He ended the call with that final note.
The dial tone changed.
Staring straight ahead and zoning out, I clutched my phone so hard that I could’ve cracked the case.
A single tear burned and leaked from my eye.
17
ANDRE
“Are you ready?” Oleg asked when the driver stopped at the restaurant where we’d be meeting members of the Rossi family for a quick update about mutual interests. Maintaining friendly ties with the old Italian syndicate was something that fell on my shoulders as my father’s key representative for these kinds of negotiations. They’d asked to meet here, after the business closed. Going to speak with them on their turf was a disadvantage, but for a decade now, they’d been amicable, and an adversary.
I slanted him a frown. “Ready?” I scoffed. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”
Speaking with the Rossis was something I did quarterly.
“I meant are you ready to be on? Are you ready to get your head on straight so you ain’t thinking about her?”
If he was skeptical of her and under the assumption he was looking out for me, fine. This man had my back too many times to count to doubt him now.
But if he was biased against her and doubting her for any other trivial reason, no thanks. That shit wouldn’t sit right with me.
“I’ll manage,” I retorted, reaching for the door handle.
He was starting to sound like a broken record, making comments about how obsessed I was to spend every minute I could with Sofia. It was obvious to everyone in my building and all of my family that she wasn’t really working for me. Not much. She was no longer a maid, not that I’d really needed someone else in that role. She was almost done organizing my office, not that I ever spent much time there. I only went in there to toss some things on the desk with the mindset that I’d deal with it later.
If Oleg wasn’t making comments or giving me the side eye about starting something with Sofia, then I was fielding questions about her from my father. Roman only cared to tease me that “another one bit the dust.” Sergei didn't comment at all, perhaps because of how recently he’d been in my shoes, bringing a woman into our small group.
Sofia wasn’t a distraction. I could compartmentalize my life. But she did present herself as a source of motivation for me. The sooner I wrapped up my business, the faster I could get home to her and relish the perfection of her presence in my life again.
That was why I strode toward the Rossis’ restaurant with confidence. With a quick clip to my pace, eager to get this talk over with so I could head home.
To her.
Oleg accompanied me. A couple of others strode behind us, arriving in a second car. Having backup generally wasn’t necessary when speaking to the Rossis. I’d requested that theycome only because it looked strong. It seemed right to show up with equal forces, as if bragging they weren’t better off than we were.
“Let’s get this over with,” I told the three Orlov soldiers with me.
The guards at the door nodded at our approach. Acknowledged as expected guests, we were given the right to go behind them and enter the side door. A short staircase would lead us up to the private rooms, the space above the restaurant where the Rossis could host parties, appease and calm those who wanted an exclusive gambling room, or dictate other nefarious plans.
Granted access, we took the stairs and reached the second floor. A semi-enclosed patio on a wide balcony space was lit up with some lights hanging from the awning.
“Andre,” one of the leaders greeted kindly. “Good to see?—“
Gunfire erupted, cutting him off. Bodies slammed onto the floor as agents flung themselves into the open space. They rappelled into the opening, all of them armed, firing, and protected by vests.
DEA, ATF, NYPD. A trifecta of hell.
Shouted orders for us to lower our weapons. Yells for agents to move as a unit. And the demands for us to get down.
It happened so suddenly that I almost lagged to react. Oleg and the two others who’d come were already flanking me, forming a protective circle to block any clear shot at me.
What the fuck?
What the actual fucking hell?
This was a routine meeting. Nothing illegal or fancy. Yet the goddamn alphabet agencies were storming and ambushing us like this? Now? If it weren’t so ludicrous, I wouldn't have believed it was reality.
