The Queen's Gambit

I am once again crouched behind a dumpster, in my Louboutins, trying to avoid getting shot at while Pasha, my driver tries to clear a path for us to the car. This time it’s goddamned fucking Irish who are getting on my nerves.

This is the third time this month they’ve tried to abduct me or whatever, in an attempt – I suppose – to get my brother Roman to negotiate with them.

As strategies go, I can’t fault it.

Unfortunately for the Bratva - which my brother heads - he’s made no secret of the fact that he’ll gut anyone who tries to hurt me. It’s nothing personal, just that I’m the only remaining member of his family and also a valuable chess piece in his organized crime games – a strategic marriage might mean the difference between being friends or enemies.

Everyone knows how valuable I am. They know I’m my brother’s only family. It’s why no one knows much about me, especially not what I look like. It’s not just his love for me though. The more sheltered and protected I am, the more of a prized commodity I am.

So it’s a little bit of a mystery how these Irish bastards keep finding me.

“Irina!” Pasha whisper shouts, gesturing at me to follow him. I crab walk – in six inch heels mind – towards him, stealing a glance at my watch. Since this isn’t the movies, I know that the cops will soon be by. Gunshots in the middle of the day on a public street equals a lot of 911 calls. Seven minutes is probably all we have.

We have to be out of here by then if this cluster fuck isn’t to get worse.

Pasha darts out of the alley and runs to the armored black SUV, opening the door with his remote and diving into the driver’s seat. In a move that Dominic Toretto would envy, he has the car started, swung around and coming to a screeching halt by the alley in minutes, blocking me from all the flying bullets as I also make my leap into the back seat.

I stay down as he screeches off into the sunset. As we turn the corner, we encounter the first police vehicle, responding to the reports of gunshots. Pasha slows down, going at a sedate pace until we’re past the first responders.

Then he floors it.

I sit up with a sigh. “Where are we going?” I ask because I know this isn’t the route to my home.

“Safe house.” He says shortly.

I sit back, blowing out a disgruntled breath, my hands folded. I just got some new Fenty beauty products and my favorite, most comfortable sweats are lying on my bed in my house.

God knows when I’ll be able to go back there.

As far as I know, the only clothes I have at the safe house are some outdated, probably too tight jeans, random sweat shirts and t-shirts and not even my favorite bath products!

Woe is me.

***

“We almost got her this time but unfortunately her driver spotted Patrick as he lounging on the library steps and I think he recognized him because next thing we know, he’s punched Patrick in the throat, grabbed the princess’s hand and ran to the car. We tried shooting them but-”

I shoot to my feet. “You shot at her?” I yelled, glaring at my enforcer. Liam is good people as far as enforcers go, hard working and what not, but he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed. “You shot at the Bratva princess?”

At least he has the grace to blush. “We weren’t shooting at her. Just trying to stop her bodyguard.”

I kiss my teeth in annoyance, running my hand through my hair and begin to pace, shaking my head and muttering to myself. This idiot of an enforcer might just have inadvertently started a war with the Bratva.

Not that we weren’t already low key fighting but this would mean open war. Don’t believe what they tell you, girls and boys, war is bad for business. The only people who benefit are the arms dealers.

The Bratva are arms dealers.

The Irish Mafia are not.

You see my quandary?

The whole point of this exercise was to find a bargaining chip with the great Roman Dobrev. Bring him to the negotiating table and show him that  we are not to be played with. The Russians are the interlopers in Boston.

Before the rise of Roman, the old Pakhan, known for his drunken cruelty, couldn’t really be arsed about taking over the city. Roman is a different animal. He’s hungry, he’s ambitious and he has the means to make trouble for us.

Gotta nip that in the bud and his sister is exactly the chip I need to do it. All I need is to get my hands on her.