Hidden Truths: A Broken Hero Mafia Romance (Perfectly Imperfect Book 3), page 1
License notes
Copyright © 2022 Neva Altaj
www.neva-altaj.com
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Editing by Susan Stradiotto (www.susanstradiotto.com)
Proofreading #1 by Beyond The Proof (www.beyondtheproof.ca)
Proofreading #2 by Yvette Rebello (https://yreditor.com/)
Cover design by Deranged Doctor (www.derangeddoctordesign.com)
Table of Contents
License notes
Table of Contents
Dedication
Author’s note
Trigger Warning
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Dear reader,
Acknowledgments
About The Author
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my readers, who gave so much love to my books and showed such an amazing support to a debut author like me. Thank you for taking a chance on my stories and motivating me to continue writing. I love you guys. <3
Author’s note
Dear reader, there are a few Russian words mentioned in the book, so here are the translations and clarifications:
Pakhan (пахан) – the head of Russian mafia.
Bratva (братва́) – Russian organized crime or Russian mafia.
Lisichka (лиси́чка) – little fox.
Palomita – little dove; a diminutive of “paloma” which means “dove”.
Trigger Warning
Please be aware that this book contains content that some readers may find disturbing, such as: gore, violence, abuse, and graphic descriptions of torture. Themes of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and other mental health conditions are also mentioned.
While we all want to believe that love heals all wounds, please keep in mind that this story is a work of fiction. If you’re suffering from PTSD or struggling with other mental health issues, help is available. Reach out to your family and friends, a medical doctor, or another trusted professional, such as a counselor or spiritual leader. You are not alone!
Prologue
Email Correspondence
Fifteen years ago
From: Felix Allen
To: Captain L. Kruger
Subject: Sergei Belov
Captain,
I feel the need to express my significant concern regarding the newest recruit I have been assigned, Sergei Belov. The Belov boy is extremely intelligent and shows great physical potential. However, I am not sure he is the right choice for our program. He is only fourteen, and that is way too young. Furthermore, his psychological profile doesn’t match our requirements. In plain terms, he is a protector. He is also not a naturally violent individual, and I am not sure how wise it is to proceed. I think he should either be reassigned to another unit or returned to the youth correctional facility he was taken from.
Felix Allen
Z.E.R.O. unit
Handler to Sergei Belov
Eleven years ago
From: Felix Allen
To: Captain L. Kruger
Subject: IMPORTANT. Sergei Belov
Captain,
I am aware of your standing with regard to the Belov kid. I am also aware that his overachievement and impeccable training scores over the past few years may lead to a conclusion that he’s acclimated well, and that he is ready to be sent on field missions. It is my professional opinion that he is NOT suitable to perform the missions allocated to the Project Z.E.R.O. operation, and I recommend that he be transferred to one of the standard units as soon as possible.
Felix Allen
Z.E.R.O. unit
Handler to Sergei Belov
Eight years ago
From: Felix Allen
To: Captain L. Kruger
Subject: Transfer request notice
Captain,
Sergei Belov has been showing highly concerning behavior since he returned from the Columbia mission in February. I’m enclosing my full report with this email, but to summarize the most important points: violent outbursts, losing connection with reality, and random catatonic episodes.
I wanted to inform you that I have officially requested a transfer for him, as well as a psychiatric evaluation.
What happened down there, Lennox? Why am I denied access to the mission report? Sergei won’t tell me, and when I tried asking around, I was told to leave it be or face consequences. I need to know what happened in Columbia because it was obviously a trigger for the change in his behavior.
Felix Allen
Z.E.R.O. unit
Handler to Sergei Belov
Six years ago
From: Felix Allen
To: Captain L. Kruger
Subject: Urgent
I need you to release Sergei Belov from duty. He poses a danger to other people, but mostly to himself. I tried to explain numerous times, but you wouldn’t listen. You can’t take a normal kid and shape him into your weapon without consequences. Not everyone is fit to be a fucking hitman, Lennox, no matter how young you throw them into training. It’s just a matter of time before he’ll snap, and when he does, he’ll create chaos that you’ll have to explain to our superiors.
Felix Allen
Z.E.R.O. unit
Handler to Sergei Belov
Four years ago
From: Captain L. Kruger
To: Felix Allen
Subject: Where is my asset?!
Felix,
I’m expecting you in my office tomorrow morning. I want to know how the fuck you convinced the admiral to release Belov and yourself. And where are you hiding my asset?!
Captain Lennox Kruger
Project Z.E.R.O. Commander
*
From: Felix Allen
To: Captain L. Kruger
Subject: Re: Where is my asset?!
