I Overheard A Russian Mob Mistranslation — Now I’m The Boss’s Weapon
Part 2
The room felt exactly like a meat locker, the heavy air conditioning cranked impossibly high.
I shivered violently as my sweat-dampened blouse clung to my spine like a second layer of freezing skin.
Greg stood perfectly still by the massive window with his back turned entirely to me.
He had taken off his suit jacket, revealing a crisp white dress shirt that fit perfectly across his narrow shoulders.
The bright orange cherry of a cigarette burned fiercely between his long fingers in the dark reflection of the glass.
Minutes stretched out endlessly in the dense, pressing silence of the dark office.
I clamped my jaw shut firmly, desperately trying to still my violently chattering teeth.
Wrapping both arms tightly around my empty stomach, I hugged myself to stop the shaking.
I lied and told him I was just cold.
My voice sounded incredibly thin and entirely foreign to my own terrified ears.
He slowly turned around, leaning his hip smoothly against the edge of his massive mahogany desk.
His expression held absolutely no predatory gleam, only clinical, deeply detached curiosity.
That complete detachment meant I was already nothing more than a simple statistic.
He asked who had taught me to speak like a gutter rat from the old country.
I swallowed hard, my dry throat feeling completely coated in coarse sand.
I managed to whisper that my late mother had taught me before she died.
He took another slow, deliberate drag of his cigarette, observing me closely through the smoke.
He pointed out that I used the specific, highly vulgar phrasing of dock workers to call a man a liar.
The absolute truth tumbled out of me in a rushed, desperate stream.
I told him I didn’t mean to interfere, but I heard Brian actively trying to start a war.
Greg crushed his cigarette into the heavy crystal tray with meticulous, chilling precision.
He stated softly that he was fully aware of exactly what the translator had been doing.
My lungs stopped working entirely as I tried to process his perfectly emotionless words.
He explained that Brian had been taking bribes for months, and tonight was supposed to be his final performance.
Greg had planned to use the fabricated threat to eliminate the local muscle while another syndicate swooped in.
It had been a very delicate, perfectly balanced ecosystem of deception.
The solid floor seemed to completely tilt beneath my cheap, stained sneakers.
I hadn’t saved anyone from a simple misunderstanding at all.
I had single-handedly ruined a carefully orchestrated, highly deadly trap.
I began rambling immediately, begging for my miserable life and promising to leave the city forever.
He closed the distance between us with shocking, completely silent speed.
I slammed back against the frosted glass, squeezing my eyes shut as I waited for the cold steel of a barrel.
Instead, I felt the faint displacement of air as he leaned in incredibly closely.
He smelled strongly like tobacco, expensive wool, and freshly crushed mint.
He ordered me to open my eyes.
His pale gaze searched my face intensely, dissecting my terrified expression for any hidden agenda.
He leaned closer until his lips hovered a bare breath away from my ear.
He told me I was not going to quit or leave the city at all.
From now on, I would no longer clean sticky tables in the lounge.
I would stand directly behind him, listen to every word, and tell him every single lie they tried to sell.
He stated simply that I belonged entirely to him now.
I had survived the night, but as I stared at the man who now owned my future, I had to wonder—was this a reprieve, or a sentence to a darkness I could never escape?
