Rasputin's Bastards

THE HONEST THIEF

Leo Montassini hurt all over. His stomach hurt — his ribs hurt — his balls ached. He hurt enough that it caused him to wonder just what he was doing alive. The last he’d remembered, he was on the receiving end of a beating from that little fucking fisherman — and he wasn’t doing too well. He’d blacked out. He should have been dead.

He blinked and sat up. He was lying some distance from the entrance to the greenhouse where all this had happened — but not that far. He could see the flickering greenish light behind the girl who was leaning over him.

The girl who was leaning over him. Leo blinked.

“Who the fuck are you?” The girl was kind of a looker, Leo had to admit. She was blonde, which was how Leo liked them, and tight. She probably worked out. Leo liked that too. He smiled at her.

The girl smiled back and extended a hand.

“I am Fyodor Kolyokov,” she said in a thick Russian accent, and brushed aside a lock of rasta hair from her eye to look more closely at him. “I recognize you. Are you not one of Gepetto Bucci’s capos? Not the funny one, surely?”