Fuck you, Lennox.
I hope your pet project comes back to bite you in the ass real soon.
Felix
Chapter 1
Three days ago
There are exactly eleven pieces of meat and twenty-three french fries on the plate. I have counted them at least twenty times since Maria brought the food two hours ago. It was harder to resist while the food was still warm, filling my nostrils with its aroma. But even now, my mouth waters and my gut clenches.
The second day was the worst. I thought I would lose my mind, so I started counting the pieces of food and imagined I was eating them. It helped. Somewhat. Maybe it would have been easier if the meat wasn’t cut into small pieces, each one taunting me. I could have taken just one, and no one would have noticed. I don’t know how I prevailed that day.
I’m on the fifth day of my hunger strike. They bring me food and water three times a day, but I don’t touch anything except water. I would rather die of starvation than willingly marry my father’s killer.
The door on the other side of the room opens and Maria walks in. We were best friends once. Until she started fucking my father. I wonder when she decided to switch to Diego Rivera—my father’s best friend, business partner, and as of five days ago, his killer.
“There is no point in this, Angelina,” Maria says and comes to stand before me with her hands on her hips. “You will marry Diego one way or another. Why choose the harder way?”
I cross my arms and lean against the wall. “And why don’t you?” I ask. “You are already fucking him. Why stop there?”
“Diego would never marry a servant’s daughter. But he will continue fucking me.” She gifts me one of her particularly condescending looks. “I doubt he’ll want to touch you now, Manny Sandoval’s daughter or not. You were never anything special, but now you look half dead.”
“You could ask him to let me go and have him all for yourself.”
I can’t imagine how she stomachs having that pig touch her. Diego is older than my father was, and he stinks. I will always associate the smell of stale sweat and bad cologne with him.
“Oh, I would. Gladly.” She smiles. “If I thought it would work. Diego believes that taking over your father’s business contracts will go much smoother with the Sandoval princess as his wife. He will wait a day, maybe two more. Then, he’ll drag you to the altar. He has been incredibly patient with you, Angelina. You shouldn’t test him much longer.” She takes the plate with the untouched food and leaves the room, locking the door behind her.
I lie down on my bed and watch the curtains billow on the light evening breeze. I’ve been feeling dizzy s
I still can’t believe that my dad is gone. Maybe he wasn’t the best father on the planet, but he was my father. Work always came first for Manuel Sandoval, which wasn’t unusual. No one expected the head of one of the three biggest Mexican cartels to spend a day playing hide-and-seek with his kid, or anything like that, but he loved me in his own way. A sad smile forms on my lips. Manny Sandoval might not have come to my recitals or helped me with homework, but he made sure I knew how to shoot almost as good as any of his men.
Male laughter reaches me from the patio, making me shudder. That lying bastard and his men are still celebrating. It wasn’t enough that he killed my father, the man he did business with for more than a decade. Oh, no. He took over his home and his business contracts. And now, he wants to take his daughter as well.
I close my eyes and recall the day when Diego came to our house. Nobody suspected anything because for years he had visited my father at least once a month. When we realized what was happening, it was already too late.
I shouldn’t have attacked Diego that day. The only thing it bought me was a blow across the face that made me see stars. When I saw my father’s body lying on the floor, with blood pooling on either side, I couldn’t think straight. Killing the asshole was the only thing on my mind. Instead of waiting for a better opportunity, I completely disregarded his two soldiers, took one of the decorative swords hanging on the office wall, and lunged at Diego. His men caught me before I even came close to their boss. And laughed. And then they laughed some more when Diego slapped me across the face, almost dislocating my jaw.
I’m amazed he hasn’t come to fuck me already. He’s probably busy raping the girls he’s brought and locked up in the basement before he ships them off to the men who bought them. I wonder if he’ll sell me too, or if he’ll just kill me when he realizes I’d rather die than have anything to do with him.
I bury my face into the pillow.
* * *
The sound of someone's rushed steps wakes me from my sleep. Slowly and without opening my eyes, I reach under the pillow and wrap my hand around the armrest of the chair I disassembled three days ago. I placed my makeshift weapon there for when Diego finally decides to visit me.
“Angelinita!” A hand grabs my shoulder and shakes me. “Wake up. We don’t have much time.”
“Nana?” I sit up in the bed and squint my eyes at my childhood nanny. “How did you get in?”
“Come on! And be quiet.” She grabs my hand and ushers me out of the room.
They’ve kept me prisoner in my room, and I haven’t eaten for five days straight. My feet drag as I try to keep up with my old and frail nana, who practically drags me along the hallway and down two sets of stairs until we reach the kitchen. Diego doesn’t post guards inside the house, and the other staff leave around ten. It must be well into the night, then, since we don’t run into anyone.
