His insinuation that my success is solely because of my seductive ability is a big insult. As if my strategic skills, hard work, and careful planning have played no part. Has Anton always been a dick hiding behind a veil of civility and professionalism or did I just not see it? I could argue with him about the personal slight, but I know how to pick my battles. Something else is going on here, and I need to understand what it is. “Or what?” I drain my vodka and calmly set my glass down. “Is this a threat?”
He tut-tuts. “Don’t be so sensitive. I am merely pointing out we need to accelerate plans. I don’t call the shots, Catarina. Moscow does, and right now, they are not happy.”
“You have to appease them until the timing is right. We can’t show our hand too early, or it will all be for nothing.”
He grips my chin between his fingers. “Is this because of your new husband? Is he in your ear?”
Why the hell would he say that? “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s my enemy.” I forcibly remove Anton’s fingers from my face, hoping the words don’t ring as hollow to him. “I have Massimo exactly where I want him,” I spoof. I’m in no doubt our battle of wills is still ongoing despite both of us waving a white flag of sorts.
“Prove it,” he says, lowering his zipper and pulling his cock from his pants. “Suck my dick.”
Rage unlike anything I have felt in a long time jumps up and bites me. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I have nothing to prove. I will not suck your dick. Put that hideous thing away.” I slant a lethal glare at him, projecting controlled anger as prickles of apprehension glide up my spine.
The dynamic has altered.
I don’t know why or what it means, but this changeseverything.
I won’t be manipulated.
Not by any man.
And not by the Russians.
I’m not naïve. I knew the risks when I established a working relationship with Anton, but I thought we had a mutual respect, and his way of doing things was different than his predecessors. I thought we could negotiate any future disagreements and, with the weight of the entire Italian Americanmafiosobehind me, I could control the Russians and keep them where I wanted them.
I am beginning to suspect I made a grave error in judgment.
One that may cost all of us dearly.
I cannot allow his disrespect to go unchallenged. In a lightning-fast move, I slide my dagger out from where it’s strapped to my thigh and point the tip at his disgusting floppy dick. “Fix yourself or I’ll slice it off.” The privacy screen lowers, and the two men in the front point their weapons at me. “Call your henchmen off, or you won’t like what happens next,” I say as he tucks his tiny cock back in his boxer briefs and zips his pants up.
He speaks in Russian, having no clue I have been learning the language these past few years.
“This is definitely not the time,” I reply in Russian, enjoying the look of shock splayed across his face. It costs him, and I prod the tip of my dagger at the exact point of the jugular vein in his neck. “Make one false move against me, and you’re a dead man. What I did to my ex-husband was only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to my creativity. Don’t tempt me to explore it.”
In Russian, he tells his men to back down. I keep my dagger pressed to his throat, but we both know I won’t kill him. I can’t afford to at this critical juncture, but it looks like all bets may be off for the future. “You disappoint me greatly, Anton. The man I thought I knew would never conduct himself in such a seedy, disgraceful manner. You have some nerve challenging me like this. We have a professional relationship. One I have always valued and appreciated. Now I am questioning everything you are bringing to the table.”
I nick his throat on purpose, drawing a small bead of blood. “Don’t make an enemy of me. It won’t end well for you. That much I can promise.”
His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he pins me with dark eyes. “I don’t take well to vague threats.”
“Trust me, there is nothing vague about it. You are either on my side or against me. Which is it, Anton?”
He draws a breath, visibly forcing the aggression from his face. “This has gotten out of hand. I accept responsibility, and I apologize.”
Slowly, I remove the dagger from his neck. “Has the agenda changed, or was this always your plan?” Has he been playing me all this time? Does he think because I’m a woman that I’m easier to betray?
“Nothing has changed on our side. Has it on yours?” he asks, extracting a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbing at the little trickle of blood on his neck.
“Why would anything have changed on my side?”
His eyes bore into mine, and I hold his gaze. Is this about Massimo? It couldn’t be. He doesn’t know about my past with the Grecoes or my plans for them. I never confided that in him because it wasn’t part of the overall scheme to take New York and control The Commission. It was his suggestion I marry Massimo, so it couldn’t be anything to do with him. Could it? I tuck it away in a mental compartment to reflect on later.
“See that it doesn’t,” he says.
“I don’t respond well to vague threats either,” I say, reaching for the door handle.
He stretches across the seat, pinning me in place with his arm. “Don’t be rash, Catarina. One false move could get both of us killed. We need to stick with original plan.”
