[Life is Good] Chapter 69

Jump. Sprint across the roof. Don’t lose the van from my energy-sight radius. Another jump.

“You really don’t care about your joints, Yuri Venediktovich. Always thinking about the people,”(1) I snark to myself, chasing the kidnappers of the beautiful damsel.

And damn, she really was beautiful. I was this close to crashing on the attic I’d scoped out when four unfamiliar cars rolled up across the street. That alone was enough to grab my interest—they stuck out like a sore thumb in Hell’s Kitchen. “Now who’s the big shot pulling in?” I’d thought.

And I was right. Real big shot. From the first and last cars stepped out ladies with that signature “I’m packing heat” bulge under their tailored blazers. Professional security. No need to guess. They were dressed in matching business-casual getups—nothing that could fool me. I could smell the “uniformed muscle” vibe from here.

After the bodyguards did a casual sweep of the perimeter with suspicious glares, they took up their positions, and the second car door opened. Out stepped two women—well-dressed, important-looking, and completely forgettable in every other way. But then the third car spilled out the main event: an older woman who radiated boss energy and a girl so gorgeous I forgot for a second I was part bug-demon.

No, seriously—she hit every checkbox on my “dream girl” list except the hair color.

Her face was just… perfect. To me, at least. Straight little nose, full lips, huge expressive eyes. A crisp, pale gray suit and an expensive-looking coat framed her like a model in a winter campaign. Not a speck of makeup on her face, and it didn’t need it—she was naturally stunning. That clean-cut European noble look, you know? Sharp cheekbones, but not too sharp. Subtle chin. Dimples even, peeking out despite her otherwise serious expression. Okay, maybe her forehead was a little high—but I’m blaming the basic ponytail.

There was something about her and the older lady—same steel in the eyes, same posture. The younger one still looked like she was pretending, like a puppy trying to act like a wolf. The elder? Natural predator. Iron eagle surrounded by crows.

The grandma barked a few orders, called over two guards, and marched into the building with her entourage. The girl? She yawned shamelessly, practically showing her tonsils to the block. It was adorable. There she was, trying to look all cold and tough, eyebrows arched over those fierce brown eyes—then bam, sleepy baby. I might’ve purred up on that attic.

If I still had a human face, I’d have gone down to say hi. Maybe even flirted. If she were a redhead, I would’ve sprinted after her, interdimensional monster status be damned. But even as a pale blonde, she was breathtaking.

One of the guards gestured toward a coffee stand—conveniently under my window. The girl furrowed her brow, glanced at the building her grandma entered, and nodded.

And then… my inner monster had a full-on crisis. Kidnap her. Just for a little while. Beast from “Beauty and the Beast” did it! I didn’t actually plan to, but hey, fantasies don’t break laws.

Then the barista put two cups on the counter.

“And now presenting: Feature Film — ‘They Jacked Her.’”

I muttered, watching the girl get yanked into a tinted van. Right before the doors shut, she caught sight of me. We locked eyes.

She froze for half a second, clearly stunned—but there wasn’t fear on her face. “Stunned by my monstrous beauty,” I thought with a smirk as I launched into pursuit.

“Dimon and Valera to the rescue,” played in my brain, complete with the Chip & Dale Rescue Rangers theme. The buildings here ranged two to five stories. Tight layout, perfect for rooftop tailing. Had to give up on stealth, sure, but I figured I was fast enough that nobody’d catch me on camera before I vanished. Most people are still fumbling with their phones by the time I’m gone.

The van was hauling ass, but it was being tailed by two cars filled with the girl’s bodyguards. Honestly? I had no idea what the kidnappers were thinking. That clunky vehicle wasn’t gonna outpace a proper chase.

But then—

“Oh damn… clever,” I muttered, genuinely impressed.

A matching van rolled out of a side alley just past the intersection. Identical. And right as the original van turned the corner, it darted into the alley. Two women quickly lifted a metal sheet disguised with graffiti over the alley mouth. Looked like a random wall or some construction blockade. Instant cover.

Fake van peeled off. Guards took the bait and kept chasing the decoy. Smooth as hell.

Inside the alley: another car. Smaller. Trunk popped open. The real kidnappers were already unloading.

“How convenient,” I thought, spotting a sewer hatch just a few feet from them. And just as they pulled the girl out of the van, I dropped through silently—reappearing behind two armed women like a goddamn horror movie jump scare.

In mid-fall, our eyes met again. From this range, I felt her emotions spike: first betrayal and anger… then surprise. And, weirdly, a spark of smug amusement? A flicker of fatalism, too. Tough girl. Brave, too—only a faint edge of fear in her aura.

“Already here?” Caprice blinked in disbelief. They’d only driven for a couple of minutes, turned maybe twice, and already stopped? “Maybe Grandma’s people caught up and blocked the road?”

She tensed. These were the most dangerous moments—if a shootout broke out, you had to hit the floor and pray. Or roll, if you were lucky, to the safest damn corner you could find.

