Night Of One Hundred Bullets: Conclusion free porn video

Part 6: Gavriil Zakharov Spending her nights like this meant Leona Jade usually ached from sex. Pavel Danek had been shoving his massive penis into Leona's bottom for a couple of weeks now. Each time her ultimate pleasure pain as he filled and stretched every inch of her insides, her explosion of joyous ejaculatory orgasms, and the sensation of being satisfied by a man, subsided when the act was over and was followed by simply pain. Now her jaw and her throat ached too as she was slowly learning to take Pavel in her mouth. As she had expected, it was a more an uphill exercise than simply letting the horse hung man ramrod her ass. During the times Pavel Danek got too carried away while fucking her, she could shove her face in a pillow, or bite her hand to stifle the screams, and just ride it out. But when she tried to swallow him, though, every nerve in her body told her she was choking. She imagined, loosely, being waterboarded was something close to this. But Pavel Danek's prison wife back in the Ukraine was able to do it, so Leona was determined to do it. And she was also determined to make this rhinoceros love her as much as he did the girl stolen from his protection. Leona was disadvantaged by not having the soul of an artist to work with so she would need to compensate with better sex and companionship. Pavel was a man Leona needed completely on her side for a variety of reasons big and small. But the truth was, she was surprisingly enjoying her time with the man. He was straightforward but far more complex and intelligent than he let on. Leona suspected this was a mechanism for protection; let people believe he was just a giant unthinking brute, someone to underestimate. But Leona noticed the little things. Like how when he grew tired, his English and vocabulary became better not worse. And at any time, no matter how sophisticated a word she threw out there, he knew what it meant. His "how to say in English ...?" questions were a charade, as far as Leona was concerned, he knew exactly "how to say in English." That didn't mean she didn't understand he could be, and was, a dangerous man. He was first and foremost a killer. Before his demotion to running club security, he had long been the one the mob marched out when backs needed to be broken and necks wrung. "You ask too many questions. If you didn't have a penis, I would swear you were a cop." Pavel's voice was stern, but Leona had quickly learned to read the subtleties in his face."I do have a penis. So I'm not a cop. I just find it fascinating that's all," She curled up next to Pavel, nuzzling in his massive neck, and running her hand over his dick slowly stroking waiting to see how long until he was ready again. Since they began sleeping together regularly, their activities had moved from Pavel's office to his apartment. His was more modest than Sandra's - most were - but that wasn't to say it wasn't luxurious in its own right. "I'm American. We love crime stories. Look at the 'Godfather' movies. They're decades old and people still watch them regularly. So, this Gavriil Zakharov, nobody really knows what he looks like ...?" "No, no," Pavel disagreed, "lots of people know. Just none of the US police know. So when that helicopter was crashed on purpose in the ocean it wasn't Gavriil in there. That is why the body suddenly washed up all decomposed three weeks after the crash. Ocean tides don't work like that. It was a plant. What leader of an international crime family carries a wallet full of IDs to conveniently confirm his dead body? Bosses do not carry wallets. They pay for nothing. They do not drive. Lieutenants do. There was a library card and Disneyland pass with his name put in the wallet as a joke. 'Definitive evidence' the police called it. We laughed at them for months about this. We still do." "DNA? Dental?" "Those thing only work when the people who have them in Russia can be trusted not to fake the results because their families will be killed. Again, we laughed at the police about this. It is a wonder they stop crime at all in this city. Still, Gavriil is a shit. He may be clever, and we may laugh, but that does not mean I like the dog." Leona's hands began to move quicker, stroking the massive cock up and down. Pavel was begin to grow again. "Does anyone see Gavriil? Does he come to the club?" His penis was coming to full attention. Leona half half wondered if she took him again so soon if it would destroy her insides. Pavel was grunting with Leona's strokes. Maybe she could just jerk him off like she used to. "Sometimes. But it is rare. He has a bunch of strippers from the club shipped to different parties he hosts." "So the strippers see him?" Leona's hand was moving up and down his pole at full speed at this point, his engorged massive member began to leak sperm from its tip as he got closer to shooting his load. She noted, with some relief, that she would be able to bring him off with her hand. With a moaning grunt he lifted his hips off the bed. Leona plunged his shaft into her wet mouth going as far down as possible. Relaxing her throat, she was able to get him in further than the last try by a couple of inches. Just as she had him firmly between her lips and down her throat, he exploded. The warm sticky sperm shot straight down the back of her throat, coating the entire inside of her mouth on its way. She fought the gag reflex but didn't release his shaft until he was fully expired and soft again. It wasn't a full cock sucking, but it was a minor victory nonetheless. She put her head back onto his chest and he stroked her hair absent mindedly. "Strippers make a lot of