's a diplomatic disaster that has the potential to escalate into something far more, especially with the top twelve mafia ball just a few months away.
"Asya," I call out in Russian, throwing my knives into the wall.
"Yes, Boss?" Asya comes out like a ghost.
Asya Vasilye, twenty-five years old, was born in Moscow, Russia, on February 30th. She is an ethnic Russian who stands at five-seven feet tall with blonde hair and brown eyes. Asya is the eldest child of three siblings, more specifically, two young brothers. Their mother is Anzhela Vasilye, and their father is Vlas Vasilye.
The Vasilyes' is one of many long lines of mafia families that serve the Mikhailov family/Russian Mafia. Asya's job is to be my shadow guard, just like her dad and granddad, who were the previous Dons' shadow guards.
"Prepare the plane: we'll take off at zero eight hundred." I command in Russian, looking out of my office windows. Staring into the vast snowy forest that lies beyond.
- Continue on to Chapter Three -
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