Scarred Queen (Adamov Bratva #2)

1. Arsen

1

ARSEN

“Remind me why we’re going to this club opening?” Dominik adjusts his seatbelt yet again. Two months ago, he never wore one. Now, I doubt he’d sit at a drive-in unbuckled.

“Because we were invited. And because I have reason to believe that Alessandro Calcagno will be in attendance.”

Dominik’s jaw hits the floor. “Why didn’t I know this sooner?”

Because if I told you, you wouldn’t have gotten in the car.

Because you would’ve tried to talk me out of it.

Because I didn’t want to hear a single one of your thoughts on the matter.

“It’s fresh information. I found out a few hours ago.”

Calcagno has kept a low profile ever since Dom and I were driven off the road and nearly executed thanks to the bounty he put on my wife’s head. If he’s showing up to this event, there’s a good reason for it.

“You can’t move against him in public, Arsen,” he warns. “You launched Pobeda a month ago. You’ll undermine its success now if you publicly murder a prominent businessman like Calcagno.”

“Who said anything about a public murder?”

I’ve been thinking it really loudly, but I never said it.

“You may overestimate your self-control, but I know better.”

It’s been a rough couple months, but Dominik still knows me better than most. I would’ve hit Hotel Calcagno myself two months ago had I not gotten side-tracked by killing the men he sent to smash into my favorite car.

I consider this delayed payback.

“ Blyat’ .” Dominik runs a hand over his tired face. “This is going to be a fucking disaster. We should’ve arranged for more backup.”

“For fuck’s sake, man, when did you become such a wet blanket?”

“Gee, I dunno.” He pretends to think hard about it. “Maybe around the time you decided to attack our enemies in broad daylight with no plan? This isn’t like you, Arsen.”

“Just because I haven’t shared it with you doesn’t mean I don’t have a plan.”

“I forgot: you work alone now. It’s just like with Laila and Nina—you know what you’re doing, so fuck whoever else wants to know what’s going on, right?”

I take the corner fast and screech to a stop along the curb. Dominik barely avoids breaking his nose on the dashboard.

He glares at me. “Real mature.”

I get out of the car, slamming the door behind me and tossing the keys to the young valet looking at my car like it’s a naked woman. “There’s a hundred bucks in it for you if you keep the car parked and ready for me right here. There’s a broken leg in it if you don’t.”

Then I breeze into the club, striding past bouncers who don’t even try to stop me.

The walls pulse with bass-heavy music and strobing lights. People lounge in shadowy booths around the periphery. Sweat-soaked dancers gyrate in the center of the floor, lost to the allure of alcohol and the music.

I cut through the mosh pit and make my way to the velvet ropes of the VIP section. The hostess at the entryway is a leggy blonde with a face I’ll forget as soon as I stop looking at her.

“Mr. Adamov, it’s a pleasure. We have your room ready.”

She leads us down a hall of closed doors, swaying her hips like that might distract me from the muffled Italian I hear leaking out of every door we pass. At the end of the hall, she unlocks a door and pushes it open for us.

There’s a glass table in the center, fat cigars fanned across the surface beside a bottle of Dom Perignon.

I walk past the table and fall into the velvet sofa under a painting of an eighteenth-century huntsmen goring a bull.

How appropriate.

The second the door closes on us, Dominik paces the perimeter. He scours the walls like he’s waiting for a trap door to open and spikes to impale us. “You just found out about this a couple hours ago, but you have a private room?”

“I requested it. A condition of accepting the invitation in the first place.”

Dominik cocks an eyebrow. “You had time for that, but telling me slipped your mind?”

“You’re in a mood today.”

“You’re the one who’s been in a fucking mood!” He whirls on me. “You shipped Laila off to punish her, but you’re punishing the rest of us, too.”

“It’s not punishment; it was for her safety, and you fucking know it.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Try explaining that to her.”

Maybe I would if she’d answer my calls. Then again, I probably wouldn’t.

I’m on the cusp of asking him if that’s really what she thinks—he’d know, since she actually accepts his calls—but I stop myself just in time. No good can come of opening that can of worms.