money, don't they? That's what the girls say anyway." Leona continued her questioning from exactly where she had left off. "More money than the hostess with the big giant rubber boobs underneath her skin tight top?" Pavel gestured to Leona's breasts. Men were visual creatures. Leona was never topless around Pavel, always wore a shirt to keep the visual side of the illusion more real for him. "No, I don't think they make more money than you. But they do make a lot." He sat up on his arm. Thinking he was reading Leona's mind, he explained the hard truth, "What you are thinking can not be done." Leona was convinced otherwise and said, "It's topless only." "Yes you are as pretty as any stripper. But even if you turned your giant fake boobs into real giant fake boobs," the irony built into his turn of phrase made him chuckle. It was a low, rumbling sound, "you still have a dick. I've seen how you, and the girl-men back at the prison can tuck them not to be seen. But you've never been to a club like that, have you? In a strip club, there is only a panty and underneath another little tiny bitty stitch of cloth between the legs. Men touch it. Girls grind it on men during lap dances. Girls pull it aside to give a peek when men say they will tip extra. This is as it is. There is no way around this. No way to hide a penis. And I know you will not cut off your ... how to say in English ...? long clitoris to make it a pussy." Leona nodded. She enjoyed her female existence, but it was the existence as it was now, she was not remotely considering surgeries that couldn't be reversed. They lay silently together. Leona could hear the large man's stomach rumble. "Waitress." He said at last. "I knew girls like you in the Ukraine. You are attracted to danger. It is why you are not afraid of me, are so good to me, even though you know what I am. I understand this. Mob men are glamorous to some people like the movie stars who play in The Gold Standard are glamorous to others. So ... if you are dying to be in the strip club and see all the big bad gangsters and smell the danger, you can do it as a waitress. Topless, but with skirt and stockings so there is no showing what is truly between the legs. But you will only do this waitress job for a little while. I like you in the main club, where we can be together. I will make the waitress thing happen. I will even buy you the big fake boobs as a gift." He smiled, before adding, "A gift to me!" "Pavel Vasyl Danek!" Leona half yelled, half giggled, punching the large man in the arm. ********* Dan Corvetti studied the homicide file in front of him. Something in this puzzle didn't quite fit correctly, and Dan hated when he couldn't see the picture clearly. Despite the late hour the station was still crowded, uniforms moved in and out and detectives like Dan worked on cases at their small desks, burning the midnight oil. Los Angeles may not be the town that never sleeps like New York, but it wasn't exactly going to bed at 10pm either. A female uniform cop walked in a young woman. A prostitute, Dan thought paying her little attention, although from getting a another quick look at her, a higher end one, definitely not a street walker. Her clothing hid none of her ample assets, promoted them in fact, but these clothes were expensive and far from the usual curbside advertisement for goods services for sale. From the price of the clothes on her back, and her assured demeanor in the middle of a police station, there was more than an outside chance she wasn't a sex worker at all but bimbo turned young trophy wife. It was only when the officer pointed her to Dan's desk and the woman walked over did he get a better look. The hauntingly familiar face, reminding him of a young version of his wife Cynthia, made Dan bite his lip in anguish for just a moment. It did not last long, seconds later his fist clenched white with anger. This was no high end call girl or trophy wife. It was his son Lee. Or, Dan thought bitterly, what was left of him. The most obvious change from the boy, who already looked like a girl when Dan kicked him from the house months ago, were large breasts spilling from the black t-shirt underneath his gray, silk, form fitting women's business jacket. His son had made very slight change to his nose as well, because what little masculinity there had been - the tell tale male indentation below the brow - had been wiped completely. What now sat on his face was an exact replicas of Cynthia's nose. The brows were plucked and thin and the hair on his head was no longer a wig. Where he once wore clip on earrings, his ears were now pierced. The jewelry adorning his wrists and fingers, as well as the sparkling chain designed to draw attention to the obscenely large mounds pressed together beneath his jacket, all look quite real, and quite pricey. The skirt was very short, riding just inches below his crotch, and the black leather slingbacks were as high a shoe as Dan had seen. His son was wearing black hose. Dan tried not to let his fury show to the escorting officer, although she noted his balled up fists. "This young lady wished to see you. I was surprised you were still here. Helping out with vice Dan?" the officer asked slyly. It was a comment meant to slip by Leona Jade, a causal insult noting they thought she looked like a high class whore. Leona, however, was having none of it. "I don't believe Detective Corvetti has worked a vice case in quite a number of years. So if you are trying to say something about me officer, please just come out and say it." Leona fixed the officer with a pleasant gaze and smile. "I'm Leona Rossi, his niece. And not 'niece' in air quotes either." The