The Heir: A Dark Mafia Romance (Sokolov Mafia Clan Book 1) Read online

  “Do you think he’s gotten surgeries done to look this way?” Brian asked, staring at the photograph.

  Jacob snorted, “His daddy has the cash for it, so why not?”

  “He’s looked that way since he was young,” I said. Snatching the file from Brian, I put it away.

  “Hey, you want to go to the Chinese place for lunch?” Jacob asked casually. “I’m craving potstickers.”

  “No,” I replied, scowling. All thoughts of chow-mein and potstickers were wiped from my mind after the conversation with the chief. “I’ve got shit to do.”

  Jacob glanced at Brian and the two grinned at each other. I knew they were silently laughing at me for trying too hard to impress our boss. They had no idea what Chief wanted me to do this time.

  My colleagues moved away to ask Dave, one of our older teammates, and see if he wanted to join them for lunch.

  I spread Victor’s photographs on my desk and proceeded to take out more folders from inside my drawer. If I was going to do this, I needed to make sure I memorized every single fact about the members of the Sokolov gang.

  I studied the photographs in the folders. They were of men, all caught looking down the street or at their phones. Some were important members of the gang, others were low-level politicians.

  I spotted Victor Sokolov in of them, surrounded by a wall of bodyguards. He was taller than most of those men which allowed the photographer to recognize him.

  The Heir.

  A new player on the chessboard, not a pawn but rather a king. His powers were limited right now, unable to move around much or control the vast areas of his father’s empire, but it won’t be for long. He would soon take his father’s place and rule this city.

  I gazed at the mountainous stack of files before me.

  At that moment, I knew I didn’t want Chinese food. I needed more coffee.

  2

  Danica

  My breath rose in a mist before my face as I climbed off the bus. The street before me was completely deserted at this late hour. Digging my hands into the pockets of my coat, I started walking toward my home.

  Most of the windows of the cookie-cutter houses lining the suburban Brooklyn street were already dark. A cold breeze lifted the strands of my blond hair as my feet hurried down the road. Hunger gnawed at my stomach, reminding me of my missed lunch and the cups of coffee I downed at the station today.

  Reaching the fenced gate of my house, I opened it and crossed the front yard to reach the door.

  As always, a dark hallway greeted me when I pushed open the door. As always, it left me feeling lonely.

  Switching on the lights, I proceeded to take off my coat and scarf and threw them on a couch. Stumbling into the kitchen, I put a saucepan on the stove and filled it with water. This late at night, I only had the energy to cook instant ramen noodles.

  Leaning against the countertop, I impatiently waited for the water to start boiling. My body shivered from the cold. It would be a while before the old house warmed up.

  When the water started boiling, I poked at the mass of noodles with a fork to loosen them up. The smell of the spicy, tangy broth wafted into my nose, making my mouth water.

  Moving to the fridge, I took out two eggs.

  My grandmother had taught me to add eggs to ramen to make them more filling. A smile lifted the corners of my lips as I cracked the eggs into the pot of simmering noodles.

  Thinking of my grandmother always brought out bittersweet memories to my mind. She raised me on her own after my parents passed away when I was twelve.

  It hadn’t been easy at her age to provide for a teen all on her own but she refused to send me to a foster home. It only made me more desperate to get a job as soon as possible after high school so I could take care of all her needs.

  One of the school councilors recommended I sat for the exams to join the police academy. She told me I was smart enough to get through the initial aptitude and physical tests, that a career in the police forces was both well-paid and respectable.

  Gramps had been so happy when I got through those exams and entered the police academy. “I’m so, so proud of you,” she’d said. I could still her voice in my head.

  Life took an ironic twist when Gramps died only a few months before I was about to graduate as a full-fledged police officer, taking away my chance to look after her.

  A slightly burnt smell brought me out of my thoughts. The noodles were starting to catch at the bottom and burn.

