I watch Vita press her shoulders back and lift her chin, her relief obvious. However, her saddened expression tugs at my heart. I can’t imagine how her mother will receive this information. She already knows Cosima intended to kill Vita. But this is far more twisted than I’m certain the woman expects.
Then again, maybe not.
It would have to be a pretty fucked-up situation for a Mafia woman to go after her niece when they both are well-known members of the upper echelon’s family. But it’s the sort of rivalry that’s made the Mafia infamous enough for movies.
“Is there anything else?”
Vita points the tip of the blade at the hollow between Patrick’s collarbones. From the way he swallows, I know she is applying increased pressure.
“To find you, I dug into Alejandro further. I saw the way you watched him at the gala. I didn’t like it.”
“What did you learn and how?”
“I bribed—a—fuck ton of people. It—allowed me—to leapfrog until—I found the—origin.”
I want the man to hurry. His halting explanation grates on my nerves. However, the typical person would’ve passed out a long time ago. It’s clear this isn’t his first gunshot wound, and he has a higher pain tolerance than most. It makes me wonder how long he’s been a mercenary. My guess is he’s approaching his late thirties, so a few years older than me.
“Spit it out, Patrick, and I’ll put you out of your agony. I know you’ll never beg for mercy, and your window to ask already shut. But you can decide how much worse it’s going to get before the end.”
She twists the knife against his throat as though she were drilling a hole. It doesn’t break the skin, but I’m certain it feels like she’s about to puncture his windpipe. Or press his Adam’s apple out through the back of his neck.
“Who’s after Alejandro?”
“Seems your fuckboy pissed off Sergei Andreyev.”
My brow furrows.
When don’t I piss off Sergei?
He’s the NYC bratva’ssovietnik—chief intelligence officer—and maternal cousin to the Kutsenko brothers. But there’s no chance in hell he ordered this hit, nor did any member of his family.
“What did Alejandro do to make Sergei put a hit on him?”
Patrick tuts, then splutters.
“It wasn’t Sergei who ordered the hit, but he’s the reason for it. Alejandro pissed off Sergei because of some plan he came up with that enabled Joaquin to sabotage Sergei’s intel on a major deal in Portugal. No one in the bratva reads, writes, or speaks fluent Portuguese, but Alejandro does. He intercepted and translated communications between a Brazilian cartel and a Portuguese importer. The Diazes swiped the deal right out from under the bratva’s feet. It hurt Sergei’s pride. What he believed was so thoroughly encrypted, Joaquin hacked so easily.”
That’s easy to imagine.
“Cool story, bro.”
Patrick’s face could curdle milk if he had it in him. He’d probably attempt to wrap his hands around Vita’s throat, but he’s fading fast.
“It’s a little Boston-New York rivalry going on. The Volkovs are on Anton’s shit list because they fucked up a deal that outed a Ponzi scheme Anton has built for the past year. Now they all have the FTC breathing down their necks. Dmitri Volkov hoped to get back into the New York bratva’s good graces by doing Sergei and Anton a favor. He believed offing Alejandro would be restitution for the problems he caused.”
“Is he fucking stupid?”
“Yes, incredibly. He wants to mutiny against his nephew, the currentpakhan. He’s in way over his head, both the jobs his nephew entrusted him with and this rogue scheme.”
“And does the Ivankov branch know what the Volkovs have done?”
The Kutsenkos may run the bratva now, but their branch’s still known for Vyacheslav Ivankov, who founded it when he was sent from Russia to establish the bratva in the States. Apparently, he killed too many people there, so they exported him to the U.S.
“Your guess is as good as mine on that. Even if Joaquin successfully hacked their shit, they’re far more tight-lipped than the Volkov branch.”
That’s something for my family and me to consider. Once I can get Vita the fuck out of here and back to the condo, I’ll need to meet with mytíosand cousinsto figure all this shit out.
It’s like a fucking onion. Too many damn layers, and all of them stink.
