“I know that,” I say irritably. “I’m working on it.”
“Work faster,” Dante says, his voice harsh.
What I don’t want to tell anyone here is that I’ve been mulling an idea for the last few days, but it’s not fully formed yet, which is why I’ve been keeping it to myself. If I make the wrong move, it’ll push the Bratva to strike again, and there’s no telling who they’ll target next.
They could turn on our women.
Our children.
Setting down my drink, I walk away from it. The alcohol is sour in my gut. What if they came aftermychild? The possibility of a strike against Candi and our baby has been whispering in my head, getting louder each day. My brothers were the only ones I had to worry about for years, and then their wives, their children.
Now I have to worry about mine, too.
I still can’t believe we failed so spectacularly at snuffing out Orloff. How the hell did he and Juliana escape that fire, when Candi barely made it out alive—and only thanks to me?
Could Juliana have been tipped off about the plan and invited Candi along on purpose? With the intent to leave her there to die? This is just speculation on my part, but considering all the double-crossing that’s been going on lately, it’s not out of the question that Candi’s best friend might have stabbed her in the back. I know they haven’t spoken since the day of the fire.
I glance over at Marco. He’s rigid and has barely touched his drink. This meeting isn’t sitting well with him, and his expression suggests he has something on his mind. Tapping a finger against his glass, he finally takes a sip.
“We could walk away,” he says, mostly to himself. “Quit like we almost did last time. We were almost out for good. This could be our chance to wash our hands of the whole mess.”
I let out a long breath. It’s not the first time my little brother has brought this up. He’s not wrong, either. We had the chance to leave the mob once, and we had every intention of doing so until Sergio Bruno pulled us back into the fray. We’re in too deep now, though. Turning our backs on the mafia—and our allies—would have serious ramifications. We’d be considered traitors. We’d never be free and safe. Our friends could quickly become our enemies.
“We can’t just walk away because we don’t want to play anymore,” Dante tells Marco.
Nodding, I add, “We’ll get out someday—we will, Marco, don’t look at me like that—but it’ll only be possible after a lot of planning and preparation. Unfortunately, right now, the timing is shit. We can’t lose our allies at the exact time we need them most. Because Bruno won’t leave us alone until he’s destroyed us.”
“Bruno wouldn’t be your biggest problem if the alliance with the Russians happens,” Clayton points out. “The Bratva would kill you all, the minute you announced your departure. You’d be sitting ducks without the protection of the other mob families.”
“There’s no getting out,” Dante says. “We have to play the game and wemustwin.”
“Fine.” Marco sits back. “But if Juliana is our sister, we have to get her out first.”
I stroll over to the railing and look out at the river, sipping my whiskey. My idea begins to solidify.
“I agree.” I turn back toward my brothers. “We do need to get her to safety. As soon as we possibly can.”
All eyes are on me now.
“Which is why we’re going to kidnap her,” I say casually.
“We’rewhat?” Marco says.
I shrug. “The only way to find out who she really is, is to get her on our turf. I can’t do much without her physically here.”
My little brother’s expression darkens. “Why? So you can subject her to one of your little ‘interrogation’ sessions?”
I bypass the question, though interrogating Juliana is definitely on my to-do list.
“I need to get a sample of her DNA. To settle the question of her genealogy for good. Meanwhile, once she’s with us, we’ll have leverage to negotiate with Sergio Bruno and Orloff. Once they’re assured that she’s alive, they’ll be much more cooperative. At least, temporarily. And it goes without saying that she won’t be marrying Orloff if she’s under lock and key.”
“Only one problem,” Clayton says. “She’s been in hiding since the fire. Nobody’s seen head nor tail of her. Her car is still parked at the bakery, her phone hasn’t made any outgoing calls, her credit cards haven’t been swiped. There’s nothing to trace. Nothing but dead ends. God only knows where they’re keeping her.”
“I know how to get to her,” I tell him.
“How?”
“My wife. Candi can do it.”