  “Shit!” I muttered and hurriedly took the pan off the stovetop.

  A defeated sigh escaped me as I poured the overcooked noodles into a bowl. My frazzled mind was messing up at cooking something as simple as instant ramen.

  How the hell am I supposed to do this? I wondered, thinking of the operation the chief was planning for me. Why fucking me?

  The quiet interiors of my kitchen answered that question instantly.

  Nolan didn’t mention it to my face but he knew I had no dependents or family. No one would miss me if I ended up dead. No one would query about my whereabouts if I disappeared off the face of the earth. No one would blame him or the department if something happened to me during the operation.

  I thrust a fork into the noodles and started eating mouthfuls of the hot, mushy noodles. My stomach growled audibly in the silent kitchen.

  The phone in my pocket buzzed. Taking it out, I caught sight of a new text from Nolan.

  The mission is on. Your training starts tomorrow. Be ready to meet Ethan at 11 A.M.

  The department must have been planning this operation for quite some time now. They were wasting no time in getting me trained for the job.

  Victor Sokolov’s cold, beautiful face flashed before me. I’d been staring at his photographs for most of the day, wondering if I’d ever get a chance to meet him face-to-face during the operation. He was the reason I was being sent to infiltrate the most dangerous gang on the east coast.

  Thinking of the heir to the Sokolov clan filled me with a strange emotion. It wasn’t exactly fear but a morbid kind of fascination. Victor Sokolov had the face of an angel but there was a devilish glint in his steel-gray eyes.

  His father was a criminal mastermind, controlling a gang of ruthless mobsters as well as politicians and celebrities in high places.

  As a police officer, I’d like to think we were responsible for keeping peace in this city but believing that was worse than being naïve. After working in Nolan’s department for the past year, I was forced to see the reality for what it was.

  Ivan Sokolov was the main dictator ruling this city.

  Would his son be any different from him?

  3

  Danica

  A month later

  It was like staring at a stranger each time I stood before a mirror. My hair was cut short, my breasts bound with chest-binders, making it seem as flat as my stomach and there wasn’t a fleck of makeup on my face, not even a lick of lip balm.

  Only my light brown eyes seemed familiar to me.

  I splashed my face with water while a guy walked into the bathroom. Without a care, he unzipped his pants and started pissing in the corner.

  Using the men’s restroom was part of my training to ease me into my new identity.

  The young man zipped up his pants and left without bothering to wash his hands. My reflection frowned back at me. Moving away the wet strands of hair from my eyes, I reminded myself that men didn’t usually spend too much time staring at themselves in the mirror in the bathroom.

  Exhaling a long breath, I reached the door and walked out.

  I made my way to the private facility’s firing range to meet Ethan Philips, one of my senior team members, who was responsible for my physical training.

  We’d chosen this place instead of using the regular training grounds. My new avatar couldn’t be spotted anywhere close to places that could link me to the police.

  The firing range was presently empty other than the lone figure in the furthest booth fro
m the entrance. I recognized Ethan’s tall, lean frame immediately. He was older than Nolan but seemed younger and more carefree than the chief.

  Over the past couple of weeks, Ethan put me through hellish physical exercises to bring back my fitness from the days I was still a cadet in the police academy. Months of sitting behind the desk had taken its toll on my body but Ethan made sure I was back in my form once again.

  “You’re late,” said Ethan, turning around as I got closer to him.

  “Sorry. I needed to use the bathroom.”

  “Male restroom?”

  “Yeah.”

  His face broke into a grin as he slapped my back hard.

  “Ow!” I bit out as I stumbled from the force of the blow. “What was that for?”

  His dark chocolate-brown eyes shone with mischief. “That’s how men show their appreciation.”

  “Bullshit,” I muttered under my breath.