officer smiled back tightly, but quickly left the two alone. "Do you have an office ... Uncle Dan?" "Don't call me that! I'm not here to play your games!" Dan snapped back, perhaps more loudly than he had intended, because several heads looked up at him from their work. He calmed himself, "Detectives do not have offices. You would know this if at any point in your life you would have paid attention to what ... your 'uncle' did for a living. I thought I made myself clear the last time I saw you." He was whispering now, "I don't know what you've done to yourself. And I don't know why you're here. Maybe to come out of the closet, or tell me about your sex change, or your new circus act or whatever. But I don't care. I need for you to leave." Leona didn't leave. Instead she sat back in her chair and crossed her legs, popping her shoe loose from its strap, dangling it casually as she pulled a mint from her clutch bag."Mint?" Dan was losing control and was certain he was going to punch this pseudo woman who used to be his son. "Gavriil Zakharov is alive, very much so." "Zakharov has been dead for some time. You know this. Everyone knows this. I'm not sure what this is, but don't you think you've caused enough pain?" "Disneyland season pass? Library card? A pictureless driver's license from a back ass county in Mississippi was your 'definitive evidence' identifying a Russian mobster? A man who never even stepped foot in Mississippi? Really? You do realize the Zakharov crime family laughs about you people to this very day, right?" The anger Dan was feeling was replaced by professional curiosity. "Say that again." Leona turned her head to wink at the detective she noticed watching her from across the room. As she intended, he quickly put his head down and went back to work. "Which part? The part about how no law enforcement agencies or Interpol had dental or DNA? Or how you had to rely on some dentist way over in Russia for both? Some dentist who probably had his family tied up in a basement by Zakharov operatives? That part?" "None of that was -" Leona interrupted her father to complete his sentence "None of that was released to the press. Part of sealed files. Only a handful of people know this. I know, right? Sounds like one of those things from the movies. But here we sit." Dan had straightened up. He scrambled around his desk pulling out his pocket notebook, flipping frantically to an empty page. "You're right. All of it. How do you know this?" "You don't want to know." "I probably don't," he answered. "But allow me to explain what happens here. Based on what you tell me, I'm going to go into my boss's office and call someone from the organized crime task force. They will not want to believe this. They will want this case to remain closed. The Zakharov incident was the biggest embarrassment in modern police history. I will need something very strong to go on. The very first thing they are going to ask me is 'how do I know this?' And I am going to say ...?" "Nothing. You are going to say nothing. I don't know that you can pick up that phone. I don't know that you'll want to. Where do I start ...?" Leona sighed, "The way this goes down is so messy, so convoluted, so sensational, that it would open the tabloid floodgates again. More, because instead of the vultures being so spread out picking the bones of many families, as they did the night so many died, they would have only one family's life to turn upside down." "I'm not concerned about news people or tabloid websites. Just tell me." "You're not hearing me. I will explain very clearly why this won't work. You'd have to pick up that phone and say: 'Hi. This is Dan Corvetti. My son, who looks nothing like a son, works in a nightclub owned by a mob shell company. Makes thousands a night. She ... because believe me he's all but a she ... she works, by the way, as a topless waitress in the strip club section. When she is not getting tips stuffed in her stockings by mobsters, city councilors, state senators and film stars, she is fucking a disgruntled Ukrainian mob fixer. One so notorious he did time in a Ukrainian prison kept completely off the grid so Amnesty International wouldn't get a whiff. Lucky for us, the Ukrainian fixer has semi-retired to run security for the club, and has no love for Zakharov. So after they engage in vigorous anal sex, the well known killer likes to pillow talk'." "My god ..." Dan said. "I know. There's a lot of 'my god' all through what I told you. And none of that touches on the obvious. That someone in this department talks to the Russian mob. That's how your 'Night of One Hundred Bullets' happened in the first place. Where you suspect a mole. I know there's a mole. It is one of the many things my mobster boyfriend whispers after I suck his cock." "Who? Who is the mole." "I don't know who. And I know not to ask blatant questions that will sour this particular fixer's disposition toward me. If this man got mad enough, and I'm not just using hyperbole here, he could probably fuck me to death." Dan looked at his son for a long while. It was clear she ... because he agrees, this stranger that was once his son is a "she" ... she is still trying to hurt Dan as much as she possibly can. She is lashing out angrily and shoving her lifestyle right in Dan's face, every sordid detail. Yet, here she is leading Dan to clues which could right one of the greatest wrongs to ever occur in this city. Bring justice for his wife, her mother. There had to be a reason for that. She wanted things to be set right as much as he did. Dan needed to push through the hate being thrown at him and get to the meat of this. "Okay. You make good points. But I'm the cop