Paying The Bratva’s Debt

louder, I realize the accents are all wrong.
These ones sound like straight up Chicago.
“Nah, it’s a win-win. These Russian mafia guys, they want him dead. And that helps out the boss pretty fuckin good too.”
“Wait wait, hang on,” a second voice grunts. “The Russian mafia wants him dead? I thought he was the Russian mafia?”
“Fuck, I don’t know how these Russian douchebags work, man. Yeah, he’s mafia. They call it the Bratva. But these other guys… I don’t know. They ain’t Bratva, but they’re made, you get me?”
“I think so? Different family maybe?”
“Yeah, I don’t if that’s how it works, but whatever. They want Komarov gone as bad as Mr. Drucci does.”
I stiffen. My face pales.
“Christ, these Russian fucks got no honor at all, huh?”
“Beats me. The boss said Komarov wacked a couple of these other guys’ crew last night. Put ‘em through a fuckin’ woodchipper.”
I blanche. So, no, he wasn’t out entertaining other women. Just committing heinous murder, apparently. I suppose those were his “guests of honor” I think with a horrified realization.
The second Italian guy swears. “Jesus Christ. A chipper? Fuckin’ Fargo over here.”
“For real.”
“So Mr. Drucci wants him gone, too?”
“He’s pissed about the deal he made on this shithole. I guess Komarov fucked him—fed him some bullshit about the Feds watching this spot.”
“Wait, the Feds are watching?!”
“No, you dumb fuck. The Russian and his hot little lawyer side piece lied.”
I swallow thickly. Shit. This isn’t good, at all.
“And then when these Russian bastards reached out last night, they came to an agreement.”
“And how’d the boss know he’d be here?”
“Beats me. Someone inside the Russian’s organization maybe?”
My eyes widen with realization. Them being here while we are is not awful coincidence. It’s planned.
“Anyways, it’s a win for everyone. We take out the Russian, which makes Mr. Drucci happy because he can move in on the Bratva turf. Plus, these other Russians are going to kick him back some finders cash for bringing them Komarov’s head.”
The second guy snickers. “Sounds good. What about the lawyer? I saw her get out of the car too.”
The first one laughs wickedly. “Dunno what his plans are, but Mr. Drucci wants her alive.”
The second one snickers again. “Well, guess we do know what his plans are, then. Lucky bastard.”
Horrible fear knots my stomach. I know Viktor’s not far, and he’s both distracted by his call and totally unprepared for an ambush. Not to mention me. I pull away from the wall, my pulse racing. I turn to flee. I make it four steps before the rubble under my feet shifts and skids out from under me. I gasp, biting back a scream as I go crashing to the rocky ground.
Any hope of them not having heard me dashes away when I hear the swearing. I can hear two sets of pounding feet. I gasp when two guys in black tracksuits come rushing around the corner. The both of them instantly recognize me, and I even recognize one of them from the meeting with Joey Drucci before. I go to scream, but he quickly rushes over to me. He grins as he leers over me, pulling out a mean looking knife and brandishing it in front of my face.
“Well, well,” he growls. “Look who we found eavesdropping.”
I gasp in blind horror when he yanks me up to my feet. I wince as I settle on my ankle when the pain lances though me. The two of them don’t seem to notice though. They whirl, dragging me between them before they slam me against the very wall I was just hiding behind.
“It’s a shame you had to go and hear all that,” the first guy sneers.
“I—I didn’t hear anything!” I gasp. Fear claws at me, making it hard to breath. The first man smiles cruelly and waves the knife in my face again. “Because now, me and Mikey here have to teach you a lesson. You know,” he grins. “Break you in before the boss gets his turn.”
A scream lodges in my throat as they close in on me. Fear slices me like a knife, making me frozen to the spot as the first guy unzips his fly.
But then suddenly, his friend groans, and blood drips down from his temples. His eyes roll back, and he slumps to the ground. I barely have time to process what I’ve just seen when huge hands drop the chunk of brick and yanks the other guy around. The blade is wrenched from his hands, and he grunts as the huge force slams him back against the wall next to me, the blade at his throat. I blink and look up, and I realize I’m looking at Viktor. But it’s a snarling, hulking, enraged version of him. He looks like a wild beast, about to tear into his prey.
“Wait! Please!” the man begs. “Please, hang on, Mr. Komarov, please!”
“Drucci sent you?” Viktor snarls, his voice rasping through his clenched teeth. He looks absolutely twisted with rage.
The man nods instantly. “It’s just a job! It ain’t nothin’ personal!”
Viktor looks down at the man’s undone fly. The guy pales as the Russian’s face begins to steam with even deeper rage. He turns to look at me, his eyes absolutely ablaze as they drink me in. Then he turns back with a sneer to the man.
“You made it personal when you laid a hand on her.”
“Please!” the man begs. “Please, have mercy—”
“I’ll pass.”
The knife makes a horrible skrnching sound as it plunges into his chest. I gasp, covering my mouth as he grunts once more and falls motionless to the rubble.
Viktor turns to me, and suddenly his visage of fury and terror melts into something else. His face looks wracked by concern and worry as he stoops close to me. “Fiona,” he says gently.
I take a step, but instantly cry out. Viktor growls, and suddenly, I’m being scooped up effortlessly into his arms. He cradles me against his chest, looking down into my eyes.
“I—I looked away,” he growls. “And then you were