In which Lucya’s Big Reunion Moment with Alexi does not go as planned.
Lucya…
I’m jolted out of what I’m sure is my “stunned sheep” expression as one of the Albanians slaps me on the ass, making me stumble forward.
“We’ll be back after we take care of this fucker,” Fisnik says, “and then you can take care of me.”
Apparently, he didn’t consider my near-vomiting on his cheap suit as a turnoff.
Alexi’s half-finished drink is still on the table and I pick it up, sniffing cautiously. He still drinks scotch instead of vodka. There are smoky, spicy undertones and I know this is one of our most expensive brands, probably an aged Glenfiddich.
“Please tell me those assholes are gone,” Dima says, still slicing lemons, safe behind his bar, unlike me. Flushing, I put down the glass.
Alexi didn’t recognize me.
I know it’s been four years, but still… He looked right through me. I can’t let him go without at least telling him who I am. Nervously smoothing my hair, I hurry down the hallway to the back entrance. There’s a spot right by the door where I can slip out and hide behind a concrete divider. Maybe he’d like to stay for a drink after he gets rid of Fisnik and his slimy crew.
The battered iron door opens soundlessly, and I step behind the concrete barrier.
Alexi is dressed in an expensive black suit that clings lovingly to his wide shoulders. He’s got new tattoos on his neck showing over the collar of his dress shirt and more on his hands, even on his fingers. His blond hair is still cut no-nonsense short, and his square jaw is like granite. In the stink of the alleyway, he’s even more imposing, as if the slimy surroundings can’t touch him.
The Albanians are prowling in a circle around him, attempting to look menacing. There’s only one of him to five of them, but I’d still bet on him in a fight.
“We had an agreement!” Fisnik sputters, “Those weapons belong to us!”
“Not when you haven’t finished paying for the last shipment,” Alexi sounds bored, checking his watch while the five men continue circling him. “In fact, I wasn’t sure you would need any more guns from us, since you’ve also been buying and selling with the Orlov Bratva. My Pakhan is very disappointed with you.”
A greasy film of sweat beads up on Fisnik’s forehead. “What? I don’t-”
He’s halfway through the sentence when a hole appears in his forehead, blood instantly spurting from the wound, streaming down his shocked face. Before he drops to the ground, the other four Albanians are dead, too.
Not one of them even had the time to pull their gun.
There’s a scream trying to surge its way up my throat and I slap my hand over my mouth. I’ve seen death before. Hell, I’ve seen Alexi kill before. But here… in the alley, with the stink of the dumpsters and drunken laughter from the club, the ballet of death I just witnessed is horrifying.
Alexi moved like a dancer, sweeping his knife across the throat of one man while shooting the next one, both at the same time, before he sliced the carotid of the third one. The last Albanian shrieked, fumbling in his jacket for his gun before Alexi’s bullet went through his eye.
I thought I’d smothered my gasp, but Alexi’s head darts up, scanning the alley, nostrils flared like a wolf. He’s on me in seconds.
“Alexi-” His huge hand wraps around my throat, lifting me until I’m on tiptoe, slamming me against the wall next to the dumpster. My head hits the brick hard enough that the world around me goes blurry, it hurts so much that I think my skull cracked open.
Bozhe moy, oh my god. He’s going to throw me in the dumpster after strangling me.
Blindly slapping at his arm holding me up, I gasp. “I’m Lucya! Lu… r- remember?”
His glacier-blue eyes are staring at me dispassionately.
My heels are drumming against the brick, as the darkness creeps in from the edges of my vision. “Alexi… Kolibri. Kolibri!”
His fingers loosen and he catches me before I sink bonelessly onto the filthy side street.
“Hummingbird?” Hoisting me up like a sack of potatoes, his head tilts as he looks me over. “Lucya Dubrovina? What are you doing here?”
I’m coughing, my face beet-red. “We live…” My explanation breaks off in another round of hacking and wheezing.
His arm slides to my waist, balancing me against his hard chest as he pulls out his phone. “The alley behind Dobro pozhalovat’ domoy. There’s five.” He frowns, looking down at me and I realize that even after hitting my growth spurt, my head still barely reaches his shoulders. “That was a very foolish thing to do, Kolibri.”
“I just-” Grimacing, I try to swallow. I can taste something coppery, I don’t know if I bit my lip or he squeezed the blood from my throat. “I wanted to see you.”
Growling under his breath, he gently touches the back of my head, and his fingers come back smeared in blood. He scoops me up and strides over to a black BMW in the far corner of the club’s parking lot. Over his shoulder, I can see the five bodies cooling on the grimy street.
“What about those-” A car turns into the alleyway just as he turns the corner.
“They’ll be taken care of,” he says indifferently. Settling me into the passenger seat, he leans over to fasten my seatbelt, and my eyes close. There it is… he still smells like a pine forest, something sharp like citrus, and underneath it all, the smoky notes of gunpowder. A bolt of longing rips through my chest.
Am I in shock? That must be it. Sniffing the man who just took out five human beings? Well, the Albanians were complete bastards, so no one’s going to miss them. But still. What is wrong with me?
I grab his arm as he starts the car. “Wait! I’m working, I can’t-”
With an irritable sigh, he pulls out his phone. “Gregor? Privet. You know who this is.” Alexi gently runs a finger along the bruises blooming on my neck like black and purple flowers. “Your employee Lucya is very sick. I’m taking her home.”
“No!” I cough again, “I need this shift.”
He raises a brow at me and I flush, painfully aware of my wrinkled server uniform.
“You’ll collect her tips for her tonight, Gregor. Very good. Do svidaniya, goodbye.”
Handing me a bottle of water as he pulls into traffic, Alexi glances at me. “Drink some, it will help the swelling in your throat.”
“Thank you,” I croak. This was not how I envisioned seeing Alexi Turgenev again. I’ve had a million scenarios play out in my mind, like being dressed up in a gorgeous gown at one of the many holiday balls in St. Petersburg. He would see me across the room and realize that I’d grown up, that I was no longer the child he remembered. He’d walk across the room, staring at me the entire way and then…
As it turns out, he didn’t remember me at all.
“Um, where are we going?”
“I’m taking you to a clinic,” he says, “I want to make sure there’s no real damage.”
Wincing as I swallow, I ask, “Were you really going to kill me?”
“I try to avoid killing women. But you were a witness.” He glances at me as we stop for a red light. The light plays over the sharp lines of his face, the red bathing him in a bloody glow. There’s a spray of gore across one prominent cheekbone.
“You have some…” I gesture lamely at his face, “some blood there.” With an irritable sigh, he opens the center console, pulling out a package of wet wipes. “Oh, that’s good, you have a murder cleanup kit.”
Swiping the rest of the blood from his face, Alexi ignores me.
