Inna’s rape and the murder at Troika had been a deliberate setup by her brother, Aleksei, and his friend, Mikhail. Mikhail had masterminded the plan, designed to draw Artur, Inna and Aleksei’s father, into war with the Georgians so that they would stop harassing Aleksei about his drug and other businesses that infringed on the Georgians’ criminal turf.

The security video from Troika showed Aleksei’s chief pharmacist, Stan, on camera dancing with Inna and then leaving the bar for another part of the nightclub with her. With no security cameras in the rest of the nightclub, there was no evidence that he was the one who drugged her and no record of what happened after they left the bar.

After the police questioned Stan, he blackmailed Aleksei. He threatened to tell the authorities about Aleksei’s involvement in the rape and murder at Troika unless Aleksei paid him one million dollars within twenty-four hours. Katya, Aleksei’s wife, overheard snatches of the conversation as well as Aleksei’s later plan to offer Stan “early retirement.”

In the alley outside Troika, three men attacked Vlad. Vlad killed them all. Later, Vlad’s father, Ivan, contacted Artur from prison and claimed he had commissioned Vlad to do a hit on these same three men and that Vlad should now be paid. Ivan bragged that his son would make a fine member of the
bratva
and revealed his own plans to promote Vlad quickly through the mafia ranks.

Not having anticipated Ivan’s keen interest in the son he had never claimed, Artur had been cultivating Vlad for his plans to escape the Directorate. In a desperate play to keep Vlad’s loyalty for himself, Artur offered him everything he wanted if he would only keep Inna safe. Having come to Brighton Beach to move up in the inner circles of the Russian mob in his own quest for vigilante justice, Vlad accepted the offer despite his reservations about using Artur’s love for his daughter toward his own ends, and despite his own intense attraction to Inna.

Artur’s partner, Victor, went alone to meet the Directorate representative, Gennady Morozov, and to report on the state of the deal he and Artur were executing for them.

Victor reported that Artur was contemplating war with the Georgians, their key partners in this particular deal, and wanted to call off the deal. Gennady directed Victor to go forward with the operation as planned and avoid any attention from the authorities. Reminded of the dire consequences of failure, Victor plotted to take matters into his own hands to keep Artur in line and move the deal forward.

Released from the hospital after her ordeal, Inna returned to her apartment and took the last pill in her prescription bottle. Rather than her anti-anxiety medication, the pill was actually a drug that would knock her out, the same drug from the previous night at Troika. Knowing this, Mikhail secretly returned to her apartment after everyone left to take sexual advantage of her unconscious state. He left before she awakened.

Heading to work the next day, Inna sensed that someone was following her. Having suffered from debilitating paranoia and hallucinations in the past, she wasn’t sure whether she could trust her instincts. Vlad and her father both took the threat seriously, knowing the Georgians would be out for revenge. When Mikhail arrived with bruises and reported he had been jumped by Inna’s kidnappers, a suspicious Artur fired him as Inna’s bodyguard.

Nick’s blind date with Inna had been thwarted by Aleksei’s delays and then the horrific events at Troika. Yet, he still hoped to befriend Inna in order to get close to Artur, who he believed was the former KGB agent responsible for the murder of Nick’s family. When Nick visited Koslovsky Imports and finally met Inna, he felt an unexpected and undeniable attachment to her, completely at odds with his burning desire for revenge.

A jealous Vlad was only too happy to see Inna’s suitor leave Koslovsky Imports. While they were alone together in the shop, a truck arrived with an expected delivery. But when the deliveryman entered, he disabled Vlad with a stun gun and tried to take Inna.

MAYA

EARLY RETIREMENT?
ALEKSEI’S plan for his sleazy head pharmacist had merit, Maya admitted, except for one significant detail: Murder required a certain finesse and skill that Aleksei lacked.

Her son was no killer.

She zipped the backpack, careful not to touch the neatly bound stacks of money it contained. Certainly Aleksei would be upset that she was interfering, but what choice did she have?

Her conscience gave no objection—not that she expected one. After all, she couldn’t sit by and do nothing. Stan would surely go running to the police with everything he knew, every damning bit of information, if he wasn’t silenced—one way or another.

It was a mother’s prerogative—wasn’t it?—to keep her children safe and protect her own interests, too.

She hefted the backpack onto one shoulder and sneaked out the back door from the basement. Through the back window, she could see the light in Artur’s study.

As usual, her cautious husband stood away from the window. She couldn’t see him, but she imagined him in his office with Victor, absorbed, as always, in Directorate business.

It wasn’t the first or the last time she would sneak out under the cover of his distraction. She knew about his double life, but he had no clue about hers.

He could never know.

The wet wind whipped her blond hair, and she pushed it out of her face with gloved hands. She wouldn’t remove the gloves until after the money had been safely delivered and received.