  I couldn’t believe how different he was from the cold, stiff Captain Nolan. Then again, Ethan was more used to scouring the streets of the city, capturing shots of notorious drug dealers, corrupt officials, and elusive mafia heirs like Victor Sokolov. He didn’t need to spend as much time around bureaucrats as the chief, allowing him to be more carefree and casual.

  Ethan chuckled and gestured toward the gun resting on the counter before us. “Ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  Reaching forward, I picked up a pair of headphones and fixed it around my head. Next, I picked up the gun and slipped the thumb safety back, proceeding to lift it to my shoulder level.

  Ethan pressed a button on the wall. A faint vibrating sounded erupted around us as the machinery carried the target sheet to the designated distance.

  I took a deep breath and focused on the target before pulling the trigger. The gun jumped in my hand as always, followed by the dull bang of the recoil.

  When I first started practicing, my arms used to shake after each recoil but after weeks of practice, they were straight and steady with each pull of the trigger. This kind of improvement sent a boost of confidence shooting through me.

  I kept shooting until there was a dry click to signal an empty magazine.

  Lowering the gun, I glanced at Ethan.

  Ethan pressed another button on the wall to collect the punctured sheet.

  Unhooking the sheet free, he held it up so we could see the clean bullet holes in its surface.

  “Stomach, three shots. Crippling but not enough to drop a man,” he recited. “Chest shots, good, right through the middle. Shots to the shoulder, good for disarming but not killing.” He stopped talking as he took in the perfect hole in the center of the target’s forehead. “Very good, kid. But remember--”

  “I know,” I said, having memorized his lessons already. “Headshots are hard on moving targets.”

  “Good,” he said, slapping me lightly on the back of my head. Ethan never behaved like this when we were working in the office. Was my appearance really fooling him into thinking I was a young dude he could do this with? I sighed internally, knowing my disguise was working.

  “Let’s practice some more,” he said in a more serious tone. “Give me chest shots for the next one.”

  Ethan made me practice for almost an hour before giving up. My arms were aching already.

  “You’re so unfazed by guns now,” he remarked as I pulled off the headphones. “Should I be concerned?”

  “I’m just used to it now but I am still uncomfortable around them,” I confessed. “It’s one thing to be practicing here on a target with you on my side but it would be another matter to shoot at actual people.”

  “You need to remember you’re being taught this stuff for self-defense,” said Ethan in a grim tone. “Shooting people is supposed to feel bad. You need to worry about yourself when it doesn’t feel bad anymore.”

  He slipped the safety back on the unloaded gun and fixed me with a piercing gaze. “If there’s a need to shoot someone, you do it. They won’t think twice about killing you. It’s you or them.”

  “Do you think they’ll let me have a gun?” I asked. “Would they trust a new guy enough for that?”

  Ethan chuckled. “You’re going to be placed as close to Ivan’s heir as possible. They won’t allow you in every sordid meeting but you’ll be going to others. All the men carry firearms. You can tell by the way they carry themselves.”

  Victor Sokolov’s face flashed before me at the mention of the “heir”.

  “The closer you get to the top, the more dangerous it gets,” continued Ethan. “All of Victor’s men carry guns. They have fucking permits as his security personnel.”

  “It’s weird how everyone thinks I’d be able to get close to Victor Sokolov,” I said as a familiar emotion rose inside me. “What if I can’t do it? What if I blow up my cover as soon as I get into their ranks?”

  “Stop being such a pussy,” said Ethan, walking out of the booth. “You’re a smart kid. There’s no way you’ll fuck up the mission. Just go home and relax. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I stared at his back as he walked down the corridor without a backward look. None of my superiors showed any doubts in my abilities. They all thought I was smart enough to be an undercover agent in the Sokolov gang. Their confidence should have been enough to relax me but it didn’t.

  I was physically fit. I was smart. I could handle a gun with my eyes closed.

  But could I handle things out in the real world? Would I be able to shoot down another man to save my own life?

  Stop being a fucking pussy, Ethan’s voice rang in my head. It’s either you or them.

