The Russian Fighter (Mafia Men #1)

The Turn Of A New Relationship

Chapter 11

Edited

Erik was cheating on me, that much was obvious. I knew in my heart that there was something off about him, and yet, I let my arrogance get in the way of the inevitable.

Running out of breath I slid down the path of a alley, drawing my knees to chest as hot, wet and frustrated tears slid down my face. It hurt; more than I'd like to admit. But not for the cheating, but because I let myself become wrapped in yet another brother that was undoubtedly stabbing me in the chest, laughing in my face.

The wind picked up, carrying my cries in the lonely pace where trash was tossed on the floor carelessly. Just how Erik was doing to me, discarding me for someone better because I clearly wasn't good enough.

I sniffed, wiping my eyes. More seemed to come, the dam open for a flood. Why did it always have to be me?

I was too lost in my sorrows I forgot the rest of the world existed, having tuned out from my surroundings. Cars whizzed by and I took my time staring into my camera, looking up every now and then when the laughter of couples passed by the mouth of the alley.

Sigh.

I can't keep moping around like this.

Rising from my corner I walked out from hiding and made it to the street lights when a rumbling motor drove beside me, parking. I ignored it and focused on the lights, but then jumped out of my skin as someone breathed in my ear.

"Dobroye utro, krasivaya devushka." Good morning, pretty girl.

I yelped and dropped my camera. The endless silence before I heard a shattering crash was too long. Never ending. As I looked down at the damage my heart broke for the second time today. Gasping I picked up the broken mess: the lensed was webbed and pieces were hanging off in such a disorderly fashion.

"You broke my camera," I stated.

"Not true," he said. "You were the one to drop it. I was simply here to say good morning."

I peered at him. "Are you always a moron?"

"Only on days ending in y," he said, laughing as if what he said was hysterical.

When he took notice I wasn't he frowned. "What?" I asked a bit harshly.

"Is something wrong?" His hazel eyes shimmered with discerning.

"I'm fine," I snapped.

The Walking Man lite up in white, signaling the waiting pedestrians to cross. I started on my way with the intent to follow, however Maksim grabbed my arm, and lead me in the direction of his Harley.

What the hell does he think he is doing?

"Oh, no. There is no way I am getting on a that bike with you. Are you insane?"

"I am Russian."

Again I didn't laugh.

Maksim sighed, pulling down the helmet and putting it on my head, clipping the strap under my chin. "This way we can make good time." He hopped on and straddled the seat with dark jean thighs.