Chapter 43
43
Leon
M y phone wakes me. I fell asleep without even checking the fucking thing because I was too wrung out.
All I wanted was to tangle my limbs up with my wife’s and stay in this bubble a little longer.
It wasn’t to be. The insistent buzzing heralds some nasty shit; that much is inevitable. It’s dark outside now, and that’s when all the scum comes out to play.
I take my cell into the lounge to answer it. “Jesus, Viktor,” I say. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“All that matters now is where I am,” he replies. “So let me in.”
“You’re here now?” I cast around for something to wear, grabbing some sweatpants from the clean laundry stack in the kitchen. “Why?”
“Leon, tovarishch . Trust me when I say I wouldn’t have shown up out of the blue unless it was necessary. Let us in, it’s raining.”
“Us, you said this time?”
“Leon!” It’s Roman, his voice too loud through the speaker. “Buzz us in now. We got shit to do.”
I groan and cross the floor to the intercom. They are on the CCTV screen, larger than life—Viktor, Roman, and a few others I know, all dressed in black.
“All right, Jeez.” I press the buzzer and hang up.
“What’s going on?”
I turn to see a bleary-eyed Emery wearing my shirt and nothing else. She looks adorable, and I feel a pull in my chest.
“I don’t know yet,” I reply. “Get dressed and stay in the bedroom while I deal with it.”
“I’m not gonna hide like some?—”
“Emery, they are on their way up. You wanna show Roman and Viktor what you got, then go right ahead, but I’ll have to kill them both. Which is a shame because they’re my best friends.”
She frowns, but the sound of the apartment door opening makes up her mind, and she darts into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
I tug my pants over my hips just before Roman appears, a frown darkening his face.
“Oh, I see. I remember I used to do a lot of daytime sleeping when I was pakhan.”
“No, you didn’t?—”
“My point exactly, you lazy cunt.” He grins. “Emery still recovering, is she? I’m not stupid.”
“Asleep,” I lie. “So what’s the deal here?”
Viktor shows me his phone screen. “This is your friend from the High Line, Michael. His buddies call him Mikey, so I didn’t.”
I smile. It’s evident from the man’s state that Viktor wasn’t trying to make friends.
“He has family in Tuscany who Dante knows well, and he came to New York to make money for them,” Viktor continues. “That was before Dante went kinda nuts, apparently. The kid wouldn’t tell me shit, even after I did this to him.”
“Scared more for his wife and kid’s safety than his fingers,” I say, examining the photo. “Gotta respect that.”
“I agree,” Viktor says. “He said he wouldn’t survive this no matter what; Dante is paranoid as fuck, so once he’d failed to assassinate you, he knew he was screwed. If I killed him, he would not look like a traitor, and his family would likely be left alone.”
“So Michael is…?”
“Touring the river bed, sans pulse.” Viktor shrugs. “So that got me nowhere. I went through his phone and found a contact name— fratello .”
“Brother,” I say. “And?”
“His brother actually picked up. He was pissed when I told him about Michael, but once he got past that, he turned his anger on Dante. Said he’d help us fuck him up—and he’s got intel. Dante’s losing it, accusing everyone of betrayal, so his crew’s ready to jump ship. Figuratively, I mean.”
“Ah, the classic self-fulfilling prophesy.” I glance at Roman. “You think we can trust him?”
“He’s the best lead we have,” Roman says. “He’s been helpful, telling Viktor where The Cobra goes and who the clients are. It’s his job to set up meetings with buyers and people Dante wants to schmooze with, so he’s at the center of the operation.”
“Okay, fine,” I say. “You two look fucking stupid in your Mission Impossible espionage get-up, by the way; how many pockets have you got in those cargo pants? You must be able to carry all your makeup.”
I give him my best dickhead grin. “So what’s the plan?”
“We’ll tell you on the way,” Roman says. He only ignores my insults when he’s all business, so I’m obliged to take him seriously. “We gotta get moving. Put a shirt on, it’s fucking freezing out there. The rest of the boys are downstairs.”
“Leave someone here to watch over?—”
“Emery,” Roman says, looking past me. “Hey, sweetheart. How goes it?”
I turn around. My wife is standing in the doorway, wearing her work scrubs.
“I’m late,” she says. “Debra messaged me earlier and asked whether I’d pull a last-minute shift, so seeing as you’re busy?—”
“No.” I cut her off, and a spot of pink appears on each of her cheeks. “It’s not safe. Stay here and rest. Make sure you eat something.”
A flash of fury colors her eyes briefly before giving way to concern.
“Leon. Don’t go. You don’t have to. Let them handle it, and I’ll stay here with you.”
Viktor and Roman say nothing, and I realize they won’t make me go along, but if I choose not to hurl myself into the fray, that choice will say something I can’t take back. Roman will know I cannot be trusted to be in charge, that I’m not a leader.
I can’t protect what matters by hiding in my penthouse and letting others fight on my behalf. A certain six-year-old boy, shaking and crying in a closet as his parents were murdered, could attest to that.
“This is my job,” I say firmly. “To stand up for my bratva and keep order. You know this, Emery. Don’t ask me to be something I’m not.”
“What about all the things you are ?” She tries to glare at me, but her lip quivers. “My husband, the man I love, everything that matters to me? You stole me and made me yours, Leon. You don’t get to drown in guilt and leave me to watch you sink!”
I pick up my jacket. “I’m sorry. But it’s how it’s gotta be. When all this Dante bullshit is behind us, I’ll get therapy or something, but I gotta end this.”
Emery doesn’t move; my tone leaves no doubt.
She hiccups, choking back an angry sob, but I can’t look at her. I turn to follow Roman and Viktor out the door, waiting for her to say the magic words that will make it okay for me to stay.
I’m lying to myself yet again. There’s nothing she or anyone could say.
I swore I would be the one to kill Dante Firenze, and even if it wasn’t personal, it’s my duty. I didn’t take an oath of service to the bratva to pussy out at a crucial moment.
I must protect my wife, and this is how I do it, not her way.
“I love you,” she says quietly.
Look at her, you asshole. Look your wife in the eyes when you say it back.
She doesn’t just need to hear it; she’s gotta feel it. Hurt yourself to comfort her.
No. One look at her heartsore face will bring me to my knees, and I can’t afford for that to happen.
The door is open. Roman and Viktor’s boots echo down the hallway, and I pause, my hand on the door handle.
“I love you too, val’kiriya .”
My hand grips the door handle. I could turn back, but I don’t.
I step through, closing it behind me. My feet move fast, putting distance between us before the weight in my chest anchors me to the floor.
At the door to the building, a guard named Felix is waiting. He gives me a sloppy Spetsnaz salute.
“I’ll keep her here, Boss. You go do your thing, and don’t get fucking killed, okay?”
I nod, and Felix’s grin fades for a second as his eyes meet mine, sharp enough to cut through the bullshit. He doesn’t say anything else, just nods; jokes aside, he knows what’s at stake.
I climb into the passenger seat of Viktor’s sedan. Roman is at the wheel, and the engine is already running.
“I can’t believe I’m riding bitch in my own car,” Viktor says from the back.
“You drive like an old woman,” Roman replies, revving the engine. “And put your damn seatbelt on.”
“I’m so ready to kill Dante Firenze,” I say. “Drive, Roman. The last thing that piece of shit will see is my laughing face.”