“Marco seems to have sold his son out. To the Italians,” Viktor said.
“Not to the Irish?” Roman questioned.
“The Irish may not have been involved at all. Sergei’s records, however, weren’t untrue. But the timing wasn’t accurate; it created a loophole. The Irish did set out to cut Giovanni off, but there was a bigger play at hand. Sergei thought the Bratva was standing back and letting him fall to the Irish since he was already skimming from us. But their standing back also means they weren’t close enough to the hit to find out that it didn’t come from the Irish. It came from the Italian Mafia.”
“Marco has been two-timing, with the Italians, so…he was involved in his son’s death?” I mused.
“The suspicion, which, by all standards, appears to be the truth, is that Marco promised Giovanni as a sacrificial pawn to the Italian Mafia. Sold him out. Stepped aside and let them have him.”
“Cold,” Roman commented.
“It had nothing to do with the Irish mob and everything to do with the Italians,” Viktor disclosed. “Still does. This attack apparently came from them.”
“All of this is more complicated than it seems,” Roman said.
“All because of one motherfucking betrayer. I’ll find him and end him. Just give the orders, bro. Let’s end this once and for all,” I spat.
While I was angry that Marco was even more vicious than I thought, Isabella’s automatic involvement in it all sparked a fury in me. My urge to kill him was potent.
“Cool it, Mikhail,” Viktor answered, his voice cool as ever. “Marco’s affairs keep unraveling like a puzzle. We don’t know the exact reason for this attack from the Italians, so why should we go all out against Marco right now? Think beyond him. This could spiral into war with half of Manhattan, and you know that would be an unnecessary risk.”
“So, what do we do? Wait for them to attack again? Reach out to us?” I asked, still impatient.
“We wait and watch Marco from a distance since he seems to be the one setting things off,” Roman answered, shrugging.
“Of course, you know this, Mikhail. You’re just too emotional to see it right now,” Viktor pointed out. “Marco is still in hiding from the Bratva. We’ll survey his movements from a distance rather than attack him. The only thing we need now is leverage; Isabella is exactly that. She’s a wife and a weapon.”
The mention of her name ignited a protective instinct in me. I wanted to hide her away in a safe place, away from all this chaos. But this was the same woman who shot at the attackers by my side, instead of running behind me. So, maybe hiding her away wouldn’t happen, after all. However, it changed nothing about the fact that I’d protect her in every way possible.
After a two-second pause, Viktor went on.
“The news of her marrying you must have gotten to him, wherever he is. I refuse to believe that’s unrelated to this attack. Definitely, he’ll play another card. He’s bound to do something soon. We’ll outplay him at his own game and make him regret the day he decided to betray us.”
“And the Italians? I must say I’m rather surprised they dared to attack Mikhail’s residence. Of all the ways to die,” Roman remarked, chuckling. “They are too big for Marco to string along. Besides, they know better than to initiate attacks.”
“They have their motive. Something that Marco either doesn’t realize or is too stupid to see,” Viktor answered. “Or they have something on him.”
“With how deep the bastard is in debt, I’d say they have something on him,” said Roman.
I sighed, raking a hand through my hair.
I had never been one to hold back, in any way, from any type of confrontation or even war. But, for the first time, I was tired and hesitant.
**********
“Meeting over?” Isabella inquired, a bit of roughness beneath her soft voice.
She sat at the edge of the bed, turning her face away from the window she was looking out of.
“Yeah. We’re all alone,” I answered, my tone instinctually softening.
Another thing she does to me.
Just being in Isabella’s presence made me do unplanned things. It seemed my whole being always knew to match her frequency whenever she was around.
Her fragile voice was a clear-enough tell. She could rise up to our attackers and sound too cool to be shaken when my brothers asked if she was okay, but she wasn’t unaffected by the attack.
“It’s hard to know which panels were replaced,” she commented, gesturing towards the windows.
