“So that is why you stole my sister? Because you ran out of options? That may also be why I steal one of your sisters. Or maybe even your woman. What would you think of that, I wonder? Maybe Isla Davenport would like a real man to show her what she’s missing.”
My blood goes cold at the threat. Sidorov is speaking cheerfully, like he’s talking about his plans for a Christmas holiday instead of waging war against innocent civilians. He is also making damn sure I’m aware that he knows exactly who Isla is. The fucker probably already has a file on her.
“Try it and see what happens, Sidorov,” I warn.
I’m confident that my sisters and Isla are untouchable in the safe house. It’s never been compromised, and everyone placed their cells in Faraday bags prior to going to the casino, leaving any potential hackers unable to track their locations.
“I’m not afraid of the Andriani family.”
“You fucking ought to be,” I growl.
“The old Pakhan was weak, but I’m not. Don’t push me.”
“You’re not going to get your sister back with threats.”
The line goes silent for a beat. We’re at a stalemate.
“I have the upper hand here, Sidorov,” I press.
Because at this point, it’s true. Scorpion has Ekaterina, and Camilla, Bianca, and Isla are at the safe house. He can blow up more of our buildings, but that’s just going to get the Feds breathing down his neck. If he wants to stay under the radar, he’s got to lay low after setting off a fucking bomb in the middle of the city in broad daylight. I’ve already put in a call to a guy who’s on our payroll, and he’s going to make sure the official investigation proves that the explosion was caused by a gas leak. But Sidorov doesn’t need to know that.
“You only have the upper hand if I let you have it,” Sidorov counters.
“Look,” I say, “maybe we don’t want a war. Maybe what we want is peace. You blew up our restaurant, and now your sister is enjoying a nice little vacation, courtesy of the Andriani family. I would say we’ve been nothing but reasonable so far. The ball’s in your court now. I want your promise that you’re going to stand down. If I don’t have it by five o’clock today, all bets are off. And I don’t think you want to know what can happen when vacations unexpectedly go sideways. Do you?”
“If you fucking hurt her?—”
“That’s not the way this is going, Sidorov,” I interrupt coldly. “We call the shots. Think about what I said. I need your wordthat you’ll stand downtoday, or all bets are off when it comes to Ekaterina. I’ll be waiting.”
I hit End on the call and stare out at the sea of endless city traffic, hoping like hell my threats to Sidorov are going to work. Because if they don’t, what the Bratva did at Sergio’s is going to look like a picnic in the park. That bomb detonating yesterday was the opening salvo.
If I don’t hear from Sidorov by five, we’re officially at war.
Isla
I’ve beenbinge-watching cooking shows with Camilla and Bianca for hours. Cid’s been taking turns curling up with all of us, apparently impervious to the lack of windows in this place. Despite every effort I’ve taken to keep myself calm, my skin is starting to crawl, and that ever-tightening band on my chest is cinching more by the minute.
My anxiety is about a whole lot more than being trapped in an underground and windowless safe house, though. It’s because I’m worried about Alessio. He’s still not back from whatever mission he’s conducting in the outside world, where there are Bratva psychopaths running around with bombs.
What if something happens to him?
What if I never see him again?
“You bored?” Camilla asks, jolting me from my thoughts. “We can totally turn on something else.”
I realize I’ve been restless on the comfy black leather couch, shifting and unable to sit still for longer than a few minutes. “I guess I’m just on edge.”
“Want a glass of wine?” Bianca raises her own in a mock toast. “Looks like we aren’t going anywhere soon, and the Andriani boys like to keep this place stocked.”
The last thing I want is alcohol clouding my mind right now.
“No thanks,” I tell her. “But that lemonade your mother made earlier is calling to me. I think I’ll go and get myself a glass. Anyone else?”
“Mom makes the best lemonade,” Camilla tells me. “It’s our grandmother’s recipe.”
“Thanks, but I’m afraid if I have too much lemonade, I won’t be able to drive home,” Bianca adds.
And it strikes me how weird it is that Alessio and Bianca have such similar personalities without ever having met until now. She reminds me of him in a lot of ways.
