Who had ordered it? That was the real question, the one I couldn’t answer. Way too many potential suspects. Virtually the entire who’s who of the local criminal scene might have had a hand in it. Someone in the family? A Bratva member jealous of Dimitri’s rise in a different organization? One of the other families looking to weaken the Castello family? The cartels? Hell, had the local triads not been swept up in an FBI raid last year, I would have put them on the list as well.
It might have even been my new husband. What better way to prevent me from ever moving against him? The front door to the mansion closed with a bang. I set my glass down and opened the cabinet under the sink. Even on a private island, accessible only by the residents of the 24 other mansions and their guests, my father believed in being careful. My fingers brushed against the holster fixed to the bottom of the sink and came away with the revolver.
“Olivia!” bellowed the thug—no—Dimitri, “where the hell are you?”
“The kitchen,” I yelled back.
His footsteps pounded closer. I snatched my glass and moved down the kitchen island.
“Why the hell did I have to hear about you being the target of a hit from Pirrello?” He called out the question before he stepped through the doorway.
He froze when he saw me. Those angry eyes softened. His shoulders relaxed. My trigger finger rose from its perch, the thumb on the hammer, too. Dimitri was a lot of things, but actor was not one of them. He couldn’t fake that concern.
With one suspect out of the running, I took another gulp of the wine.
9
Dimitri
Olivia’s hand trembled as she lowered the wine glass to the counter. Seeing that robbed me of my anger. The moment Enrico got the frantic call from his daughter, explaining what had happened to the two, rage consumed me, both at whoever would take a shot at my new wife, and her as well. How was I supposed to protect her if she didn’t keep me informed?
That anger only grew on the way back to the mansion when she didn’t answer any of my calls. The only indication she’d left for me of her location came from the security system automatically logging her whereabouts when she arrived home.
I’d mislaid my negative emotions at her feet, disregarded the effect being the target of a hit might have had on her. She might have wanted to be a part of the life, been close as her father’s daughter, but had she ever literally been in the crosshairs? Probably not.
“Was that your first time?” I asked, creeping from the kitchen doorway toward the other side of the island she stood behind.
“First time?” Her face scrunched at the question before she took another gulp of wine.
“Getting shot at,” I replied.
She nodded, tight frown on her face. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. That I’d been cursing her just 10 minutes ago when she again didn’t answer my phone call gnawed at me.
“I was 17 when someone first took a shot at me,” I said, fighting the urge to step around the island between us. She wouldn’t want comfort from me. “I was visiting one of my cousins up at Brighton Beach. We were cruising the boardwalk. I flirted with the wrong girl. Didn’t know she was some Odessa mobster’s girl.”
“What a surprise,” Olivia huffed but at least her frown turned upward, “at least you understood why they went after you.”
“Knowing it was my fault, didn’t make it any less scary when he pulled out the gun,” I replied. “I don’t think I’ve ever run so fast in my life. When we finally stopped, my hands were shaking worse than yours.”
Her eyes darted down to her hands. She clasped them together and took a deep breath. The tension in her shoulders remained.
“My cousin wasn’t scared at all. He knew the bastard was all show. The shots went well over our heads.” I shook my head at the memory. “He laughed at me before passing his flask over. Vodka helped take the edge off.”
“I prefer wine,” she replied, lifting the almost empty glass in the air before draining it. She pointed the glass at the bottle closer to my side of the kitchen island. “But I don’t want to drink alone. Pour yourself a glass and refill mine while you’re at it.”
Before I could respond, she slid her glass down the island, way too close to the edge. It zoomed along, the side of its base more and more precariously over the edge. I surged forward and snatched it out of the air a moment after it teetered off the edge.
Olivia slow clapped, wide eyed with a huge grin plastered on her face. When I got a few drinks in me after that first time on the wrong end of the barrel of a gun, I’d become incredibly euphoric. Adrenalin was a hell of a drug. A brush with death made you appreciate living more than anything else in the world.
I uncorked the bottle and stretched to grab another glass off the hanging rack next to the sink. After pouring a generous glass for myself, I added a modest amount to Olivia’s glass. As I poured her glass, she padded around the side of the island and her fingers wrapped around my glass. With it in her hand, she inched back, but not to her original position.
Behind her, I noticed the handle of a revolver peeking out around the edge of the espresso machine. She shrugged, gulping my wine. I kept filling the other glass.
“I didn’t know if you’d been behind the shooting.” She shrugged again, pointing toward the gun with her head.
“Do you really think so little of me?” I offered a mock glare. “I promised your father I’d protect you. Say what you will about me, but I keep my promises.”
“I don’t,” she insisted, head shaking back and forth way too quickly for how tipsy she appeared, “not anymore. I heard you with my father’s—I mean our—men earlier. You might have matured a little since your time in Thun.”
