Radley was in the middle of breakfast when the phone rang. “Thank God, Tyra. I was so worried about you. How are you? What happened to you?”
Several minutes later, when he closed his cell phone, he was fully aware of what had taken place. He knew someone had wanted to steal the Hope Diamond and that Tyra had been kidnapped. He also knew she had said nothing and had been very brave. He didn't know that the father of her baby had in fact intended to steal the diamond. Tyra had kept that from him. All Radley had to know was that a savage man had intended to steal it, and he was now no longer able to.
“Eliana, get in here,” he shouted at the top of his voice.
“Radley, how dare you shout at me like that,” she exclaimed as she appeared from the kitchen.
“I'll shout at you how I like. I've had a bellyful of you. It's my business. My family founded it and I run it. My name is above the door, and the tax man calls me when he wants something, not you.” Eliana stood open mouthed and wide eyed as his verbal attack continued. “We both decided to give it to Tyra. She's a good girl, but you pompously decided to take it all away from her just because she made a mistake. You're a prude, and you always have been.”
“But...but,” Eliana floundered.
“No buts. I'm leaving the store to her, and you will just have to get used to the idea.
*****
Five years later Radley and Eliana went on a world cruise and Tyra took up her position as manager. She felt comfortable in her role. Radley checked in with her every day from wherever he was in the world. Before he'd gone, he had asked a computer geek how he could connect to the store’s accounting system from afar. That's my girl, he would say every time he logged in and looked at the profits.
Tyra only had one problem: the glass cabinets in the store. They were awfully susceptible to sticky little fingers. Jimmy was still a baby, but Dima Junior and Alicia weren't, and when their father took them to see Mommy at work, he loved showing them all the priceless things money could buy.
Dima got the Hope Diamond for his thirty-second birthday. The woman in the picture framing store had wondered why Tyra had wanted such a beautiful frame for a simple photocopy of a downloaded internet picture.
THE END
MAFIA Romance – Bought by the Hitman
1
It was Saturday, and it was my first off day on a weekend in a really long time. I couldn’t remember having a Saturday off since I started working for Mr. Black. That wasn’t his real name, of course; I was pretty sure there wasn’t anyone in Russia with the last name of Black, and my boss was as Russian as they got. His accent was so thick it was hard to understand him sometimes.
I was Russian in the sense that my great-grandfather came over and built a life for himself. His name had been Pitor Anismov. He did pretty well for himself, the old guy. My own grandfather told me a lot of stories about him. Grandpa was Alan Anismov. Alan was as American a name old Pitor could come up with. He wanted his son to be American. He hated Russia. It was cold; it was hard living. America represented something to him: an opportunity.
Grandpa had two daughters. My mom he named Rebecca, and her sister was Rose. I never met Rose; she died when she was only five. My mom married a guy named Mike Jones, and they had me, Peter Jones. Doesn’t sound very Russian, and it took me a while to convince Mr. Black that my family came from there. Having Russians, it was important to him.
I was named after Pitor, but with the American spelling. When he came over, he made money any way he could. I’ve taken that up too. I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of, and a lot of things that could land me in jail, but hey, a job is a job. I keep my head down, steer clear of cops, and make sure the guys I rough up really have it coming to them.
Mr. Black is a fair guy, believe it or not. He’s big and round, with a bald head and a fat stomach, but he calls it like he sees it, and he plays everyone straight. There’s something honorable about that, really: a criminal who tries to do right by his own ethics and moral code. I’m the same way. I won’t knock over some mom-and-pop shop unless they’re laundering money for another guy or something like that. My boss is the same way.
But he works us a lot. I do this, I do that. I’m on call twenty-four seven. That’s why I was looking forward to that Saturday.
I slept in. I didn’t wake up until after noon. I lounged in bed for a bit until my stomach told me I needed food, and then I got up. I was halfway through my second bowl of Frosted Flakes when my cell rang. I grabbed it and sighed. It was Mr. Black.
“Peter, my boy,” the old man grumbled, “I need you.”
I knew better than to argue. “What can I do for you, Mr. Black?” I asked.