The silence stretches, broken only by the muffled transition from one song to another bumping through the concrete walls, until Dom tosses his hands up. “Who the hell are we waiting for? They’re late.”

He’s nervous. I get it—the last time we were in a room like this, Dom ended up with a bullet in his chest.

I remember that all too well, too.

I won’t let it happen again.

Before I can answer, voices filter in from the hallway. One rises above the others—raspy, deep,... and familiar.

Dom turns to me with a snarl. “You set up a meeting with Alessandro himself and didn’t breathe a word? You ass?—”

“I told you I have a plan, Dom. I meant it.”

My hand goes to the barely-detectable bump on my hip. If anyone pulls out a weapon, it will be me.

He doesn’t look comforted as the door opens and Alessandro struts in, his son beside him, and two hulking guards overshadowing them both.

“Arsen,” Alessandro greets coolly. “How nice to see you.”

I don’t want to lie, so I say nothing as Dom moves to stand by my side.

The elder Calcagno makes a show of looking around me like he expects to see someone else. “Tell me, where is that pretty little wife of yours? I haven’t seen her in quite a while.”

“No, you haven’t.”

Neither have I, but that’s beside the point.

His eyes shimmer with amusement he has no clue is unearned. “I hope no harm has come to her. Then again, you do have a bad habit of losing wives.”

“Careful,” Dominik warns.

Alessandro tuts at Dominik. “Call off your lap dog, Arsen. I’m not here for a fight.”

I lean into the sofa, arms splayed across the back. “Of course not. You prefer to fight dirty.”

Enzo reclines against the door frame, a few steps removed from his father’s entourage. The distance feels intentional.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Alessandro purrs. “You told me to mind my business and stay out of your way, and that’s what I’ve done—just like you wanted.”

“Is that what you call a ten-million dollar bounty on my wife’s head?”

His wolfish smile grows tight, but he keeps it in place. “I hadn’t heard about that.”

“Strange, because the wire transfers, wiretaps, and both attempts on my life all point to the same person: you.”

Alessandro arches a curious brow. “Throwing around errant accusations in our line of work is dangerous, Mr. Adamov.”

“Attacking my family is even more dangerous. And I got all the proof I needed when someone called me out of the blue and asked for a private audience.” I reach for a cigar and light up. “I’d offer you one, but there’s no point in wasting a perfectly good smoke on a dead man.”

Alessandro stiffens. “You’re bluffing. None of my men would ever betray me.”

Dominik looks between the two of us, trying to figure out which of us is full of shit.

The silence stretches and Alessandro’s face turns red. His jowls tremble as he turns to inspect his men. “If one of you turned on me, you’ll?—”

But his threat is interrupted by the scream of a gunshot.

Alessandro’s mouth is still open as blood pours down his chin. His two muscle-bound thugs shift casually to the side to avoid the spray as their boss collapses onto the glass coffee table, shattering it under his weight.

Directly behind him is Enzo, arm still raised, gun smoking.

“You gave him a clean death,” I accuse. “Pity.”

He shrugs as he reholsters his weapon. “Whatever he became, he’s still my father.”

“ Blyat’ !” Dominik glares between me and Enzo. “The two of you planned this together?”

Enzo carefully fixes his cuffs. “Was it a good show?”

“I wouldn’t celebrate just yet, Enzo,” I warn. “Alessandro’s death alone isn’t enough compensation for the last several months.”

“The bounty has been withdrawn. I’ll make sure that message is reiterated now that I’m at the helm of the Calcagno mafia.” He waves away both henchmen, who retreat without a backward glance. “I have a wife, too, Arsen. And there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to keep her safe. Family should be off-limits. As don, I give you my word that it will be so.”

“You’ve been don for sixty seconds. Your word means nothing yet.”

“But it will soon. Let’s set up a meeting,” he offers, unbothered. “A proper meeting. I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement. I’m willing to make it worth your while.”

Stubbing out my cigar on his father’s sallow cheek, I rise to my feet and offer him my hand. “If I come to the table, it better be.”