The calm, focused expressions of the kidnappers made one thing clear—this wasn’t some screw-up in their plan. Everything was going according to schedule. Maybe a vehicle swap? But during a chase? Seriously?

The van door opened, and they began hauling her out. Another car waited nearby—beat-up, boring, trunk wide open. Perfect for disappearing. As they moved her, Caprice glanced up… and caught sight of that monster from earlier falling from above.

“Of course,” she thought dryly. “Because this whole morning wasn’t shit enough already—now we’re adding monsters.”

What followed blurred into a wild kaleidoscope of motion—bursts of movement from the unknown creature, screams from the kidnappers, and a flurry of quick, calculated strikes. The creature was fast. First thing it did? Took down the two armed women with two surgical strikes. Then came the lunge toward the main group.

Caprice, despite the chaos, could tell—this thing knew martial arts. Not just flailing claws around—trained strikes. Clean, precise. And surprisingly gentle, considering it looked like a walking horror movie. It avoided using its claws, even the bladed tail only tripped or knocked enemies out cold with the flat of the blade.

All in all, twenty seconds later, only two beings were left standing—her, and it. Him, she corrected herself after catching sight of no chest... and a very distinct bulge in the pants.

Their eyes met. The monster winked. Caprice blinked in bafflement but felt a flicker of hope. He hadn’t gone for a bloodbath—even though she wouldn’t have minded one. He wasn’t showing hostility, which meant… maybe she was gonna walk away from this?

Fashion-wise? A disaster. Baggy T-shirt, army surplus pants clearly not made for those legs. If she were in a better mood, she might've laughed. But the intimidating arsenal of fangs and claws kind of killed the humor. Oh, and the massive revolver handle sticking out of a side holster? Nice touch.

Then, casually, the beast popped open a manhole cover like it was a Frisbee and started walking toward her.

“Naturally,” she groaned internally. “What better way to ruin a shitty morning than a detour through literal sewage? I could be at home, strangling my pillow. Or better yet—waking up in the arms of some gorgeous guy. But nooo, I’m a Manfredi. And gigolos are beneath us.”

He tore off the ankle chains like tissue paper, helped her to her feet—then before she could process anything, ducked his head between her arms, hoisted her legs up and over his back, and wore her like a fuzzy backpack.

“Hold tight,” the creature rasped, mouth just barely parting. “Pretend you’re a little koala and I’m your daddy.”

A string of low, clicky chuckles followed—and then they dropped into the darkness, the manhole sealing above them with a metallic slam.

“Umf-vumffmff!” she mumbled angrily into her gag. Fucking comedian.

“Hang tight,” he muttered, focused now. “Climbing with cargo’s kinda tricky.”

Caprice wisely shut up. Falling into sewage was not on her to-do list. She clung tighter. Yeah, her name might translate to “impulse,” and sure, she had a bit of a temper—but she wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t about to piss off the maybe-rescuer, maybe-monster-kidnapper hauling her around.

Sure, a few horror movie scenarios flashed in her head—panoramas of creatively grotesque deaths courtesy of screenwriters on acid. But hey—if this thing wanted to eat people, there were plenty of homeless on the streets. No need to snatch a mob princess. Which meant... probably not dinner.

“Maybe,” she thought, “he’s a hired super. Someone Grandma’s people placed nearby to keep an eye out.”

“If that’s the case, though, couldn’t she have hired someone better looking? Like Salamander. Or Spider-Woman.”

Too bad those two were big on the hero branding. Most of the morally flexible supers had been scooped up by the Kingpin already. Caprice’s grandmother wasn’t fond of that psycho-bitch, but even she respected the power of alliances.

Loyalty. The word cut deep. Her personal bodyguard—the woman she trusted more than most of her own family—had sold her out. The betrayal stung harder than anything.

“For us, there is nothing more sacred than Famiglia,” Grandma always said. Loyalty made the Manfredi clan untouchable. Money, blood, reputation, loyal people—four pillars of their power. And today, one of those pillars cracked. The bitch had bitten the hand that fed her. It hurt.

While Caprice spiraled into her mental firestorm, her not-quite-savior ran through the sewers with eerie grace. She barely jostled—he was fast, but smooth. The grip under her ass was a little intimate, sure, but given the situation, she’d allow it.

“Hey, at least I can say I’ve been groped by a guy,” she snarked internally. “No need to mention said guy was a sewer beast. I’ll just say he had a really... striking look.”

Then she felt him slow down. One clawed hand reached behind her head. She tensed—only for the strap of her gag to loosen, then fall.

She spat it out with a huff, then muttered hoarsely, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he rasped cheerfully in her ear. “I’m not into bondage. Just not my thing.”

Caprice snorted involuntarily. Okay, okay, so maybe this freak had a sense of humor. One that matched hers a little too well.

