"Clean is relative in our business," I mutter.
"Clean enough." Pietro stands, moving to the window that overlooks the compound's eastern gardens.
"They've also expanded into territories we don't touch," Pietro continues. "Atlantic City. Parts of Miami. Some shipping routes through the Gulf that could double our distribution capacity."
I close the folder. "What are you implying?"
Pietro turns to face me, and for a moment, I see our brother Riccardo in his expression. That same strategic patience. That same willingness to play the long game.
"We've done this before, Nico. The Feretti alliance gave us a foothold in New York that took our competitors decades to achieve. We could do the same with the Baganovs."
"The Ferettis weren't holding debt over one of our people." The words come out sharper than I intend.
Pietro's eyebrow arches. "One of our people? Or your person?"
I don't answer. Don't need to. We both know what Kristen has become to me, even if I haven't said it out loud. Even if I'm not sure I can.
"The debt is cleared," Pietro says carefully. "You made sure of that. Whatever leverage they thought they had through Jack Walker is gone."
"Which is exactly why their sudden interest in alliance makes me suspicious." I start pacing. Old habit. Helps me think. "They were watching us, Pietro. Openly. Aggressively. Now they want to be friends? That's not how the Bratva operates."
"Unless they realized watching us wasn't getting them anywhere." Pietro returns to his chair, settling into it with the ease of a man comfortable with power. "We're not an easy target. Maybe they decided partnership is more profitable than war."
"Or maybe this is the long con. Get inside our operation, learn our weaknesses, then strike."
"Which is why we don't commit to anything until we're certain." Pietro's voice carries that tone of finality I've learned to recognize. The decision is already made in his mind—he's just bringing me along for the ride. "I want you to meet with them."
My pacing stops. "Me?"
"You're the one who handles the hard conversations. The ones that require reading between every word someone says." Pietro's lips curve into something that's almost a smile. "And you're the one who won't let personal feelings cloud judgment."
The irony isn't lost on me. Personal feelings are exactly what's clouding everything these days. Every time I close my eyes, I see Kristen's face. Her laugh. The way she looked at me last night like I was worth something more than the violence I'm capable of.
Dangerous thoughts.
"When?" I ask.
"Tomorrow night. Neutral territory. Bellini's back room." Pietro slides another folder across the desk. "Dmitri Baganov will be there. Their new pakhan's younger brother. Word is he's the reasonable one."
"Reasonable for Bratva."
"Reasonable enough." Pietro stands again, signaling the meeting's end. "Feel them out. See what they're really after. If it's legitimate, we consider it. If it's not..." He doesn't finish the sentence. Doesn't need to.
I take the folder, flipping it open to study Dmitri Baganov's photograph. Mid-thirties. Cold eyes. The kind of man who's killed before and sleeps fine afterward.
Takes one to know one.
"And if they bring up Kristen?" I ask, not looking up from the file.
Pietro's silence stretches long enough that I finally meet his gaze.
"They won't," he says. "Because as far as anyone outside this family knows, she's just a housekeeper. Nothing more."
Nothing more.
The words taste like ash in my mouth.
"I'll handle it," I say, tucking the folder under my arm.
