I know better.
My wife is not to be underestimated. Any man who does will soon learn how dangerous she can be.
That doesn't mean I don't worry.
I crack my neck. Being married to Gemma is going to kill me long before the Russians do.
"Yes, Saint. I remember." She's calm. Too calm. I feel like I'm going to crawl out of my skin. I'm itching for my gun. "You do the talking. Marcello handles the legal stuff, and I sit pretty." She gives me a wide smile, and I can't help but think she is incredibly fucking hot. "And you don't threaten to murder anyone."
I roll my eyes. "I don't threaten murder."
Marcello snorts, and Gemma gives me a look of long suffering.
"A threat implies uncertainty. I deliver certainty."
"See?" Gemma touches my arm. "That. Don't do that."
I want to argue.
But she's right. Her plan. Her play. I need to let her run it, and though I am speaking, she's the brains behind this particular operation.
Doesn't mean I have to like it and doesn't mean I won't put a bullet in Igor's head.
"Igor's here," Marcello says, looking at his phone. "Just pulled up."
"Good." I stand. Adjust my jacket and check my gun. "Let's do this."
Igor enters with two men. Both armed and watching us carefully.
He looks older than his late forties. His hair is dark, but he's got gray in his beard. He's built solid and strong. The kind of man who's survived decades in the Bratva by being smart and ruthless in equal measure.
"Marini." He nods to me. Then to Marcello. His eyes linger on Gemma. "Mrs. Marini." His accent is thick. Russian but with years of New York smoothing the edges. "Nice to see you again."
"You as well," Gemma says.
He sits across from us, and his man take positions by the door. "Your husband nearly killed Alexei. Then Alexei dies. Interesting timing."
"Heard it was a police raid and then a fire," I say coldly. "Bad luck." I shrug. "Alexei always was rash."
"Yes. Bad luck." Igor's smile doesn't reach his eyes, and I know that he is well aware of what really occurred. "So. Why am I here? Your man said you had a proposition."
I look at Gemma. She nods slightly.
This is it.
"We want to back you," I say. "Publicly. As Alexei's successor. As Pakhan of the New York Bratva."
Igor goes very still. "What makes you think I need your backing?"
"Artem Orlov."
Igor's eyes flash, and there's a bit of fear.
"You are aware of Artem?" he asks.
I nod. I want to make a snide ass remark, but I remind myself I'm Don now, and the time for sarcasm is behind me. Still, is Igor fucking stupid? Everyone in the city is aware of the Russian oligarch.
"Artem wants the family."