“Who are you? Where are we going?” she finally asked, the silence of the tunnels and the rhythmic click-click of claws on concrete starting to mess with her nerves.

"Call me Dimon," came the even reply, laced with an odd kind of amusement. "And where we're going... is far away from the spot where I, uh—re-kidnapped you."

"Mmm..." Caprice hummed skeptically, then cautiously asked, "And when we do get far enough—then what?"

"What do you mean, 'then what'?" Dimon let out a string of those strange clicks she was now sure was his version of a laugh. "We’ll live happily ever after and die on the same day!"

She tensed for half a second, then let out a dry, sarcastic smile. Fucking comedian.

"And seriously?"

"Seriously," he said, hoisting her a little higher up his back—palming her ass in the process. Again. "We get far away, head to my little temporary hideout—I’ve got a phone stashed there. You call your people. You remember the number?"

"I do," she exhaled, oddly reassured.

"Great. They’ll come pick you up, and boom—done." Satisfied, Dimon took a turn down a side tunnel.

"Solid plan," Caprice nodded, smiling for real this time. "But… why did you help me?"

"How could I not help a damsel in distress who just so happens to be a total knockout?" he rasped playfully right by her ear. Was he actually flirting?

"And that’s it?" the youngest of the Manfredis arched a skeptical brow. That sounded way too good to be true. Definitely another of Papa-Koala’s weird-ass jokes.

"Абсолютли," he said in a ridiculously thick Russian accent that made her snort out a laugh. It was uncannily similar to the way a few of her family’s Brighton Beach associates talked.

"So… you’re a hero then?"

"Ehhh," Dimon drawled. "Sort of. My face ain’t exactly poster-boy material, but hey—gotta work with what you’ve got."

"I think your face’s fine—impressive, even," Caprice said, surprising herself with how defensive she suddenly felt. Guess that makes him my savior, huh? "You could totally go by Mister Laxative."

She bit her tongue right after saying it, worried she might’ve crossed a line. But the string of delighted clicks reassured her—he wasn’t mad at all.

"Nah, make it Doctor Laxative," he shot back. "Slogan: Cures constipation and stuttering—expensively."

Caprice actually giggled, then added, "I’m Caprice, by the way." She didn’t give her last name. Grandma played it smart—no flashy claims, no “Hi, I’m the criminal boss of half the damn city.” Anyone who needed to know already knew. No need to risk alienating her savior just in case he was aware of the underworld power balance.

"Pleasure to meet such a polite young lady," Dimon said, extra emphasis on polite. "Some people greet you with ‘what are you’ instead of ‘hello.’"

Ah. That again. Sensitive monster, huh? Oddly endearing. She made a mental note to avoid that particular mistake again.

"My ba and ma really drilled manners into me," she chuckled, remembering a few well-placed belt whacks to her backside from Grandma, accompanied by: ‘Respecting others isn’t weakness. Empty arrogance humiliates you—and the family.’

"And they raised not just a stunning woman, but a proper Lady," Dimon said seriously, his voice a little softer now. "With a great sense of humor."

"Tell that to my grandma," Caprice huffed a laugh, picturing the way her abuela used to roll her eyes at every one of her sarcastic cracks.

"We’re here," Dimon announced, suddenly serious. "Dead-end up top. No people around. We go up, slip into an attic. That’s where I’ve got signal."

"Okay," Caprice murmured, snuggling a little closer to brace for the climb. She also made a mental note: somehow, this guy knew there were no witnesses up there. "Ready when you are, Papa-Koala."

A string of clicky-laughs, and they started ascending.

“Well I’ll be damned,” she thought with amused disbelief. “I got rescued by a hero. Who would’ve guessed? Shame he’s got that... unforgettable look. Grandma’s gonna have a heart attack.”

She was calm now. Even kind of having fun. Her imagination already ran wild with how she’d tell this story to the iron-hearted matriarch of the Manfredi family. Only thing casting a shadow over her mood was the fresh, bitter sting of betrayal—that memory of her not-so-former best friend...

But that’s a fire for another day.

(1) https://yandex.ru/video/preview/15119936800426927810

From a skit about corrupt politicians.

Narrator:

Very soon, we’ll be living in a world where grandmothers in parks won’t be collecting empty beer bottles for recycling, but full ones.

And all because Russia is in the capable hands of Deputies Pronin and Mamonov from the city of Oilwellsk.

Politician Yuriy Venediktovich (Pronin) (while counting money):

Five hundred sixty-seven thousand, sixty-seven thousand, five hundred sixty-eight thousand, sixty-eight thousand, five hundred sixty—

Politician Mamonov:

Ah, Yuriy Venediktovich! You don’t spare yourself, you never take a break. You really should rest.

Politician Pronin:

No time, no time to rest—not while the country’s in such chaos.

Ordinary people, they’ve got it easy. A little old lady gets her pension and counts it in ten seconds.

But us? We don’t spare our hands!

Sixty-eight thousand...