The waitress disappeared into the crowd, and two minutes later, she stopped in front of us, her eyes glistening with tears, nodded in thanks, and left the bar. She would not be returning.
Guido had given her twenty thousand dollars in cash—to begin with. The rest of the money that would be deposited in heraccount would come from an unknown source. She would never be able to trace it back to us, but she would know. Her words that night had been worth something to someone.
Her warning to my wife did not go unnoticed.
The boy came out to roaring applause. He was about to put on his act.
It did not take him long to spot me. Our eyes met and he grinned, this time singing while he wiped down the counter. Women were swaying into each other, sighing, as he did.
He was attempting to antagonize me.
Even though he was singing to the women, the way his eyes met mine told me he was imagining singing the lyrics to my wife.
“Thoughts of your body…”
Before his act ended, he lifted his beer to me, and all eyes turned toward us.
I lifted my whiskey toward him.
I would toast to this.
To his lasthoorahwith that hand.
That one.
That will be the one…
As my men and I got to our feet, Romeo made an insulted noise. “He has nothing on you,fratello.”
This to Brando, who did something similar for his wife with a blender and cups. Brando squeezed Romeo’s shoulder, a grin on his face, but his eyes reflected mine.
He was ready to move.
This scene was child’s play to us. A way to loosen our shoulders and relax. I did not even wear a suit. His blood was not worth the fabric.
It was the other half of Remy Mestengo’s business that I was interested in destroying after he bled at my feet. There was more to this story than my wife seemed to know. How dangerous the people he was connected to were.
As with his first book, my wife’s father had a way of hunting down true crimes and turning them into fiction. My wife, inadvertently, had set herself in the middle of a criminal enterprise with roots in Russia. She did not cover the crime with her words but brought light to the truth in it, assuming her father had created the story out of his imagination.
His first book detailed ourfamiglia, and the secrets we kept behind our gates. The woman my father-in-law had slept with was a scorned mistress or wife of a man in ourfamiglia. Brando had a feeling it might have been Cerise, the second wife of one of our soldiers, Livio. Livio’s first wife, Santina, had not been killed by a common enemy, but our own family when they had attacked us in Positano years ago. This left Livio a ghost of a man, who married a hot-blooded woman who wanted him to love her as much as he had loved Santina.
This set off a downward spiral, collecting us all on the way down.
Years later, Cerise and her daughter, Livia, attempted to murder my niece, Mia. Livia had married a man with Russian ties. Not only did he deal in arms, but drugs as well. Saverio had been the lead on my niece’s security detail, requested by her father, Brando, and the situation turned out in our favor. However, it was not without its dangers, and still-resounding effects.
The path we were on seemed to be colliding, which was why Mac had called in Lev, a Russian assassin who usually only went by a number to identify him. He was the head of a secret Russian association, dubbed the Seven Deadly Sins. Scarlett had met him years ago when she was a child and was dancing with her grandmother, the famed ballerina Maja Resnik. At the time of their first meeting, Maja and Scarlett had been dancing for Lev’s grandfather, who was a powerful figure in Russia. He had been enamored with Maja.
This time, it was my wife who seemed to find herself in the center of danger.
Although I had craved a fated love, one as powerful as my brothers shared with their wives, this side of the heart was unknown to me, as were the bright sides, but I did not care for the strain it was causing in the center of my chest. I was accustomed to dealing with danger. It was whoIwas, but I was not accustomed to having my heart in the center of it. I could not dislodge this pressure until I knew she was safe, and since life is not that, I had a feeling I would be living with it until I took my last breath—the last one to leave my body.
My men and I entered the kitchen. Three cooks worked the stoves. Two of them averted their eyes; one of them took a step toward us, a knife lifted.
“Where the fuck do you think?—”
My elbow cut his lame threat off.
My arm moved so fast, his eyes widened, crossed, and then he fell against the stove, sliding to the floor, the knife in his limp hand falling next to him. His eyes were closed, and blood rushed out of his nose. One of my men behind me kicked the knife, and it spun across the slick floor, hitting the wall with a thud. The staff scattered as if they were mice, and a bunch of cats had just entered their kitchen.