here. I think there are ways we can keep this between just a few trusted people and get Zakharov, assuming what you say is true. Tell me what you know ." "I will. I will tell you everything I can and still stay out of harm's way. But a question first: have you ever heard the name Pazzini?" ******* One week later Leona swirled through crowd tray in hand. Terrible rock music from decades gone by pumped across through the speakers mixed in with the latest rap tunes. Girls slid across stage seductively, slid down poles, and crawled on their hands and knees collecting the money tossed at them. Other women not actively dancing patrolled the floor in circles looking to sell lap dances. In corner booths all across the giant space, men ran their hands across women's bodies, who in turn grinded those bodies all over their stiffened parts. As always, a good number of the patrons were having a genuinely good time. But too many others had a cloud of creepy desperation sticking to them like a stink. Men bumped her, hands first, to get a feel of her naked breasts. She had learned from her first night how to hold the tray a bit loosely, like a shock absorber, to control the drinks perched on them when bumped. The primary thing she learned was how to control her temper from the many inappropriate hands touching her. Her skirt - a mini barely covering her ass and the penis tucked and taped securely between her legs under a large panty shield - was extremely tight, but the upside was her heels were no more than three and half inches; lower than any pair she had ever worn. After so many weeks in five inch and higher, these felt like tennis shoes. Across the floor Leona spotted her target. A squat Russian man, Mikhail Tutov, who was known by his nickname "Two Fires." Leona had laughed at the name upon first hearing it, thinking it sounded more like a made up Native American name by way of a 1950s Hollywood hack. Upon learning two fires was the man's preferred way of killing, lighting a fire at the front and back entrances of buildings, leaving his victims to burn inside, she was given a quick reminder that very little was funny about these men. Invading Two Fires personal space, she pressed her large mounds against his arm. "I heard a rumor, don't ask me which girl because I won't say ... I heard a rumor that some girls may get to go to a private party tonight. I would just love to be invited to a private party." Tutov looked Leona up and down appreciatively, but his eyes showed reservation. "You're right. There is a party. But the parties are for dancers. There's plenty of bartenders and waitresses." Leona pushed into him a little closer. Her tits were now pressed firmly against his body, her leg rubbed lightly against his crotch. He made note and laughed out loud. "One. I'm one of the top guys at a club full of naked girls, many of which grind on me all day. And as spectacular as yours clearly are, it will take more than a pair of tits on me to make me all loopy with your charm. Two. You don't dance. We only take dancers, and I've got plenty of servers most as pretty as you. And no offense, but the real kind. Not like the ones roaming around here. " Leona expected this, and put on a fake disappointed look. "Pavel Danek said at dinner last night it would be good for me to go. Get out of the club a little bit and make some big money." "Wait. You're the girl Pavel's banging? I thought for sure you'd have to be six foot three. How does that man not break you? None of my business." Leona grinned at the man as if this were a complement, but Two Fires stepped back from Leona warily. "You trying to get my legs smashed to dust rubbing on me with your tits like that? I've seen what that man can do. Back in the Ukraine I saw him take a man and with his hands and .... if Pavel ever thought me and you .... Tell you what. I'll make an exception for Danek's girl. Maybe you can stand around a be decoration or something. Just stay out of the way. And for god sake, don't embarrass yourself dancing. These girls are pros, best around, even Vegas. Dancing at that quality is harder than it looks. "Listen, the girls picked will meet at the east door, you know, that big red one that leads out to the alley, at nine-thirty. That's almost an hour and a half. You can carry a purse, but we'll search it. You can bring makeup, gum that kind of thing only But no phones, no cameras, nothing electronic. You'll have to strip down to you underwear and get checked before getting in the van." "No problem. Got it." Leona needed time to get prepared. She dashed over to the bartender "I've got to go. Radio in to the manager and get someone to cover me." Grabbing a top, Leona left the club and walked across the large parking lot to employee parking. Once in her car, she made the call. "Dan Corvetti." "Dan Corvetti. Leona Jade. I am going to meet our friend tonight. A little over an hour." "Shit, that's soon. I still need to pull things together." Dan responded, apologizing immediately. "Sorry." Dan would never have cursed in front of his children. Even this one, who tried so desperately to hurt him. But the voice he heard on the phone was practically that of a stranger. "Listen," he continued, "You saw how small the GPS I gave you was. So you should be able to hide it somewhere it will not be found?" "I think I know a place that if they search, the least of my worries will be the GPS." Dan, choosing to ignore the comment finished his explanation. "Because it is so small, it doesn't have a great range. Decent range, a few miles, but we'll need to be close. It also doesn't have the greatest battery life but more than enough to get you through a night. In any