"This alone could ruin you, but I also have my own coroner's report. Had it done before the body was released. Interesting how many discrepancies there are with the official one." He pockets the phone. "I'm taking over the Bratva. If you force my hand, I'll take over your business as well."
"What are you offering for my cooperation?" Saint asks.
"Saint," I grip his arm, my fingernails pressing into his flesh, "don't."
"The footage disappears."
Saint's jaw works. He's seconds from agreeing, and I can't allow that to happen. I wrack my brain, but I can't think clearly, can't see a way out.
Luckily, Artem throws us a bone.
He pulls out a card and sets it down on the table. "You have one day. I have business, so I can grant you the gift of time. After that, the footage goes to the Bratva council. And your life becomes very complicated."
He moves toward the door. Stops. Saint hasn't moved, and if I couldn't feel his heartbeat under my hands, I would be sure he was dead.
"One more thing." Artem is addressing me. "I meant what I said. About understanding. What you did to Alexei—" Something like respect flickers in his eyes. "He underestimated you. Thought you were just another pretty thing to own. He died for that mistake."
"Is that a warning?"
"It's a compliment." He opens the door. "Don't waste it by making the same mistake he did. Don't underestimate your opponent."
He leaves, and all hell breaks loose.
Marcello is in the room immediately.
"What did he say? What does he want?"
I look at the card on the desk. At the door where Artem just left. At my husband, whose eyes haven't left the card. His fingers flex as though around a gun, and I already know what he's going to do.
"He wants cooperation. Neutrality while he takes over from Igor." I pick up the card. "And he has twenty-four hours' worth of leverage to get it."
"Fuck that." Saint's moving. His stupor has cleared, and he's become Don once more. The coldness in his eyes makes them look like Emeralds, and I know, without a doubt, he's ready to kill.
I also know that won't work. There's no way that Artem was allowed in by the guards, which means he got in on his own. There's a lot more to him than meets the eye.
"What does he have?" Marcello asks.
"Footage of Gemma entering the club the day Alexei died. He wants us to stay neutral while he takes over the Bratva and cede fifty-percent of our territory, or he sends the footage to the Russians and starts a war."
"Shit." Marcello runs a hand through his hair. "Okay. We can work with this. He gave us twenty-four hours, which means we can negotiate."
Saint's pacing. He's not in the space for a negotiation, and Marcello is naïve if he thinks that's what Artem wants. "He wants us to bend the knee."
"Then we give it to him." Marcello's voice is calm. Logical. "Territory. Operations. Whatever keeps him quiet. We can't afford a war with the Russians. Not now. Not while you're still consolidating power."
"You want me to give that fucker what he wants?" Saint's voice rises. "You want me to pay him off for threatening my wife?"
"I want you to be smart. We can lose some territory. Give him marginal operations. It'll still be a win."
"Smart is putting a bullet in his head. Tonight. Before he can use that footage."
"And if he's made copies?" Marcello steps forward. "Saint, think. He has failsafes. We'd be fighting the entire Bratva while half our own captains are still questioning your leadership."
"Then what?" Saint wheels on him. "We just let him walk in here, threaten Gemma, and give him whatever he wants?"
"If that's what it takes?—"
"No." My voice cuts through their argument.
