Stolen By The Bratva King (NYC Russian Royals #2)

Chapter 53

53

Earlier that morning…

Emery

T he derelict lodge is beat-up, uncomfortable, and, crucially, isolated. It used to belong to Dante’s father, Bernio Reggiani—the man who came back from the dead to be his son’s guiding hand.

The week passed in a blur of canned food, cold nights, and boredom, but it could have been far worse.

When Desi and I arrived, Dante was full of big plans. He paced the floor, cursing and ranting, saying he was going to take us away from New York and start again, leaving Leon to torture himself forever with visions of our suffering.

He thought this was adequate punishment for Leon, but importantly, Dante could put hundreds of miles between himself and my husband’s vengeance.

Dante’s fear disgusted his father. All Don Reggiani ever wanted was to make Leon suffer, but when his moment finally came, Dante was ready to cut and run.

Now I’m sitting on the splintered floorboards, trying to get Desi to eat and listening to father and son thrash out the same argument they’ve been having all week.

“Killing his wife would be mercy. Making her a whore? That’s how you destroy a man,” Dante is saying.

He puts his boots on the table and glares at his father, who sits in the lodge’s only soft chair, his face screwed up in disgust.

“You fucking pussy.” Bernio sprays the words like buckshot. “I should have known better than to put my faith in you. All the money, the opportunities you had to raise the Reggiani name to its former glory, and you squandered it all!”

“I changed my name because even after thirty years, yours would have made me a pariah,” Dante says. “Firenze was Mama’s maiden name, so it’s still mine.”

“Fuck your goddamn mother. She was a whore. No wonder you like sluts so much; you came from one.”

Dante bristles, his fists clenching as they do when he’s forced to hold back his fury.

“She wasn’t a whore, and you know it. You treated her like shit, and she ran into another man’s arms.”

“Yeah, and you missed her.” Bernio smirks at Dante’s anger. “Cried like a little bitch when I threw her out. Every day she came until I threatened to slit her throat and yours if she showed up again.”

Dante draws a harsh breath, but Bernio is still talking. “Yeah, you didn’t fucking know that, did you? I let you think she abandoned you; it was easier for me if you hated her.”

He jabs an accusatory finger. “I raised you, my boy. Gave you all my attention for years and trusted you with my legacy, yet here you are, defying me.”

“You cunt, Papa.”

Desi was working on eating a bologna sandwich, but the angry voices had put him off. I pull him under my arm and shield his ears from the bad words, but he’s shaking.

He remembers Dante from when he was on The Cobra, and I know he’s afraid he’ll be thrown back into the life he endured with his mom.

The conflict between our captors is simple enough: Don Reggiani believes that Dante is the biggest fuck-up in history.

He was supposed to establish himself as a wealthy member of the New York elite, infiltrate the underworld, and bring his father’s name to the top of the pile where it was almost four decades ago.

He failed spectacularly, partly due to the meddling of a certain Leon Vasiliev, bratva boss and the most powerful man in the city.

Leon stole me from Dante, ruined him financially, and humiliated him in every way he could, but he did all those things to free me from my shitty life and punish my ex-fiance for his treatment of me. Naturally, Leon assumed that’s what the whole mess was about.

As it turns out, it boils down to an almost laughable coincidence.

As a six-year-old child, Leon shot Reggiani in self-defense when the man broke in and murdered his parents.

But the cops lied to the young Leon; Reggiani survived. He sold out all his mafia cronies in return for a faked death and a new life in Italy. The mafia in New York were chastened by the crackdowns, their relationship with law enforcement eroded, and chaos sank its teeth into the city.

The bottom line is simple: Dante doesn’t care anymore. His father was pulling strings, waiting to make his glorious return, but he didn’t realize how unsuited Dante was to build a criminal empire.

Now, Reggiani has a new goal: Leon’s death. He doesn’t care how many bodies stack up—even if it includes his son’s.

Reggiani isn’t happy about Dante’s choice of insult. He picks up his empty coffee cup and hurls it at him, missing by a foot, and the ceramic smashes against the wall above our heads. Then he’s standing over his son, his hand outstretched.

“Give me your car keys,” he says, his voice unnervingly measured. “Now, or I’ll break your nose in front of your girl.”

I’m not his girl. I never was.

Don’t think of Leon, Emery. Now isn’t the time.

Too late. Fat tears roll down my cheeks, dripping into Desi’s hair.