Nana moves me to stand in front of the glass door that leads to the backyard and points with her finger. “See that truck? They’re leaving in twenty minutes. Diego is sending drugs to the Italians in Chicago, and he told me to send one of the girls with the cargo as a present.” She looks up at me. “You’re going instead.”
“What? No.” I put my hand on her wrinkled cheek while leaning myself on the wall with the other in case my legs give out. “Diego will kill you.”
“You are going. I won’t let that son of a bitch have you.”
“Nana . . .”
“When you get to Chicago, you can stay with some of your American friends from your studies. Diego won’t dare cross the border to come after you.”
“I don’t have any papers or a passport. What will I do when I get there?” I skip mentioning that I don’t have that many friends there either. “And the driver will recognize me.”
“He probably won’t, you look terrible. But we’ll make sure, just in case.”
She reaches into the drawer, takes out scissors, and starts cutting my shorts and T-shirt in a couple of places. When she’s done, there is barely any cloth left to cover my boobs and ass. Just like Diego likes it.
“Now, the hair.”
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and turn my back to her. I don’t let the tears fall as Nana shreds my waist-long hair until it barely reaches my shoulders in slightly uneven strands.
“As soon as you reach Chicago, contact Liam O’Neil,” she says. “He can help you get the papers and a new passport.”
“I don’t think that’s wise, considering the situation. What if O’Neil tells Diego I’m there?” My father did business with the Irish for the past year, but he was never a fan of their leader. He called Liam O’Neil a “tricky bastard”.
“You have to risk it. No one else can get you forged documents.”
I stare at the floor where black strands of hair lie around my bare feet. It’ll grow back . . . if I live to see that happen.
Nana taps me on the shoulder. “Turn around.”
When I do, she grabs a flowerpot with her favorite agave plant from the table, takes a handful of soil, and starts smearing the dirt over on my arms and legs. She takes a step back, looks at me, then spreads a little bit of it on my forehead as well.
“Good.” She nods.
I look down at myself. My hip bones are protruding, and my stomach looks sunken. I was always on the thin side, but now my body looks like someone sucked every piece of flesh from it, leaving only skin and bones. I definitely resemble the girls Diego locked away in the basement. When I look up, Nana is watching me with tears in her eyes.
“Take this.” She grabs a bag that has been hanging on the chair and thrusts it in my hands. “Some food and water. I didn’t dare to put money in, in case the driver decides to check it.”
I wrap my arm around her, bury my face in the crook of her neck, and inhale the smell of powdery fabric softener and cookies. It reminds me of childhood, summer days, and love. “I can’t leave you, Nana.”
“No time for that.” She sniffs. “Let’s go. Head down and don’t speak.”
Outside, holding on to my upper arm, she drags me toward the truck parked in front of the service building.
“It’s about time, Guadalupe,” the driver barks and throws his cigarette on the ground. “Get her in the back. We’re late.”
“You don’t want to get near her.” Nana pushes me around the driver. “The bitch vomited all over herself. She stinks.”
I keep my head down and try not to trip as I jump inside the back of the truck. My legs are trembling from the strain of trying to hold myself upright. I duck behind one of the boxes and turn to look at Nana Guadalupe one last time, but the big, sliding door drops down with a bang before I can catch a glimpse. The dark is complete, and a minute later, the engine roars to life.
The phone in my back pocket rings. I send the knife I’ve been holding in my right hand flying, then reach for the phone and take the call.
“Yes?”
“The Italians’ shipment just left Mexico,” Roman Petrov, the Bratva’s pakhan says from the other side. “I need you to go with Mikhail when the men head out to intercept it tomorrow night.”
“Oh? Does this mean I’m allowed in the field again?”
When I joined the Russian Bratva four years ago, I started as a foot soldier, and during these past years, I climbed the ladder to the pakhan’s inner circle. I handled the field duties until a year ago when Roman banned me from them.
“No. This will be a one-time deal. Anton is still in hospital, and we’re short-handed, or I would never send you.”
“Your motivational speeches require serious work.” I fling the next knife through the air.
“When you’re motivated, the body count tends to climb through the roof, Sergei.”
I roll my eyes. “What do you need me to do?”
“Rig their truck and blow the thing. It will have to be while the driver stops to sleep, because our intel says that there’s a girl on the truck with the drugs. We need to get her out first. Mikhail will call you later with more details.”
“Okay.”
“And make sure it’s just the truck that gets blown up this time,” he barks and cuts the call.
