He sucked in a choking breath, spitting blood. His head crept up and he glared at me through his one usable eye. A sneer displayed several broken and shattered teeth.
“They tell me you tried to kill my wife,” I said in Russian, “is that true?”
His working eye widened and he shook his head. Pirrello and his man frowned at my side. The man’s ruined mouth opened but when he tried to speak, it came out slurred, incomprehensible. After bellowing aniet, his eye shuttered and he lost conciseness again.
“Your uncle is obviously worried about your new position, sir,” Pirrello said a moment later. “Now that we know who’s behind it, Olivia should be safe at home. Your uncle couldn’t strike her there. Would you like to do the honors, sir?”
The man standing next to Pirrello held up a pistol, grip out. Stefan Pushkin might have pled his innocence to his death, but even though he probably didn’t pull the trigger and try to kill Olivia, we couldn’t let him live. A missing man brought on less suspicion than one beaten and tortured half to death. If my uncle hadn’t been behind the attack on Olivia, letting the man head back to the fold would only anger his boss, make him more likely to come at me later.
Keeping my face expressionless, I accepted the pistol. It jerked in my hand, the single shot echoing on every one of the metal walls surrounding us. Pushkin’s head jerked back with the force. By the time his body slumped against the restraints, I’d turned and started toward the door.
Pirrello’s man held his hand out for the gun. I almost passed it over but pulled back just before it landed in his palm. Without a word, I tucked it into my pants waist. The man frowned, eyes on where my suit coat hid the weapon, but he stayed silent. If he had any fondness for the gun, he shouldn’t have offered it as a murder weapon.
“Mr. Petrovich?” Pirrello shuffled in front of me after I burst through the double doors on my way to my car. “So, are you and Olivia going to be returning to the mansion? What are we going to do to retaliate against your uncle?”
“My wife’s whereabouts are none of your concerns,” I replied. “As for my uncle, we wait and watch for the moment.”
I left him standing there next to his man. They both stared at the back of my car as I drove off.
When I’d driven away from Olivia at the safe house this morning, I hoped Pirrello would have provided some answers. I left with more questions, a few about the man who’d faithfully served Mr. Castello for years as his consigliere. I needed a second opinion.
I parked the SUV behind Ivan’s club. Before stepping out, I opened the glove box and pulled out a pair of latex gloves from the box inside. I donned them and slipped the gun out from where I’d tucked it.
Five minutes later, I had it field stripped and clean of all fingerprints. The parts went into a small garbage bag. I’d dispose of them later, after running a file through the barrel, just in case.
Ivan’s club didn’t open for hours. Even in a place like Miami, there wasn’t much of a market for strippers before lunch. His red Vette sat in the small parking area for the employees, so I knew he’d be in.
A few moments after I rang the buzzer, one of his girls approached the door from the inside. Recognizing me, she flashed a smile and unlocked the door.
“Ivan’s in his office,” she said, motioning me to enter. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“No, thank you,” I replied.
Nightclubs and bars lost their luster in the daytime. The bar, with a mountain of bottles behind it, might glitter in the neon lights at night, but lit by fluorescents, it looked dingy, with all the blemishes and scratches there for anyone to see.
Ivan poked his head out onto the edge of the T-shaped stage. A wide smile came to his face when he saw me.
“I hope you aren’t going to perform for me,” I snickered.
“Ladies’ night is Wednesday,” he barked back before hopping off the stage and approaching, patting his not so insubstantial belly, “but I don’t think I could compete with those guys. I’d get like zero tips. How’s married life?”
“No complaints so far.” I kept it simple. As much as I trusted Ivan, he didn’t need to know any details, at least about my marriage. “What I’m curious about is how my uncle is dealing with my new position. You told me he wasn’t happy before. How unhappy?”
“Oh, he was worried, for sure,” Ivan said, his eyes darting behind me for anyone who might be listening. “He thought you’d try to take over the Bratva with your new Italian friends. He even brought in a few more men, expecting you to strike.”
“Do you think he’d come at me or mine first?” I asked.
“He doesn’t have a death wish.” Ivan slapped a hand on my shoulder, laughing. “The Italians have a hell of a lot more sway here than we do, you know. Your uncle might be bloodthirsty, but he isn’t an idiot. Do you seriously think he was behind the attempt on your new wife?”
Criminals gossiped like teenage girls and nosey old women. That Ivan had heard about the assassination attempt didn’t surprise me, nor did his words about my uncle. Taking me out was a much better play for him than attacking my new wife.
“Some of my people are,” I admitted, again holding most of my cards close to the chest. “But I wanted to get a second opinion first.”
A few minutes later I walked back out into the Miami sun. It seemed everywhere I went today, every answer I received only brought with it more questions.
12
Olivia
