The Dysfunctional Mob – Part 17


Daniels’ Security had a slush fund built up and from that, I could afford to have clients that couldn’t pay much for our services and Alex’s services.  This meant if you needed a bodyguard for whatever reason, you could get one for a fraction the cost at Daniels’ Security as you could normally.  Expanding operations into security in Russia and Mexico really wouldn’t hurt us at all.  Considering rich people would still pay outrageous sums to be protected and normal people could then afford to hire us for things like keeping them from being kidnapped while they were on their honeymoons.  I liked the idea.  I had been kidnapped more than once and it was never a great experience and I had been given training in being kidnapped. 

In that department, Apex was right, I did compare myself to the psychopaths around me more than I should.  I wasn’t emotionally stunted like Malachi, Aislinn, and even Anthony to some degree, but I also wasn’t exactly in a risk-free job or have a risk-free life.  I was more than capable of making my own decisions and putting plans into action and protecting and rescuing myself most of the time.  I forgot this because everyone around me was also uniquely capable of protecting themselves and more often than not, rescuing me.  However, just like I was going to try embracing my Russianness, I was going to have to try and remind myself of these little things more and more often, I was not a fragile violet.  I had survived being mauled by a tiger, kidnapped by a drug lord, kidnapped by a deranged madman looking for his wife so that the Italian mob wouldn’t kill him, and being blown up on a few occasions. 

So, what if I occasionally killed a microwave or knocked over a vase of flowers.  I was human, which meant I came with flaws.  I would have to add it to my daily affirmations to remind myself I had been trained by mercenaries and law enforcement officers to not be a victim.  “You are concentrating on something very hard,” Zeke whispered to me.  I looked at him like he had just materialized out of thin air for a moment.

“Aren’t you supposed to be training these guys for tomorrow?”  I asked him, ignoring his questioning gaze.  There was no need to tell him what I had been thinking about.  He would probably laugh at it anyway. 

“I will, once the mob boss that you called leaves, plus it’d be nice to have a hand from Vasilli and since those two things are linked, I have to wait.”  Zeke told me.

“Fine.  You don’t have to do a full training course tonight, just enough so that they don’t get dead tomorrow and so that if we need them, we don’t get dead due to inefficacy.”

“Well, it’d be better if I had like a week,” Zeke pointed out.

“I have faith that you can do this,” I told him.

“I know you do.”

“That should be a good thing, most men complain their wives aren’t supportive enough, I believe you are capable of just about anything and you treat it like it’s a bad thing.”

“Sometimes, your expectations exceed my abilities,” Zeke leaned in and kissed me on the forehead.  “I am glad you were kidnapped by the honorable kidnappers in Russia and that you’re okay.”

“Me too,” I told him taking the military knife back from him.  I handed it back to the guy I had gotten it from.  “Just stuck it out of the sight for now, you don’t want to have it out when my cousin and the mob shows up.”

“Do you guys have guns?”  Zeke asked him.

“No, I do not like to use them for these things.”  The man said tucking the knife under his shirt into the waistband of his pants.  “Guns make people crazy and it is impossible for people to remain calm when there is a gun involved.”

“I thought I saw a gun when you took Nadine.”

“Plastic,” the man pointed to the car.  “Americans are more compliant when they think you have a gun.  However, it is hard to accidentally stab someone, much easier to accidentally shot someone.”

“Ethical and smart,” I told Zeke.  Zeke nodded a few times and then walked over to the car.  He looked at the guns that had been put on the floorboard on the passenger’s side of the car.  In the light of the large warehouse, it was obvious the guns were fake.  They weren’t the right color and they looked cheap.

There was a loud crunching noise from the other side of the room and a car roared into the warehouse. 

“Oh look, the mob,” I shouted to Zeke across the warehouse floor.  Zeke didn’t respond, instead he moved away from the car.  There was no need for mobsters to know I had been kidnapped with fake guns. 

Sure enough, the doors of the Mercedes opened and Vasilli got out of the driver’s side.  I had all sorts of questions about my cousin, but they weren’t the kinds of things you asked family members.  At least not in my family, asking someone if they enjoyed playing footsie with mobsters ranked up there next to asking if they liked being a prostitute, even though both existed in my mother’s rather large family, it wasn’t something that was spoken about and you certainly didn’t ask questions about it.

“Miss Daniels are these the animals that kidnapped you?”  The man I assumed was (No idea what the mobster’s name was, need to go look it up).

“No, these guys heard me scream and came to investigate,” I lied.  “After I called you, my kidnappers cut the zip ties and fled, leaving me in this building.  I yelled because I twisted my ankle when they snatched me, and I wasn’t sure I could walk out of here without assistance.  These guys and Zeke showed up at the same time.  They said they watched my kidnappers leave and could probably identify them in a line up, so we let them hang around with us while we waited on Vasilli and my uncle to arrive.”

“You called your uncle as well?”

All rights reserved.  Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author.

This book is a work of fiction.  Any names, places, characters, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination and are purely fictitious.  Any resemblances to any persons, living or dead, are completely coincidental.

Copyright © Hadena James 2016

All Rights Reserved

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