case, turn it on right before you leave. Than, all you have to do is hang around the party with the GPS turned on. Everything else will take care of itself." Dan softened his tone, adding: "Be careful. Be very safe. Don't do anything stupid." Leona corrected him, "Don't do anything more stupid is probably closer to the truth." Leona was about to switch off the phone when she heard Dan shout "Wait!" "Yes?" "You asked me if I heard the name Pazzini and I said 'no.' But it was bugging me because there was something oddly familiar, so I asked around, and I remembered where I heard it. Before the Russians and Ukrainians moved in, most of California was run by the Italians and Central Americans, who also ran what little organized crime was going on in Arizona. The Italians largest holding was Los Angeles, run by the Pazzini family, as it turns out. When the Russian mob came in there was a quiet, but very costly war. Both families were losing people on both sides at an astronomical rate. Russians are a particularly bloody and brutal in their ways. But suddenly it stopped. A truce. The Italians packed up and left without any more bloodshed. The Russians and the Italians hated each other. This was deeply personal, I was told. So how the truce held up so well for so many years is a bit of a mystery." "Thanks," Leona said hanging up. Could the girl with the Italian name who wasn't Italian, Sandra Pazzini, be involved with the Pazzini mob family? And if so, how? Leona dismissed it. They say it's a small world, but that's a little too small. ***************** Part 7: Family Leona pulled the GPS device from her glove compartment turning it on. It was small, about the size of the face of a watch. Pulling down her panties, she slid the panty liner to one and shoved the object between her legs underneath her tucked penis. Running back inside, she changed out of the short mini back into her standard hosting uniform skirt. The long skirt and hose, should keep unwanted hands at the party from reaching up her skirt. With the GPS wedged between her legs, her penis was not a secure as she would have liked, and she still had the half naked inspection to get through. Leona forwent the usual full coverage top for a tight black tank top and no bra. Best to keep the attention on the upper regions. Mulling outside of the door were fifteen to twenty girls waiting to get into a small luxury bus. Much nicer than the van she assumed they would be taking. Two Fires brought each girl onto the first step of the bus, and had them strip down to their underwear while some else rifled through their belongings in their purse. Leona was standing third in line watching the proceedings. For each girl he checked, Mikhail Tutov pushed aside their panties at the crotch and ran his hand so invasively between their legs, and in and out of their vagina that it was far more a full finger fuck than a search. This was not all business for Two Fires. A second man with a rubber glove he discarded each time, conducted a very quick contraband search by simply shoving his finger in the women's ass and moving it around. He also seemed to be enjoying himself too much. The women looked uncomfortable, but also seemed to expect that it was coming. Leona's knees weakened. She thought about begging out of the party at that point, but Tutov called her onto the step. Leona stripped down to her panties. In her warmest, and what she hoped was endearing voice spoke lowly into Two Fires ear. "I just spoke to Pavel and let him know how nicely you've been treating me. He was very happy to hear this." Two Fires seemed to understand the threat implied. He handed Leona's purse to the checker, and held up one finger indicating to the rubber gloved man to wait. "Turn around. Do a quick turn." Tutov's hand ran across Leona Jade's ass as she turned, but his hand did not go anywhere near her hidden penis, or her stowed away tracking device. "Okay, that'll do. We need to get this moving." He made a show of looking at his watch and told the gang members checking the girls to speed up the process. The trip was shorter than she had expected, just on the outskirts of Los Angeles in the small harbor town of Marina del Rey. On the way, the girls chatted excitedly, some who had been to these parties before, discussing being tipped with fistfuls 50 and 100 dollar bills, and as often as not, extremely expensive jewelry. These were men of overblown pride, each trying to outdo the other, and tipping the dancers was just another way of doing it. Sure, on occasion men would stride into the bathroom - and without permission - shove their penis in dancers' vaginas or asses when they were bent over the sink fixing their makeup. But all the girls seemed to agree it was just the price of doing business, and with tips this astronomical, who could complain? It wasn't like they were virgins, right? Leona, a woman who was not afraid to use sex as a means to an end, still wasn't sure if she should be amused or horrified by the nonchalance in their attitude. Stepping into the party, Leona took in the surroundings. The beach house was unsurprisingly - almost expectedly - decorated with the tacky sense of decor Leona was learning most Russian mobsters, including Pavel, seem to share. Red plush velvet dominated the proceedings as did large statues that would have been better suited for the outdoors and simply served to dwarf the space. Standing in the middle of the room, lording over proceedings was the man who had to be Gavriil Zakharov. He was nothing like Leona Jade had expected. His was a man in his early fifties, thinning blondish hair with gray beginning to mix its way in. He stood just over six feet and had