  Two months later

  My feet tapped to the beats of a hip-hop song being played in the small café. A cup of coffee sat before me but it stayed untouched as I nervously waited for Pete Larson, the department’s informant, to show up. He was responsible for placing me in the gang and training me in what to expect when I was on my own.

  I looked toward the windows to catch a glimpse of the street outside but the dark tinted glass formed an almost impenetrable obstacle to my view. No one outside could see what was happening inside the café either, making it an ideal place to conduct all kinds of shady deals.

  I nervously looked around the packed café. A member of the Sokolov gang could be sitting here at this very moment.

  Stop being nervous, I told myself. They are everywhere anyway.

  This was an irrefutable fact. The more I studied them, the more evidence I found of the gang’s influence in both government sectors and the judicial system. Everyone knew of their existence and activities but no one could do a thing about them.

  Pete showed up five minutes later, relieving me of the building anxiety deep inside me. Pulling out a chair, he dropped down in it.

  “You doing all right, kid?” he greeted me.

  “Yeah.”

  I studied him as he opened a manilla folder and started arranging photographs across the table. The dark, expensive suit he wore barely concealed his massive potbelly. A heavy Rolex wristwatch peeked from the end of his cuff. The bald patch on top of his head shone dully in the dim light of the café.

  The chubby, balding man looked far from a tough, undercover police officer who’d been weathered by years of slumming it in the gang. Only the crooked bridge of his nose and a pale scar running across his left cheek showed he’d seen some action on the streets.

  “Right,” said Pete, straightening up to look at me. “Let’s try this one last time. If you make a mistake this time, I am going to skewer you for real.”

  I frowned, hating the way this man trained me in gang “etiquette”.

  Over the past two months, he’d brought me photographs and information related to the members of the gang and their henchmen. Every time I made a mistake with a detail or a name, he would stab me in the hand with the hilt of a knife or kick me hard in the ankles under the table without warning.

  It had been his way of teaching me that one single mistake could end my life.r />
  Over the past two months, Pete also made me tag along with him to meetings with other members of the gang. I couldn’t show up among them out of the blue one day and expect them to trust me. Pete made sure I was seen often enough in his company.

  I’d been terrified of fucking up during the first few meetings but Pete made sure I was never the center of attention. It was good enough to stand silently along with the other lackeys.

  Pete dragged me across bars and strip clubs owned by the gang to conduct these sordid affairs to get me used to the sight of naked men and women writhing up on poles and coming up to me to flirt for money.

  He’d even taught me to dress like the mobsters. At present, I was dressed in a cheap, black suit instead of my usual jeans and hoodies.

  I felt more relaxed during the meetings that followed, doing nothing but being a silent observer to the deals happening before me. So far, I’d witnessed the bribery of several local officials agreeing to the development of illegal properties.

  That was the area Pete dealt in. He was a slum lord and property shark.

  During one such meeting, I’d caught the eye of a man called Boris Pavlov. Even in the dimly-lit strip club, the man wore a pair of black shades. He’d addressed me like he would address an underling but he had spoken to me.

  He studied me in return from behind his shades and proceeded to ask Pete about me. He seemed happy to hear I was a new recruit. Turning to one of his men, he’d added, “He would love him. Just look at that face.” I had no idea what he’d meant by it but I didn’t like the man’s smug grin as he said it.

  “Tell me who this is,” said Pete, pointing to a photograph of the same man I’d met a few weeks earlier. There was no way I’d forget that face with the black shades.

  “Boris Pavlov,” I said.

  “Give me more.”

  “Supplier of skin,” I said, suppressing a cold shudder. “Gets young girls and boys from Ecuador and Bolivia. Rarely deals in adults. Owner of the Blue Lotus club in Lower East Side which is his own investment. All the money earned goes into his pocket and not to the gang, which is why,” I tapped another photograph, “Matteo has a fucking chip on his shoulder.”