“Fine,” Fabio says absently. “But you know what he requires the most? An uncle who isn’t riling up the mafiya, doing God knows what else… Don—” His tone shifts as if he suddenly realized something. “This isn’t your number. Where are you calling from—”
“If I can get you a better facility. Would it change anything?”
I know deep down it won’t. I’m torturing myself, playing with hope. Fuck, it’s all I can do.
“Don… I… It might,” he admits. “But where are you? If the worst does come to pass, he needs you here.”
“You’ll be hearing from me as to when you can move him,” I say, barely able to keep up with the plan forming in my head. If I can convince Mischa to allow Vin into the hospital, fuck anything else. I’ll beg the man on my knees if I have to.
But I don’t. Not if I can leverage a worthwhile bargaining chip.
“Wait for my call, Fab. Until then, you lay low. Put an extra security detail on yourself. I mean it. I’ll be in touch when I can.” I don’t realize I’m setting the phone down until I hear Fab’s voice, distorted from the other end of it. “Don, wait!”
I hang up and wind up hunched over the desk, my face in my hands. The terms of the game have changed again.
If I can save Vin’s life…
I’ll do whatever it takes.
Even if it means making a deal with the devil himself.
Eyeing the door, I call out, “Luciano?”
He reenters the room not even a second later, giving credibility to the idea he might have been listening in this whole fucking time.
Ignoring the suspicion, I ask, “Is the old apartment still available?”
He nods. “Tony didn’t use it much, though.”
Because unlike Giovanni, Antonio didn’t give a shit about the energy and forethought it takes to truly run the famiglia. Giovanni warned me before I even took over, the toll such a mantle could take on a man.
“This fucking apartment? Get used to it. You’ll see these sheets more than any other property you own. They’ll start to feel more familiar than your own wife’s body does at night.”
And he was right. The title as the leader—and the responsibility that came with it—took me from Olivia well before she died.
“Don? Where are you going?” Luciano demands as I stand, circling the desk with my back to my reflection.
I shrug. “I need to shower.”
He laughs, watching me with an incredulous expression. “You’re on the verge of war with the mafiya who, by the way, outnumber us three to one. You’ve murdered Antonio, who, while a dick, still controlled more men than you have on your own. All of that and you just decide to—”
“Shower? Yes.” I rake my hand through my hair and grimace as my fingers come away slick. “See if you can find me some clothes.”
“Should I order you some coffee while I’m at it? Some donuts for the boys? We might as well be well refreshed, right? Can I get you anything else this fine evening?”
I nod. “I want that fixer. Now. If not tonight, then by tomorrow.”
He sighs, stroking his chin. “The man’s hard to get a hold of—”
“Is that too difficult for you?”
He shakes his head. “I’ll send a message through Tony’s phone. That might lure him here, if he thinks his payment might be in question. What is another fucking piss poor decision to cap off my life? But first, I need to know your plan. Ransom the girl to Mischa? He’d send an army on your head before you could finish naming your price. Besides, what’s to stop me from killing you now and trying that idiotic plan myself?”
He has a point. Though Giovanni liked his mirror for more than one reason. From this position, you had a clear view of the man standing before you. Namely when they’re shuffling nervously from foot to foot despite the bravado in their voice.
“You don’t have the balls,” I point out. “Besides, I have a better idea than that. Do you want me to say the customary words? Fine,” I tell him. “Trust me. But before you go off, I need you to do one last thing.”
He hesitates for seconds before finally answering. “What?”
“Make sure no one else so much as looks at the girl. She’s mine.” My voice breaks over that fucking word. I’m disgusted to hear it out loud—and not for the first time either.
She’s mine in the only sense that matters. My stolen toy to barter with. Mine to break.
A shower can wait. I should see her first.
“Should I be alarmed by your plans for her?” Luciano wonders, his eyes on my face.
I’m startled by the chuckle that escapes my throat. It almost sounds genuinely amused. When I picture my “plans” for the woman secured somewhere within this very building…
They’re anything but humorous.
“Not if you don’t want to end up like Antonio,” I tell Luciano.
His laugh sounds more strained this time. “Just don’t make a mess. You hurt her; you deal with her. I told Antonio the same damn thing with his little flings. We aren’t the Saleris.”
“You can sleep free of nightmares,” I assure him. “Put the word out to the rest of your men—only I can touch her. See her. Smell her. Breathe the same air. No one else. No one else so much as enters the room she’s in. Are we understood?”
“Very,” he says tersely. “They’ve been fed for now. As for your woman…she’s beautiful,” he adds on his way out of the office. “But I’ve learned that the beautiful ones bring the most trouble.”
He doesn’t even know half of the trouble this woman could bring.
On the other hand, if I could trade her life for Vin’s, I’d crawl on my knees to do so—nothing else should matter. A smart man would keep her hidden and bide his time to make a deal.
There’s no point in seeing her face to face. Watching her squirm. Wanting to know why the hell she came back at all.
Only a fool would confront her now.
But the truth as it’s kept, I’ve done worse. Once, years ago…I had to convince myself to do the unthinkable. Feed myself lies. Wallow in the horrific aftermath with the hopes that one day I might atone for it.
There is no prayer for atonement now.
No expectation of forgiveness.
After these long, cold years, I’ve made peace with who I am.
Whatever her reason for coming back, this woman should face that man.
If only to learn once and for all, never to challenge him again.
7
Evgeni
Mercs aren’t known for being picky when it comes to employment—that being said, few would work for Mischa Stepanov willingly. Ignoring our little spat from this morning, I can see why some might hesitate.
The pay is decent enough. While fearsome, I’ve had employers with a far worse reputation. Even the mafiya’s dubious line of business would give few pause. Regardless, any guard worth his salt would avoid the Stepanovs for one reason, and one reason only.
Self-preservation.
A good job should be as uncomplicated as possible. Most are. No amount of money is worth more than that. You study the target. You study your employer even more. You get the money and come out on top always.