a powerful frame. As the man who was identified as Zakharov in the helicopter crash had been five inches shorter, and ten years older, it just made that much more of a farce of the police work surrounding that matter. Leona knew nothing about mob politics and promotion, but she suspected this man with the meaty hands, and faded knife scar connecting his lip to his eye, didn't rise to power from the computer fraud side of the crime family. He moved about, the Emperor in his kingdom, shaking hands, directing people to open piles of drugs sitting laid out on trays like hors d'oeuvres. He deeply kissed the dancers with all of the confidence of someone who owned them. Underneath his glad handing and smiles, there was the danger about him that many of the men Leona had met lately exuded. But his was mixed with an aura of invincibility, in the ways the other men's did not, which made him the sun which all the planets of this party revolved. She had no real purpose here and in effort to look less awkward, Leona glided around the party, chatted up, and rubbed against men with her well endowed chest. She fetched men drinks, and brought them girls when they looked alone. She treated her role similar to that of hostess at the club with a bit of brothel madam thrown in. The entire time, she kept an eye on Gavriil Zakharov. Toward the end of the night, morning actually, her watch told her it was nearing sunrise Zakharov, called Two Fires over and they engaged in intense conversation as she watched. With the last party goers stumbling out to their cars all armed with drivers, Tutov, rounded up the girls to get onto the bus. Tired, and harassed, most still were pleased with the haul they had brought in for the night. Mikhail Tutov, stopped Leona. "You, lovely girl. Our host was most impressed with you, he would like a word." "But the bus is leaving and Pavel ..." He no longer spoke with the pleasant tone he had earlier in the night. His words words were sharp, angry. "We'll get you where you need to go. And I'm pretty sure your 'Pavel Danek' card has been played out." Tutov was holding her firmly by her upper arm. Leona's blood ran cold. Two Fires guided her into a third floor office overlooking the boats in the harbor. The light of the moon shone across the water into the window. Behind a large glass desk, sitting calmly with his legs crossed was Zakharov. two other men, body guards undoubtedly, lounged in nearby chairs. Zakharov leaned forward, and placed his chin in his hands. "Leona Jade was it?" He asked. "Well that's obviously a made up name, but made up names are not so unusual with dancers and the girls around them. And in an outfit like that you're not wearing a wire ..." Leona's heart skipped a beat. There was a pressure building in her chest making it difficult to breathe. "And besides, Mikhail strips all the girls and searches them. So you're not here to set me up. At least not in the most obvious way." Zakharov fixed his gaze on Leona, his pale blue eyes were bright with threat. "Mr. Zakharov, I have no idea ..." He cut Leona off. "Oh, so you don't have an idea? Luckily, I do. You've been seen meeting with a homicide detective who likes to play Elliot Ness with the mob task force now and again. One Daniel Corvetti, I believe." Leona shook her head in furious denial even knowing she was already sunk. The mob boss smiled humorously and continued, "You'll have to excuse me. I have a weakness for the dramatic. My men tell me this all the time. But, unlike so many others, I feel part of of this business is show business. Like, whoever that gentlemen was who killed all those people, all at once, on that night a few years back. I respected that. That was real showmanship." Leona noted he may not think she was wired, but he was far too smart to directly take credit for the Night of One Hundred Bullets he orchestrated. He stood up and with the flourish of a stage magician, made a gesture to the door. Tutov opened it. In stepped Sandra Pazzini. "Hello Sandra." "Hello father." "Father?" Leona was confused. "But you're ...." Leona just stopped, She was having a difficult time thinking straight through the fear, "You said, that you hated your family. That you were running from them." "I was. But I was wrong. I was angry, sure. But I have come to understand this was a test. When I was young, father gave me to the ... Italian family ... to raise. In turn, they traded a daughter to live in father's household. Not understanding, I hated him for it." "Wake up! You were a hostage Sandra. Your were to be the first thing killed if the truce was broken. No one who loves their child would do that." Leona spat out, her fear was replaced by disgust. "That's what I thought. But I realized it was a test. Was I good enough to be a -" She almost said "Zakharov" but caught herself. "When you came along, suddenly dropping into my world, I should have known something was up. No one comes into that cafe. No one like you, anyway. And with your story of your father, and your being an outsider because of your issues, it was all designed to put me at ease." "Sandra," Leona pleaded, "I ended up in your cafe for the very reasons I said." "Maybe. But I brought you into my home, gave you a job. I wanted to trust you. But I still had you watched. You slept with Pavel Danek, a man my father was right not to trust fully. You went to see the cop. It all speaks for itself." She looked over at her father, "Everyone needs a family. I am no different. It was time for me to come home. To stop running from who I am. And I was able to prove myself worthy of the name as I did it." "She was a brave soldier. Someone I am very proud of." For what it was worth, the