Adept at evading Artur’s surveillance cameras, Maya stuck to the shadows. Keeping close to the bushes, she darted across the yard to the front of the property and then slipped into the side door of the garage. She pulled the drape from the sleek, black Ducati that Aleksei stored there.

Aleksei’s helmet hung from the front handle of the motorcycle. Maya curled her hair around her fist, stuffed it into the helmet, and secured the buckle under her chin. The front visor covered her face. She pulled his leather jacket from the peg nearby and zipped it up to the collar.

Covered in black, she might pass for a man. She wasn’t sure. But it didn’t matter so long as no one recognized her.

Who would? No one expected Maya with her perfect lipstick, her neatly combed hair, her ladylike chain of pearls, and her fur collars to ride around town on a crotch rocket.

People only saw what they expected to see and looked no further.

She rolled the Ducati out of the garage, careful not to make a sound that might alert Artur. The events of the past few days had made him cautious and overly protective, not only of Inna, but also of her. He worried the Georgians were out for blood. He didn’t want them going out alone.

She had no need of his gilded cage. Georgians or no Georgians, she could take care of herself.

She carefully scanned the area. Seeing no signs of anyone watching her house, she walked the motorcycle to the next yard and then mounted with a practiced motion. She eased both arms into the straps of the backpack.

The bag was lighter than she would have liked. There weren’t nearly enough bills to meet the entire blackmail demand, but she had added plenty of sweetener to this pot—enough, she hoped, to satisfy Stan for good.

Men’s natures were greedy. If you gave them something, they only came back asking for more and then even more, until they milked you dry or you got the upper hand. With Stan, she would get the upper hand.

The wind picked up and tossed droplets of rain at her. They penetrated the legs of her jeans, making her skin cold.

She checked her mirrors. Twilight cast the street in gray and shadows. She looked hard into them, but she didn’t discern any unusual shapes or, perhaps more importantly, movement. She listened to her senses, trusting in the sharply honed instincts that had aided her schemes so far.

No pings of warning came to her. No gooseflesh on her arms. No one was following her. Or watching.

She revved the motorcycle. Excitement pulsed through her veins, compounded by the aggressive rumble of the bike between her thighs. Her own unadulterated sense of power gave her a heady sensation.

Tonight she had a perfect plan, and she fully expected to get away with murder.

She left her ritzy street with the big houses that looked out onto the water and headed across town to the grittier neighborhood, full of dirty apartment buildings and post-war houses dressed in worn vinyl siding.

The neighborhood here could be a little rough. She stayed alert. If anyone discovered she had a backpack stuffed with cash, she’d be an open target.

Maya wasn’t worried. She was the biggest threat here.

She parked the Ducati across the street from Stan’s house, a small blue cape with chipped siding. The drizzle continued unabated. She kept the helmet on and hurried across the street. Despite the weight of the backpack, she ran lightly up Stan’s sunken front stairs and rang the doorbell.

The wood on his porch was peeling and warped, and the front knocker was speckled with rust. If the drug trade had been good for Stan, his house certainly didn’t show it. Stan was smart that way. It was the only thing she admired about him. Yet, his little nugget of intelligence hadn’t been enough to prevent his latest stupidity.

Did he really think he could blackmail a Koslovsky and get away with it?

Faintly, she heard the sound of heavy footsteps. She knew Stan had arrived behind the door. She rapped with the rusted knocker.

Stan was likely staring through the peephole and trying to discern who was there. She wore Aleksei’s helmet, but she was too petite to pass for her son.

She waited with an almost giddy sense of excitement. Everything would go according to plan. She was fully in control.

Finally, the door swung open to reveal a meaty arm and a gun. “What do you want?”

“It’s raining. Can I come in? I’ve got your money,” she said.

“Maya?” His surprise turned quickly to what sounded like gloating. “So the tough guy went crying to Mommy after all.”

He stepped aside to let her in but didn’t lower his gun. He was a vile man with a halo of frizzy hair and pointy yellow teeth. His belly strained the buttons on his shirt.

She stepped into the dark hallway of his home. Stan shut and locked the door behind her. He took care to turn the deadbolt and fasten the chain across the door, oblivious to the danger she presented.

As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she noticed two large suitcases in the hallway. So Stan was serious about leaving town, after all.

She would make sure he never came back.

“Let’s see what you’ve got.” He nudged her with the point of his gun down the hall.

“There’s no need for that. I brought what you asked for,” she said.

“We’ll see.” He jabbed the gun into her side. Perhaps he wasn’t so oblivious, after all.

He pushed her roughly into his kitchen, a dated room with chipped and crooked dark wood cabinets and a scratched and faded yellow and white linoleum floor. The stale air stank of cigar smoke.

He yanked the backpack from her shoulder and hefted it in his hand.

Then he snorted with disgust. “Do I look like I was born yesterday?”

He dropped the backpack on the table with a loud thunk. “No way there’s a million dollars in there.”

BOOK: Gangsters with Guns Episode #3

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