This isn’t exactly where I want to be.
It’s not where I should be either. Who gives a fuck about the Russians’ business? Certainly not me.
The only things I would rather be doing right now is either shooting the fucker Rolan in the face or eating my wife out. There’s no in between.
The first part is out, for now. I asked Flame to stay on standby—an option he wasn’t so thrilled about since the lack of action bores him.
That makes two of us. Flame and I are the types who won’t accept a mission if we don’t deem it exciting enough. The adrenaline wave is our bitch and we ride it every chance we get. Now, the only one I want to ride me is Rai.
I like how adorable she looks when she thinks she has the upper hand before I flip her on to her back and tease her while—
“Focus.” Adrian speaks low enough so only I can hear. “Or try to appear as if you’re focusing.”
We’re sitting in one of the Bratva’s empty clubs downtown with the Lucianos’ underboss, Nicolo. He brought a dozen guards with him, and they are currently watching the sparse staff buzzing around.
Since it’s not opening time yet, the workers are in the prepping phase. Nicolo is known for his distrustful nature, and he’s the reason why Lazlo was reluctant about an alliance, but even he can’t ignore the danger to his boss’s life—who also happens to be his eldest brother. So in a way, his hand was forced by me.
Adrian should thank me. If it weren’t for my very convenient interference, he wouldn’t have Nicolo exactly where he wants him. I can be such a good sport when need be.
Nicolo sucks a drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke upward. When he speaks, he does so with a sophisticated Italian accent. “Rolan has been teaming up with Albanians.”
“Is that so?” Adrian twirls the ice in his whiskey as he exchanges a glance with me.
He told me to look into it and I said the Albanians aren’t dangerous. They aren’t. They’re very few in number and barely have any territories.
“Yes, those fuckers go after women.” Nicolo crushes his barely finished cigarette and retrieves another one, shoving it in his mouth before lighting it.
“Don’t they all?” I sip my drink, unable to hide the boredom in my voice.
“I don’t mean prostitutes.” Nicolo gesticulates with his lighter. “But our women, wives, betrothed—those types. They like to know they can turn them into whores, sell them on the black market, and tarnish our honor. We’ve been keeping our women out of the public eye, and I would do the same if I were you.”
“Adrian doesn’t need to.” I grin. “His wife is always hidden away like Sleeping Beauty.”
Adrian hides the clenching of his jaw with a smile. “Your wife, on the other hand, is very forthcoming about getting out.”
“Cheers to my wife, without whom the brotherhood wouldn’t have legal money to funnel back to your deep dark secrets.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Adrian takes a sip of his glass and turns back to Nicolo. “Do you have anyone following the Albanians around?”
My phone vibrates and I place my glass on the table to check the text from Kirill. He doesn’t usually get in touch unless it’s to use his cunning nature to extract information. Since it never works, he gave up some time ago. The break of pattern turns my suspicious meter on.
Kirill: I have interesting scenery in front of me, so I thought I would share.
My hold tightens on the phone when he sends a picture taken in a traditional Asian restaurant. Rai is smiling, sitting between Damien and Kai, and the latter has his fucking hand on her thigh.
That’s it. That fucker’s date of death is only a matter of time now.
I know Sergei sent her to meet the Japanese with Kirill and Damien. She called me as soon as she was out of her granduncle’s office, happiness bursting through her words. I made sure to tell her not to get too comfy in the fucker Kai’s company. I clearly said to stay away from the sod, Damien, too. I didn’t have to warn her about Kirill because she wouldn’t go near that cocksucker even if her life depended on it.
But here she is being all comfy with those two. My mood flips from bored to murderous in a fraction of a second.
I’m vaguely listening to Nicolo talking about the Albanians. All I want to do is fly to wherever they’re having the meeting and snatch Rai away—after I put a few bullets each in Kai and Damien.
“Lazlo and I were young at the time it happened.” Nicolo takes a drag of his cigarette, his eyes darkening and accent thickening. “The capo at the time was my grandfather. He was fearless, ruthless, and didn’t hesitate to cut any fucker who thought they could get past him. After we confiscated one of the Albanians’ territories fair and square, they kidnapped my grandmother. But those motherfuckers didn’t stop there. They sent pictures and videos of her repeated rape to Grandfather, my father, and my uncles. At first, she cried and fought. She kicked and scratched. Then, as the days went by, she just went silent. She used to call out Nonno’s name, but then she didn’t. She tried to kill herself, but they strapped her to a bed and used her like she was a filthy animal.” Nicolo pauses to light another cigarette, his jaw turning as hard as granite. “It was the worst time in my family’s history. A stain of dishonor.”
“Your grandfather didn’t look for her?” Adrian asks.
“Of course he did. He turned New York upside fucking down and went on a killing spree where he murdered anyone who stood in his path, but the only things he could find were the tapes they sent. And do you know what those fuckers did next?”
“I assume they killed her?” Adrian speaks calmly, almost as if he’s sympathetic. He’s not; he’s just good at emulating the emotions needed for such situations.
“In cold fucking blood. When my grandfather finally succumbed to let them have their territories back, they said they would return her. That moment when she saw Nonno was the first time her expression changed. She sprinted in his direction, but the motherfuckers shot her in the back before she could reach him. They didn’t need the territories anymore. The sadistic fucks only wanted to inflict pain and break Nonno, which eventually happened, you know. After Nonna’s death, Nonno assassinated every last motherfucker he could find. He even went after them when they scattered all over Europe, but that turned him into a crazed dog who didn’t work or sleep. He survived on vengeance, and that eventually destroyed him. He couldn’t forgive himself for he was larger than the world, but he still couldn’t save his wife. A few years later, he shot himself in the head with the same bullet they shot Nonna with.”
“May they rest in peace,” Adrian says.
Nicolo nods, crushing his unfinished cigarette. “Point is, don’t underestimate that bunch of motherfuckers. They may not have much territory to speak of, but they don’t hesitate to fuck you up in ways you can’t survive.”
He’s speaking as if the Italians don’t go around kidnapping women for payment. The Russians would’ve done that too—if Rai let them. It’s the modus operandi of every crime ring since the beginning of time, but they still act victimized when they’re the target.
Pathetic.
Adrian pretends to sympathize with Nicolo, but he’s the biggest hypocrite. From the little information I’ve managed to gather about his closed-off life, he got his wife in a similar way. He’s the last person who should judge the Albanians’ methods when his are even more nefarious.
Adrian retrieves his phone and pauses at Kirill’s name flashing on his screen before he answers. “Volkov.”
I’m close enough to hear the gunshots through the phone.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Shouts in Russian and another very familiar language filter through.
“Motherfucker!” Kirill curses in Russian before he yells, “We’re under attack! Send backup!”
The line goes dead.
Adrian and I exchange a look as I feel the blood draining from my fucking face.
There’s no doubt about it. The other voices, the ones who are attacking them, were Albanians.
