“Your dad must have been a wise man,” she says, her voice thoughtful.
But he wasn’t wise enough.
My father trusted Aleks, trusted him like a brother, and what did it get him? A bullet in the skull, that’s what. All that talk about loyalty, family, sticking together – it’s all a load of crap. He believed in it, and now he’s six feet under.
Instead, I hear myself saying, “He was.” A pang of loss hits me, but I push it aside. “He knew what it was to face fear. He knew that family mattered, that sticking together, being a pack, that’s what got you through.”
“I wish I’d met him.”
“Me too,krasotka. Me too.”
She reaches up, her fingers gentle on my face. “We’ll get through this, won’t we?”
“We will.” The words are a vow. “We’re a pack now. You, me, our son. We’ll face the fear. We’ll do it, anyway.”
As I say the words, I feel that old, familiar ache, the same foolish trust that doomed my father. I look into Sophia’s eyes, and I think of the love she has for Yulia, the fear of what might happen. I know she betrayed me once, but there’s something there, something real. It gnaws at me, pulling at something deep inside.
And as much as I hate to admit it, I recognize that pull. It’s the same damn thing that got my father killed.
Trust, love?
The need to protect those close to you, even when you know you shouldn’t.
I’m a fool, just like my old man.
I want to keep her close, want to protect her, even though I know she betrayed me. It’s that nasty, rotten trust again, rearing its ugly head.
I should have learned from my father’s mistakes, should have seen the betrayal coming, but here I am, looking into her eyes, and I know I’m going to do it, anyway.
Because I am my father’s son.
I have trust for this woman. That very trust might be my downfall, but I can’t help it. I can’t help but hope that my instinct is right. About her. Even when I know it’s a risk and it might be the death of me.
She pulls me to her lips; we seal the promise with a kiss, one that’s not about lust or need but something deeper.
Trust. Commitment. Love. Whatever the fuck it is.
I finally start the engine of the Lambo, its purr a growl of anticipation. Pushing my phone out at the same time, I hit the number “1” on the keypad, and Dimitri’s number pops up. It rings twice, then I hear his voice, always ready, always on alert.
“D,” I say, no need for pleasantries. “It’s time.”
I can hear him straighten on the other end, the shuffling of papers, the intake of breath. He knows what my words mean. He knows what must be done.
“What do you need from me, Luka?” he asks, voice steady, loyal to the end.
“We’ll need to strike tonight,” I say, my words heavy with unspoken fury and determination.
“No delays, no second thoughts. Aleks won’t see us coming.”
There’s a pause, a heartbeat of time when the world hangs in the balance. Then Dimitri’s voice comes back, resolute and unyielding.
“We’ll be ready.”
Chapter 11
Luka
The cold takes its grip on the evening, yet here I am, drenched in sweat beneath layers of Kevlar and tactical gear. One would think being a mafia boss prepped for an assault would mean luxury suits and polished shoes.