look he gave Sandra was genuinely warm. The look he gave Leona, turning his attention back on her, was anything but. "The only question is what do I do with you now?" Sandra walked over and leaned into her father's ear whispering. She was glowing of triumph. "Now that's something entirely different. Gentlemen, I have a nice surprise. If you will strip Ms. Jade here, I think we'll find an interesting surprise. One we will take advantage of." The two body guards held Leona as she struggled in vain to escape their grasp, tearing at her clothes like bears mauling prey, she was soon standing before them completely naked save a few scraps of tattered nylons clinging to her leg. The tracking device fell to the floor. One of the brutes brought it to Gavriil Zakharov. He held it up, before dropping it to the floor and crushing it with his expensive loafer. "Here you are, naked with your giant tits and your little dick. What manner of a creature are you?" He looked down at the device crushed underfoot, "Oh, did you think the police were going to rescue you young lady? Or young man is it? I hate to be the one to disappoint you, but the bus and this house have GPS dampers. Standard issue for someone in my ... profession. No one is going to save you because no one tracked the signal. There are no white knights in this scenario. "Now then, since you've gone to such trouble to lord around your fake tits and fake ass pretending to be a woman, or whatever it is you're pretending, I'm going to give you all that you ask for. I think I'll have the eleven or so of my men fuck you repeatedly, every day, for weeks on end until you are utterly broken. And I'm sure some of them won't be particularly pleased when I make them put their penis in someone who also has a penis; curvaceous as a woman or not. We're not as understanding of such things in Russia, so I can't promise any loving foreplay from these men ... or that they won't, say, beat you brutally. And then, when we're all done, and you are nothing but giant bloodied container of angry sperm, we're going to throw that dead, distorted body of yours on the front porch of this cop Corvetti you thought to collaborate with." He paused for dramatic effect. He did imagine himself the showman. "How does that sound to you Leona Jade? Tutov, bring in some men. I've never seen one of these half women before, think I'd like to see just how they perform with her." Leona wept openly and without reservation, with much the same abandon as she had when she thought should would die at Pavel's hands all those weeks ago. Through the blurry vision of her tears, for the briefest second she thought she caught a glimmer of ... something ... outside of the window. She looked down at the floor so her hair would hang in her face and looked out again. Mikhail Tutov burst back into the room, his eyes troubled, he was panting. "We've got a problem boss." "Define problem." Two Fires had the look of someone delivering bad news to person who took every grain of bad news very personally. "Um, the guys. Our guys. There's no one on the grounds. I don't know where they are, but they're not guarding the house." "The police!" Zakharov shouted, "the fucking police followed you somehow. Two Fires, this is your fault. You should know when someone -" The door burst off its hinges with such force it flew halfway across the room. "Not the police, my despicable Russian friend. Something so very much worse. Me." Standing in the doorway was Pavel Danek. His face twisted with such murderous fury Leona could barely look upon it. "Shoot him!" As the body guards reached for their guns, two figures leaped through the third floor window. It was Leona's father and a man she had never seen before. That was what she saw through the window a moment ago. The officers guns were leveled at the two men. They halted their movement instantly, and raised their hands to indicate they would no longer be reaching for their weapons. "I wouldn't Zakharov. It's over." "Oh, I don't know. Especially since I don't know this Gavriil Zakharov." Dan smiled tightly, "I never said 'Gavriil'." "Does it matter?" Zakharov continued, "My name is Boris Podolski. A Pole who lived in Russia before migrating to the US. I run a butcher shop near Koreatown, and I am there every single day running a humble meat cutting business. An entire neighborhood will testify to that. As will, more importantly, my papers. No court, no law enforcement agency in the world can prove me to be anyone otherwise. Besides Zakharov is dead. He died in a helicopter crash right after his men watched your wife bleed out like a stuck pig. Oh how he must have laughed at that. I wonder what her last thought was? How her husband the cop was too impotent to stop this from happening?" The Russian held out his hands, wrists together, "Please. Arrest me. I would love to see your agencies dragged through the mud again. All on the word of what? Some half-she creature and a known Ukrainian killer? Yes, arrest me. We'll see how your family comes out of it this time. Assuming they live, of course." it all happened in little over the time it takes to blink. With the speed and nimble grace Leona had seen so many times snuffing out trouble in the club, Pavel Danek shot across the floor, grabbing Gavriil Zakharov by the neck, twisting his head in his powerful hands with such force that it turned one hundred eighty degrees on his neck. The bodyguards started for their weapons, but with the police with their weapons still raised, thought better of. Leona threw up. Pavel, letting the mob boss's body fall to the floor like a pile of clothes, took his suit jacket off, and put it over the naked woman. He