I gunned the engine, backed out of the parking lot, and headed back to Manhattan.
“Someone gunning for you?” he asked.
“I was more concerned about someone coming after you.”
“What? Someone pissed off their candidate lost?”
I chuckled. “Thank you for sacrificing your freedom for the bratva. We owe you.”
The candidate in question was the district attorney of Manhattan. He was up for reelection against one of ours. It was imperative that he not win because he was eyeing the mayor’s office, which would prove disastrous for us if he won.
Most of the people in that poker game, especially Vasquez and Ahmed, counted on my candidate winning. That was how I controlled them.
“Who knew a deathbed confession about framing you would bring down one of the most powerful men in Manhattan’s criminal justice system.”
I possessed the video of that confession for more than a year, but timing was key. Kolya’s attorneys made a lot of noise leading up to the election about his innocence. When the evidence came to light, that an innocent man was being kept in prison for almost a year awaiting trial despite our insistence he didn’t kill the mistress and witness in a congressman’s sex scandal—the incumbent DA knew he was going down.
Politics and the mob were very much intertwined. It was all about making deals and greasing the palms of the people who thought they had the power. In that, Lucy was right. The actualpower players weren’t in the government. They were merely puppets of corporations and men with money who preferred to live in the shadows.
“So how’s the wife?”
I stiffened. “What about her?”
“Anya said you’re not sticking to your side of the bargain.”
“When the fuck did you talk to her?”
“She’s the only one who calls me. Aralina sends me care packages and letters, though.”
I glared at Kolya. “Those pigs monitor phone conversations.”
“Am I a moron to you?” Kolya derided. “The three of us grew up together. We know how to speak in code.”
“So what did Anya say?” I gritted my teeth. The last time I came face-to-face with Anya was after that poker game where she confronted Lucy. Since she slashed her wrists, I’d been trying to keep her calm by checking in on her from time to time. But it seemed to send her mixed messages I was marrying her after I divorced Lucy. I had no desire to marry again after Lucy and I divorced.
I made it clear to Anya the following night after that poker game three weeks ago.
“Don’t come near my wife again.”
“Your wife?” She was crying, and her voice was hoarse from it, but I had no desire to comfort her. “You humiliated me instead of her. What happened to our plans, Kirill?”
“Lucy is mine and mine alone to handle. Our plan is for you to stay out of my way while I do it.”
“Stay out of your way? You’re at the top now, and I mean nothing? What happened to loyalty?” Her mouth sneered. “Oh, I should have known better when you let Kolya—” She broke off.
The rage on my face must have scared her.
“This is your last warning, Anya. No more dramatics. I’m not going to come running the next time you slit your wrists.”
“You’re an asshole.”
Somehow, that word coming out of Anya’s mouth pissed me off. I liked it better when Lucy cursed me.
“Goodbye, Anya.”
“Her exact words? Kirill’s wife is living like a queen and everyone loves her. They seem to forget that she almost sent everyone to prison with her meddling.”
“Anya exaggerates. Maksim and I had it under control. It even paved the way for Ivan stepping down and me becoming pakhan. How did that not work in our favor?” I pointed out. “And I can’t help it if my parents and Aralina love her. They think she’s a martyr married to an unfeeling bastard.”
