Perfect Monster: A Fake Marriage Mafia Romance (The Oligarchs)

Roman wiped his hands on a towel and stepped out of the car. His clothes were stained red and he sighed as he headed toward the house.

“Check with Roza and send feelers out to the other Oligarchs,” he said, waving as he walked up the steps. He moved slowly, like a weight pressed down on his shoulders.

The weight of the fucking world.

That was one reason I didn’t envy my employer.

“Will do, boss. I’m sure they’re on the verge of losing their shit.”

“A war should keep them busy for a while.” He disappeared into the house and down into his ridiculous bunker.

Any other guy, and I’d think he was overly paranoid.

Nobody needed a bunker. Except for maybe the President, but even he probably wasn’t important enough. There were lots of slimy politicians that could take the President’s place if he got whacked.

There were no other Roman in this world.

And I would bet my fanciest knife that more people wanted my boss dead than the leader of the free world.

Which made my job that much harder, and that much more rewarding.

That was another reason I didn’t envy him.

One of my men, a young guy named Rocco, came running up from the side security shed with his rifle bouncing against his chest. He was sweating, out of shape, and his eyes bugged out ever so slightly.

Which wasn’t a good sign.

“Erick, oh shit,” he said, huffing and puffing. This guy was a fucking former Marine, did several tours of Iraq, and was an all-around bad ass dude, and there he was gasping for air like he couldn’t run a mile.

I was going to have to mandate cardio for these lazy bastards.

“You sound like you smoke a pack a day. You’re out of shape.”

“I know. Fuck, I’m getting fat. It’s this fucking job.”

“Yeah, blame the job. What’s going on?”

“We got an intruder.”

That sent ice down my spine.

See, Roman, he’s very good at what he does.

He’s the face of the business. He’s out there signing deals, paying off mafia families, moving shipments of weapons around the Middle East, bribing Sultans, making nice with blue-blood royalty, that sort of shit.

But I was everything behind the scenes.

I worked hard to keep Roman’s dealings off the radar. The Oligarchs are secretive by nature—they’re a bunch of uber-wealthy, stupidly-powerful men that like to play God and influence geopolitics for the hell of it, so yeah, it’s in their interest to keep their names out of the media—and I’m the one that makes sure it happens for Roman.

Which means nobody knows where his bunker is located.

Only the people I vet and hire.

And Roza, but she barely counts.

In all the years I’ve known Roman, we’ve never had a leak. There was an intruder one time, but it was some drunk local kid searching for a place to piss. I put the fear of death in that little bastard and he won’t be talking to anyone or returning anytime soon.

This wasn’t the same thing. I could see it in Rocco’s expression.

He was spooked, and Marines didn’t spook easy.

“Take me to him.”

Rocco turned on his heel and strode off. I followed down the drive, along a blacktop pathway that I was sure Roman had never once stepped foot on, and into a small side room that was built to resemble a fancy detached garage.

Inside was a security fortress. The grounds were wired and covered in cameras top to bottom. An ant didn’t shit without me knowing about it. Several of my guys sat around looking at monitors, pretending to be busy—which was bullshit, but I appreciated the hustle. Rocco took me down a short side hallway, and into a small interrogation closet.

The man was young, mid-twenties, with a gaunt face and dark hair. He looked at me with no expression at all. Mikey, another one of my contractors, sat across from him smoking a cigarette.

“Everyone out.”

Mike jumped up, glanced back at the prisoner, then got out of there. My boys know not to question my orders.

Rocco shut the door and locked it.

The prisoner stared. He looked like a tourist. Shorts, polo shirt. Clean shaven.

But I knew a player when I saw one. He should’ve been terrified—but he was eerily calm.

“You want to skip the games and start talking, or should I take my time?”

He tilted his head. “I guess you’re Erick.”

I pulled out the chair and sat. “And you are?”

“My name’s Roger. Well, one of my names, anyway.”

“Okay, Roger. I appreciate you not trying to pretend like you’re some lost bird-watcher.”

“I thought about playing that game with your men, but I doubt I’d fool you.”

“That saves us a lot of time. So here’s the thing, I’m most likely going to kill you, but you can save your life if you’re willing to work with me.”

“I understand. I need money and an escape route.”

“I can provide cash but the escape’s on you. If we’re caught working with an Oligarch’s man, then we might have some serious problems.”

He hesitated, calculating. “Alright. I can handle that.”

