"We can be a bit dramatic," I admit, "but we usually get our messages across. Send Gianluigi's head to him, sans tongue, that we'll stuff back into hismouth. If you want to add some Italian flair, we can put his balls in there too."
Gianluigi's face drains. He tries one last move, a small laugh, a small stinging apology. Sasha steps forward, grabs him by the arm, and Ettoro opens the door to the bathroom. No reason to mess up Stephano's carpet even more.
A cruel smile plays along Stephano's lips as he massages the short stubble already forming in his cheeks. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."
I grin, "Oh, I'll remind you, Marito."
"Send the message in Italian/Russian."
I can't help but correct him. "Russian/Italian. Two mouths, one message."
He chuckles, the sound brittle. "I think I like the Italian/Russian way."
Since I know this latest betrayal was a shock for him, I let it slide, while Gianluigi starts to beg. The begging is ugly and familiar. Men always beg when they realize their math was wrong. He throws out a couple more names, unimportant ones. The door to the bathroom closes behind the three men. A cry is cut short, turns into a whimper.
The plane hums as it cruises through the sky. Stephano and I sit around a mahogany table, away from the blood on the carpet, holding a laptop with several screens attached. He pulls out the thumb drive andmoves it through his fingers like Sasha did with the coin. Slowly, he slides the drive into the port.
He enters a password. Nico didn't mention one, so it can only be one thing:Temporale. I watch Stephano's face as the folder pops open, blood-orange light reflecting in his pupils.
The files ripple across the screen. Ledger entries. Payoffs. Receipts that smell like someone’s death wish. A list of men who signed their allegiance for a better price.
Gianluigi's pleas go from air to background noise to nothing. We have what we need. In an hour, Dre will move. In two, men will vanish. In three, a message will be delivered to Gustave.
I glance at Stephano. He looks tired—older, maybe—and fierce. He reaches across the table, and his fingers brush mine for a fraction of a second.
"Zhena," his voice is soft, hoarse, letting all the betrayal he feels out for me alone to hear.
I let the title sit between us as the drive hums. "Marito," I answer in the same soft voice, letting him know I'm here, as the plane carries us forward toward a sky that is suddenly very small and very loud with the sound of decisions being made.
I can't saythe betrayal didn't sting. Finding out that one of my most trusted lieutenants has not only been spying on me for my father, but also was ready to end me is… hitting. And so is the fact that my father ordered him to kill me. The bastard didn't even have the decency to do it himself.
"We need to up Nico's security," I tell Oksana, fully aware that I'm trusting her men more right now than my own. There is no way my old man could have infiltrated the Bratva. The irony isn't lost on me.
"Already done, Nico is on his way to my brother's house. He'll be safe there, and Grigori has a state-of-the-art hospital wing at his home."
I close my eyes and run my hand through my hair. Of course he does. Fuck. A small, ironic chuckle escapes me. How in the hell did I allow this to happen? My littlebrother is safer with a psychotic Pakhan than with his own people.
My anger is directed at myself, and my fury is at my father.
At me, because how in the hell did I not see him for what he really is? And him? A grunt escapes me. There are too many reasons why I'm furious with the old coward right now. But all the puzzle pieces are finally on the table. If one or two are still flipped face down, we will soon know.
The plane is on its way to New York, where Oksana and I'll crash a meeting of the only other men I know I can trust, men who all hold pieces of the puzzle: Enrico, Toni, Marcello, and, yeah, even Raf. I'd say I'm holding a surprise for him in store as well, but I'm pretty sure he already knows.
The moment the plane lands, Gianluigi's head will be delivered to my father, and Oksana and I will be on our way to the meeting to catch up with my old friends. It's ironic how we've all known each other for most of our lives, attended many of the same schools, weddings, and family parties, but it took the events of the last year to fuse us together like brothers in our fight against a common enemy—one who should have been our leader.
Grigori sends a limo to pick us up, and the drive to Raf's house in the Catskills is quiet. One of the things I love about Oksana is her ability to read the room, or the car in this case. She not only understands my need for silence but shares it.
Love?
I look over at her. Her profile is turned to me as she stares out the window at the passing streets, watching people walking about their lives, unaware that two of its finest predators are driving by. There is nothing about this woman that isn't perfection, beauty. But that's not what causes this new emotion inside me. No. It's her. It's every fucking part of her. I have no clue when it happened or how, maybe the moment I stepped into the fucking hospital room and saw that murderous bastard about to stab a knife into her. Or maybe when she threatened to kill me. Or when I said, "I do." Who knows? This woman is an enigma; it'll take years to figure her out, years I'm looking very much forward to.
"I love you," I say into the silence, because… it seems appropriate.
Her lip curls slightly up. She doesn't turn yet, but her profile is still to me. She doesn't stiffen, doesn't acknowledge my words at all, but I can see by a small gentling of her jawline that they affect her. She's always been beautiful, even bruised, battered, and swollen. Her diamond-shaped face holds a hardness that's not easily penetrated or lifted. Slowly, ever so slowly, her head turns, her features soften more, until she is nothing but a vision of ageless exquisiteness. Jade green eyes meet mine. "You should, you married me."
Her quip doesn’t deter me. I lean back on the bench seat, keeping our eye contact. "By that logic, you should love me too."
Her smile deepens, softens her hard features even more, turning her into a version of herself I don't think anybody has ever been privileged to see. My chest swells with the gravity of what she is allowing me to see.