apologized profusely for her having to see that, then pulled her hard into his arms, brushing her hair with his hand. He murmured to her in the tones of a soothing lullaby. Dan Corvetti's partner raised his gun toward Pavel Danek. "Pavel Danek you are under arrest for the murder -" Dan pushed the man's gun down. "Shut up Chris. We're not arresting anyone. That woman Pavel Danek is holding is ... used to be ... my son. And it was Pavel who led us here when the GPS signal died off. Even if all the truth is laid on the table, even if we were able to prove Zakharov was Zakharov, there is no universe this doesn't come out so messy they strip us of our pensions and bury under the jail." Chris muttered to himself, but seeming to understand, re-holstering his weapon Pavel nodded in agreement. "You two. Police. Disappear back to your jobs. I was once a fixer by trade, I know how to make things like this go away." Dan started out of the window, when Leona called to him. Her voice still hoarse from sobbing. "Father. Dad. Thank you." With a nod, Dan was gone. "Mikhail Tutov," Pavel said, "Everyone above you is dead. If this goes the right way, we will talk to the people in Russia and you will now run the family. And these two men will be your top lieutenants, it will seal their loyalty. We will say Zakharov got sloppy. We will blame these executions on drug gangs who made note of the sacks of drugs brought to this party each time. If this goes the wrong way ... well, you don't want it to go the wrong way." Pavel Danek picked up Leona and carried her out to his car, wrapping her in blankets from his trunk. Leona fell asleep dreaming of simpler times. She awoke several hours later when Pavel opened the door. He sat in the backseat, putting a massive arm around her. "It is done. We were lucky to be on a harbor." He lifted her chin so she would look him in the eye "Listen. I will understand if you want to leave after seeing what you saw. I know that you will see that man die at my hand forever, it is an impossible thing to forgive." "It was horrible, Pavel, so horrible. But I understand it. Sort of understand it. That man killed my mother." "I know. Your father found me in the club when he could no longer track you. He told me he was your father, and a cop. He explained everything, saying if I cared about you, I would help him" "And you did." "And I did." "Pavel, I was not always a good person. I've done some terrible things, hurt people. Maybe not in the ways you have, and not as badly as you. But emotionally. And the things I've done have been purely because it made me feel like a bigger person, even though I knew those things were wrong. Or, in the case of my dad, I did terrible things because felt like he had to be punished for allowing my mom to be killed. And I still do blame him. But I also blame myself." She took his hand, "But I want to be a better person. People aren't good, people aren't bad, they're just people; a sum of their actions. And I am going to try, one day at a time, to be a little bit better. No huge promises, just one day at a time. And Pavel, I want you to do it with me." She continued, "Sandra said: everyone needs a family. It was time for her to come home. To stop running from who she was. To prove herself worthy of the name. It is time for me to do the same Pavel. I need to be worthy of the name. It is time for me to forgive." Thinking of Sandra, she asked, "What will become of her?" "The smart thing to do would be to kill her. She knows a lot. But there has been enough killing. I am sending her to the Ukraine to live with my relatives who will make sure she causes no more trouble for us." "Okay Pavel, I think we've started down our path .." *************************** Epilogue. Gina watched her with grudging admiration. Most women, Gina knew, would be primping themselves in the mirror at a time like this. But this woman was still on the phone, talking a hundred miles an hour determined to work until the very moment she stepped on stage. Most of these pampered trophy wives, with their giant diamond rings, stilettos heels and obvious implants did charity work as a way to feed their ego. They came in, did a little, sometimes gave a lot, but mostly so they could say they were involved. Gina had no reservations that Leona looked the type to fit that bill, laughably high heels, boobs, tight clothes, giant wedding ring; she even had a giant vaguely sinister mountain of a husband who couldn't have landed such a beauty without oodles of money. But Leona didn't act the type. In the years Gina worked with her, Leona went to the shelters every day, she established a phone center abused women could call and be taken out of their situation by other women, right away. She expanded the charity to cover those transgendered who lived as women and suffered abuse but didn't know where to turn. She was tireless and worked with a sense of focus driven by some force, or some demons maybe, Gina never fully understood. The applause meant it was time to accept the award. Leona turned off her phone and walked onto the center of the stage. Gina noted she moved with a liquid grace. It reminded her, for some reason, of the way a snake moves effortlessly, and oddly beautifully. It was a strange thought to have, Gina decided, no one would compare Leona's selfless character to that of a snake. Leona stood behind the podium, and leaned into the mike. "Many of you already know me. There are so many familiar faces in the room that I have worked with and I am so happy to see you tonight. For those who do not know me, allow me an introduction, I am Leona Cinzia Rossi, and my aunt once stood on this very stage ..." - The End