“Good. And thank you for confirming that you’re from an Oligarch.” He grimaced. I smiled and waved a hand. “Don’t feel bad. It’s a high-pressure situation. Easy to make a rookie mistake.

“Half a million and assurances. Then I’ll talk.”

“Done. Half a million and my word that you’ll leave the grounds alive.”

He sucked in a breath and let it out. “Darren Servant sent me.”

“Well fuck.” I drummed my fingers on the table. Not professional, but I couldn’t help it.

If Darren Servant knew about this location, we were going to have a massive problem.

The Bunker was Roman’s favorite home. It was his most secure place in the entire world. It was his freaking fortress of solitude, and nobody knew about it, especially not the other Oligarchs.

Now we had a breach.

And worst of all, it was Darren fucking Servant.

I hated that guy.

“He doesn’t know what’s inside, if it makes you feel any better. He knows there’s something underground, but the place is pretty well shielded, which is why he sent me.”

“Looks like you weren’t much help.”

He shrugged like it was no big thing. “You have good security.”

“Damn right I do.” I pushed my chair back. “Alright, you got anything else for me?”

“One more thing.” Roger, or whatever his name was, glanced up to the camera in the corner. “Turn that off.”

I arched my eyebrows. “That serious, huh?”

“Please.”

I poked my head outside. “Turn off the cameras,” I called out.

A second later, the red LED winked off.

I gestured for him to go ahead.

Roger cleared his throat. Now the fucker looked nervous. “Darren’s taking this whole thing pretty seriously. I’ve never seen him arm up like this before and I’ve worked with him for a few years now on some very deep shit. I think he intends to do your boss harm, and I think he intends to do it soon.”

“How soon? What kind of threat are we looking at here?”

“He bought a shipment of very illegal gas from some shady men from the Balkans last week.”

I whistled. “Gas? That’s pretty intense.” But wouldn’t work: the bunker was equipped some of the most insane air scrubbing technology on the market. The first sign of gas would shut the whole system down until the stuff could be filtered out before it ever reached anyone’s lungs, even assuming Darren had some way to inject it, which he wouldn’t. So the gas was a red herring.

“He also knows about the girl, and I think he plans on doing something to her.”

Now that was more interesting.

We knew that, of course. Roman wasn’t hiding Cassie.

But if Darren wanted to target her, that might be a problem.

She was a liability.

“Thanks for the information. I’ll take it under advisement.”

Roger nodded at me, glanced at the camera, then down at the table. “Darren’s weak right now. Whatever’s going on with the Irish, they’ve been pushing back against his orders. If you wanted to strike, now’s the time.”

I stared at him for a long moment. “I’ll consider about it.”

“Sure. You do that. And hey, if you ever need another guy to help out around here, I’m looking for a job.”

I smiled and left the room.

Rocco met me outside. “What do you think?”

“Take him out beyond the fence and shoot him in the skull.”

Rocco nodded. “Yes, boss. But, uh, didn’t you promise to let him leave?”

“I promised to let him exit the grounds safely. That fucker in there’s trying to bait me into attacking Darren. This whole fucking thing’s a honeypot. Put a bullet in his head and be done with it.”

“Yes, sir.”

I walked off, pissed as hell.

Roman needed to know, but not yet. I had to do a little research first before I burst his bubble. Let him have some time to clean the blood off his hands, at least.

The guy deserved it. Been a hard few weeks.

But that Roger spook in there, I couldn’t believe a word he said. Maybe the gas thing was true, but the rest of it was garbage, absolute trash spewing from his lips.

He wanted to goad me into making a move on Darren, and it almost worked.

But Oligarchs didn’t attack each other like that and he should’ve known it. Any Oligarch that made a direct move against another would end up killed by all the others. It was an unspoken rule they all followed, and the one rule I knew I could never, ever break.

Killing Roger was no big deal. Darren would never admit Roger was his guy—that would be like admitting he made the first move. Roger was fair game. But anything more direct, anything without good cover, that couldn’t happen.

We fucked with each other in the shadows. It was a cold war we fought, pitting proxies against each other.

But nothing direct. That was the rule.

Trying to get us to go for Darren was like trying to make us commit suicide.

The fucker was playing a game.

Problem was, why?

What did Darren want from all this?

Except for what they always wanted: more power.

Rocco emerged from the closet a moment later with Roger in tow. He nodded at me and I nodded back.

Dead man walking. Poor bastard. Wasn’t good enough.

I turned away and began to plan, worry tangling up my guts.