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Mafia's Runaway And Pregnant 103
CamilaI’ve seen this before. This exact scene. Asher lying in a pool of his own blood, dying right in front of my eyes. The last time it was just a nightmare.This is real.“Asher! Asher, no! Asher! Get up!” I cry.Yannick keeps his hold on me as I struggle to escape. He ignores how I fight, turning around to grin wolfishly at Roman. “Molodets, son! You got him!”It clicks with me then—I understand what’s happened. No longer struggling, I instead turn, staring in disbelief at Roman. His face is pale as old milk. He’s gripping a pistol that looks massive in his tiny hands.“Roman?” I whisper.He sniffles, starting to shake, the tremors coming faster and more violent by the second. “I … I …” he stammers.Beaming with sadistic delight, Yannick turns again so he can see Asher. “You should have fired when you had the chance, Asher. I guess you don’t have the courage of a ten-year-old. Or maybe you’re just weak. Did Camila’s kindness soften your backbone? Hm?” He cups his ear. “No response
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With ice in my stomach and my heart in my throat, I lift my head. Camila continues to twirl, her skirt practically glowing. But when she stops short, heels together, and pivot to face me, the blood is easy to see. Red streaks across her stomach. It's not rounded with our baby anymore. It should be round. It should be fucking round."Camila!" I gasp, sitting up sharply.Mila chuckles to my left. "He rises from the dead."Hunching forward, I look at the blanket stretched over my lap. I recognize the blue cotton that pills too easily—I'd wanted to have it replaced but kept forgetting to tell someone, other issues always taken precedence over something as small as linens.I'm in the cabin by the lake."When did we?" I whisper in amazement.Mila releases an annoyed sound. "Not that long ago."Lifting my arms in front of me, I study them curiously. Small bandages stick haphazardly all over my flesh. My wedding ring sits firmly on my finger."The glass didn't cut you that bad," she says, mis
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Asher"You sure you should even be out in public?" Jonah asks me flatly. He's not concerned about my safety—I think he's actually trying to make me feel threatened.Sunlight streams through the half-gaped blinds over his office windows. They create a striped pattern across his torso, reminding me of a prisoner's uniform. He's not the one who has to worry about jail.I smile coyly. "Let's get down to why I'm here.""Where's Camila?" Adriana blurts. "Is she okay?" It's the first thing she's said since I entered the room. Dressed in a maroon, long-sleeved turtleneck and pale pink ankle-skirt, she's the opposite of Jonah's cobalt-blue ensemble. The one thing they share is the same narrowed-eye disdain for me.Oh, now you care about her? Mila informed me that the car at the scene belonged to Adriana. It's hard not to tear into her for helping Camila meet up with Yannick. I resist because being at odds with Adriana won't endear Jonah to my side."I'm working on finding that out," I say. "It
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CamilaRoman hasn't stopped shaking. He’s been like this during the whole car ride. I have to half-drag and half-carry him into the large townhouse, all the way down a dark hall that Yannick shoved us through. As my mother and I huddle in the small backroom we've been stashed in, Roman continues to shake."I didn't want to do it. I didn't, I swear I didn't," he mutters. It's all he’s been able to say.Brushing his hair from his forehead, I push him to my chest. "You're okay. I'm here."He whimpers, mumbling into my shirt, as if he didn't hear me. I'm worried he's gone into shock. The reality of shooting Asher, nearly killing him—because I refuse to believe Asher is dead no matter what Yannick says—has broken his little mind.I look up, seething with hatred at the sight of Yannick. He's pacing the room, occasionally checking his phone. He seems to be ignoring us. It's a small favor, but I'll take it."Chyort," he hisses, crushing his phone in his fist. He arches his arm like he plans t
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AsherThe lake is frozen solid, blending into the land. Everything covered by a uniform blanket of snow. The only markings on the surface are the triangular tracks made by geese and other animals in search of food. My own boot-prints cross on top of them as I make my way slowly over the ice.I'm cold enough that I can't feel the tips of my ears or nose. But I don't mind. The mild pain is worth it. This weather is clearing my head. My bare hands clench in my jacket pockets, feeling for my phone, trying to summon a call from Jonah or Mila or, God willing, Camila.Camila... please be okay. You have to be okay.If she's still wearing the prayer beads, I should be able to track her location. But I can't do that from my cabin. The cops need to get away from my mansion. I can't do anything until they're off my back.A sharp honk echoes through the air. Craning my neck, I watch as a flock of geese, their black heads contrasting against the white clouds, soar overhead. I marvel at how effortle
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Camila"What's that noise?" Mom asks me nervously.Cocking my head, I listen with my pulse quickening. "Gunfire.""Someone's shooting at us?" Roman shudders, scrambling towards my mother where she's sitting on the bed. She spreads her arms to welcome him into her lap, the action warm and natural.I move towards the one window in the room. Parting the thin, yellowed curtains, I peek through the glass. I can't tell what's happening, there's a large tree branch with stubborn frost crusted to it blocking the way."What do you see?" Mom asks urgently."Nothing. I don't know what's going on." But I have a feeling. One so delicious, so exciting, I try to ignore it because the pain of being wrong would tear me apart.The door bangs open, hitting the wall, bouncing back into Yannick's grip. His lips are curved in a wretched snarl. "You! What did you do?" he shouts at me.I let go of the curtain, my heart tap-dancing into my mouth. I don't like the manic expression he's wearing as he shuts hims
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AsherNight has become day from the fires of the chattering rifles. Each time a muzzle flashes I can see the face of the man firing it. Whether an enemy or one of my own boeviki, they all have the same feral expression.Everyone is fighting for their life.Including me."This way," I urge Camila, holding her by her wrist. We wasted enough time hovering inside the front door of Yannick's hideaway. I had to get my bearings, but I know we can't linger. As helpful as this chaos is, someone is bound to come and check on Yannick.Not every one of his men is a corrupt cop, some are as loyal to him as my own brigadiers.Camila tugs backwards. "Wait!""No time," I argue, stopping on the front step. She's gawking at the fighting behind me. Her eyes shine with flashes of guns going off, the sound loud in my skull. Katinka and Roman crouch behind her. They're just as afraid. "If we stay here, we'll be found, and then?—"The wood of the door-frame explodes next to my ear. Splinters stab into my te
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CamilaMy toes are perfectly pointed as I strut across the stage. A simple ankle-turn and I'm pivoting, another and another and I'm a flurry of motion, my white tutu fluffing like a dandelion on the breeze. I was born to dance. I know this in my soul.Curtains flutter around me, brushing me as if they want to hold me close. The only person I want a hug from is the man sitting in the audience.Dad beams proudly, never taking his eyes off of me.I'm so glad I decided to do this performance! I'd been terrified when Mom suggested it, the moves were advanced for a ten-year-old like me, but she would always click her tongue and insist that she did ballet like this when she was my age.But Dad?He caught me fretting in the studio, staring at myself awkwardly in the tall mirrors. He'd come to me, knelt, and told me not to be afraid of the stage. Even if you make a mistake, it won't matter to me. If you get nervous, just look for me in the audience, malyshka.Lunging forward, I hold my breath,
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