Grigori leans forward. "And now?"
"Now," I say, "the Cells believe it’s time for the heir to step into Viktor’s shadow."
Oksana’s voice sharpens. "That’s not all."
Grigori lifts an eyebrow.
I continue. "The Venezuelans didn’t just aim at Russia. They aimed at La Famiglia."
Nico exhales shakily, "Because of Margarita…"
"Exactly," I say. "Her alliance wasn’t about Edoardo. It was never about family. It was about preparing the ground in New York for Venezuelan infiltration. She manipulated Edoardo. Used him. Bound him. And when he outlived his usefulness—" We don't add that once the Venezuelans had La Famiglia dealt with, they would come after the Bratva. He's a smart man; he already figured it out the moment we told him about Alexei.
"She planned to remove him," Oksana finishes coldly.
Nico snorts. "Sounds like her."
I lean back. "New York was the first front. Moscow is the second. Caracas wanted both. The heir gives them legitimacy. Margarita gave them access."
"And now that they are all dead," Oksana adds, "Alexei becomes the symbol they rally behind."
"Do you know where he is?" Nico asks, getting up and moving toward the bar by the door that leads to the hallway. He doesn’t wait for an answer, already moving toward the bar like he needs the distance.
The room falls into a heavy silence. Grigori stands slowly, the decision forming behind his pale eyes like a storm gathering shape. "We'll find and kill him. We will kill every single Cell like the cancer they are." Grigori promises.
Oksana watches her brother with a look that is equal parts admiration and warning. I watch him too.
Stephano Conti might excel at killing men.
Raffael DeSantis might revel in burning empires.
But Grigori Arsenyev?
He doesn’t just destroy dynasties.
He decides who gets to build them.
And suddenly, it’s clear: Our two worlds aren’t brushing against each other. They’re colliding.
And nothing will be the same. At least we share common ground. Oksana and I being married is one. Toni andGrigori sharing a company is another. The Venezuelans are already in shambles. With both Silvestre and Aurelio gone, Caracas is up for grabs. They'll be fighting over the bones and won't have time to look toward Moscow or New York.
Alexei is Grigori's problem now. Aside from the Cells in both our organizations, the only pressing problem La Famiglia has is Don Edoardo. And my father. Gustave. Both still need to be dealt with.
A few days later…
I'm still fuming.Not only did Stephano not invite me to La Famiglia's meeting, where heads will be rolling, but he also suggested I accept the invitation I received from Scarlet DeLuna to a wives-and-sisters-of-the-capos meeting. I already feel like hurling when the SUV stops at the gatehouse to the sprawling DeLuna estate out in the suburbs. The suburbs!
With the image of theStepford Wives—and yes, I made Stephano watch that movie yesterday as punishment—still ingrained in my head, I give Sasha a glaring look promising death as I refuse his hand tohelpme out of the SUV. God help him.
I've worked in disguises before, worn ball gowns, skirts, and dresses, but this isn't a disguise. This is part of the new life I signed up for—although when I proposed to Stephano, I had no idea I was signing up for anything besides bullets flying around us. Wearing pencil skirts and prim dresses for outings and shopping trips… my insides are shuddering at the price I'm paying to be with the man I love. What sacrifices does he have to make? None! The irony that I'm right there where my father wanted meall those years ago isn't lost on me, but the thought of paying Stephano back in spades makes it… worthwhile, I guess.
A pretty brunette stands at the top of wide granite steps leading up to an impressive mansion. It's not like Grigori's, but then again, nothing is. This place looks a lot more… normal.
The woman, Scarlet DeLuna—I've done my homework—hurries down the stairs in her six-inch heels and tight skirt, all smiles and friendliness. "Oksana! I'm so glad you could make it."
I didn't have a choicelies on the tip of my tongue, but besides being a badass assassin, I do have manners, and I realize how much the Italians measure their value by the behavior oftheirwomen. Appearance is everything. And family.
"Scarlet?" I allow a note of a question into my voice, although I already know who she is.
