Jacobi is a mess.
His face is all beat up. Blood oozes from his nose, trickling down over his chin onto his bare chest. His body is hunched forward in the chair, as much as is possible with the bindings around his wrists and legs. Bruising litters his chest and stomach, and it’s clear my husband has broken at least a couple of his ribs. Thin lacerations cover his skin from the flesh wounds Massimo inflicted with my knife.
I would have gladly volunteered to torture the man who helped to set up the hit on my husband—especially with Massimo injured—but I know this is something he needs to do himself.
“Then kill me,” Jacobi pants, spitting blood onto the floor. “Kill me, and you’ll have no one to inform you if they try to take out another hit.” His breath filters out in exaggerated breaths, and I can tell it’s a struggle for him to speak. “Let me live, and I’ll tell you who did this. I’ll be your eyes and ears on the ground. I’ll let you know if they come for you again. In return, you provide protection for me and my family. Those are my terms.”
Massimo looks up at me, and I nod. It seems, on this occasion, it’s in our interests to keep this asshole alive. Massimo yanks Jacobi’s head back painfully, staring deep into his eyes. “If you double-cross me, I will kill everyone you love, and I won’t make it slow.” Removing his cell from his pocket, Massimo opens a photo file, flipping through shots of what I presume are Jacobi’s family and friends.
Jacobi’s fear is palpable. “I’m on your side. I swear,” he blurts. “If we have a deal, I’m your man.”
“I’ll sweeten the deal,” Massimo says, releasing Jacobi from his grip. “If anyone comes offering a hit on me, my wife, Fiero Maltese, my family, or anyone connected with me or my loved ones, you come straight to me. I’ll pay you double for the intel to take the challenger out.”
It’s a smart call because men like this communicate in cold hard cash.
“I agree,” Jacobi says, nodding in obvious relief.
Massimo stands in front of the prisoner, exuding lethal power from every pore. “Tell me what I need to know.”
“It was the Russians,” Jacobi says without any further hesitation. All the blood drains from my face at the revelation. “The order came via a contact in Moscow, but the initial kill order came from New York.”
Anton did this to send me a warning.
I will rip him to shreds for it.
“This is my fault,” I admit in a low voice, eyeballing my husband. I won’t shy away from the truth. Not when my mistakes are threatening his life.
Massimo frowns as he turns away from Jacobi to face me. “Why would you say that?”
I press my lips to his ear. “I’ve been partners with the Bratva for the past four years. Anton Smirnov is my contact point in the US. I lied when I said the Colombians were my main supplier.”
Shock comingles with concern on his handsome face. “Jesus, Rina. Don’t say the Russians are?”
I speak in hushed tones so only Massimo and Jacobi can hear me. “They are, but things have changed in the past few weeks. Their motives are no longer clear to me, and my own plans have altered. They tried to pressure me. I pushed back, and this is obviously a warning.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Massimo scrubs a hand over his jaw, looking deep in thought. After a few silent beats, he turns to Jacobi again. “I need to takePakhanSmirnov out. I can’t do it and risk eyeballs on me. It can’t lead back to the Italianmafioso. It would bring too much heat. Can you ask The Terminator to do it? Five mil for a clean job.”
“No.” I step forward, placing my hand on Massimo’s lower back. “That could still lead back to you. I have a better idea. Smirnov is the Russian ambassador to New York. Any hint of scandal would ruin his political career and force Moscow to bring him back in disgrace. I have intel we can use.”
Massimo’s eyes light up in acknowledgment. “Insurance.”
I nod. “Insurance.”
“Fuck, this is why we make such a great team.” His lips collide with mine in a searing-hot kiss I feel all the way to my toes. It’s far too brief for my liking, but there’s always later.
“I’ll get it set up,” I continue. “He’ll be recalled, and Moscow can do the dirty work for us.” There is no way they’ll let him live, but I can’t find it in me to care.
He tried to have my husband killed to send me a message.
Fuck him.
He deserves everything coming his way.
“They will replace him,” Massimo supplies.
“I know, but at least it removes the immediate threat, and it gives us time to regroup and prepare.” It leaves me with an even greater problem, but I’ll find a solution. I always do.
Massimo calls one of his men in from outside where they were keeping a lookout. “Untie him,” he instructs, pointing at Jacobi. “Help him get cleaned up, and then take him to one of the safe houses.”
