The conference room air was suffocating. Ashtrays overflowed with cigarette butts, and coffee had gone cold hours ago. My knuckles drummed against the table in a steady rhythm. Across from me, my top lieutenants all looked exhausted.
"Salvatore Calabrese," I spoke the name like ice. "Intel says his people have been unusually active in New York lately. The engagement banquet's tomorrow. I don't believe in coincidences."
Artyom's neck tensed as he nodded. "Boss, our guys confirmed it—at least three of his crews made it into the city."
"He wants to make his move at the engagement banquet," I stated it as fact, my voice deadly. "This isn't just declaring war on us. He's putting on a show for the Ivanov family—proving that allying with me means painting a target on your back."
"So we—"
"Lock down every inch of security inside and outside the venue." Icut off Artyom, my gaze cutting through each man in the room. "Get our best people over there. Tomorrow night, not even a fly gets into the Royal Hotel without my say-so. I want Salvatore to understand—this is New York, not his fucking Sicily!"
My phone buzzed against the table. Elena's name lit up the screen.
Elena: [Today's our six-month anniversary.]
I didn't reply. Had bigger things to worry about.
I flipped the phone face-down and looked up. "I want to know every safe house Salvatore has in New York, every contact point. Tear his network wide open."
"Yes, boss."
The meeting wrapped up in the afternoon. I picked up my phone again, finger hovering over Elena's name for a long time.
The office door swung open without a knock. I knew who it was.
Natasha walked in wearing a white Chanel suit, tablet in hand, smile plastered on her face.
"Igor, I brought some design options for the engagement banquet outfits." She placed the tablet in front of me, leaning forward slightly, red nails tapping the screen. "I know you don't usually care about these things, but as the groom-to-be, you should at least take a look."
I swiped through the screen carelessly—a few different tuxedo styles. They all looked the same to me.
"They're fine." I pushed the tablet back without looking up.
"I specifically chose Russian designers," she continued, ignoring the irritation in my voice. "It represents the union of our two families. A perfect beginning, don't you think?"
"If you think so, then sure." I leaned back in my chair, pulled a cigar from the box on my desk, and lit it.
Her hand landed on my shoulder, kneading the muscle with firm pressure. "You've worked so hard for the engagement banquet."
Her touch sent irritation spiking through me. I raised my arm and knocked her hand away forcefully.
"Natasha," I looked into her eyes, "I thought we reached an understanding that night at the estate. This is a transaction.A marriage alliance. You get the status and prestige you want, I get the drug network I need."
"Of course I know that. But I want more than just that," she said softly.
I blew out a smoke ring, eyeing her.
"I want you, Igor." Her voice went sultry. "I want a real husband."
I let out a cold laugh. "Can't do it. You're asking for too much."
"Too much?" She leaned closer, warm breath hitting my ear. "Compared to that little mistress you're hiding in the slums, am I really asking for too much?"
My spine went rigid. Ice shot up from my tailbone.
She watched my reaction and smiled with satisfaction.
"Don't look so tense. I'm just curious what kind of woman could captivate our future Bratva Don so completely. A waitress serving tables at fancy hotels?" She paused, her tone dripping with exaggerated wonder. "Such... unexpected taste."
