23
R oman had just dropped Alessandra off at home when his phone lit up with an unknown number. Blowing a cloud of smoke out the side of his mouth, he brought the phone to his ear and answered. “Leskov.”
“Roman,” the caller said. “It's Matteo Rossetti.”
He paused beside his car parked in the driveway and grabbed the cigarette between two fingers. “How did you get this number?”
“I have my ways. Is this a bad time?”
His eyes narrowed in the direction of the house. Had Alessandra given this asshole his number? “What do you want, Rossetti?”
There was a moment of silence, then Matteo spoke again, his voice lower. “I heard about the incident with my sister and Luca.”
Roman fought to keep a leash on the sudden burst of anger starting in his chest and spreading toward the fingers he’d clenched around the cigarette. The unwanted memory of that day was still too fresh in his mind. “Have you now.”
“Alessandra hasn't picked up any of my calls today. I swear to God, if you've touched a hair on her head—”
“You’ll what ?” Roman cut him off sharply, that anger brewing inside of him growing more potent at the man's audacity. “She's my wife. I can do whatever I goddamn please to her.”
“Listen here, stronzo . If my sister doesn't call me back within the hour, you are a dead man.”
Roman chuckled darkly, though he wasn’t amused.
“By whose hand? Yours? You wouldn't make it past the fucking gates.” He forced his voice to sound steadier as he took another drag from his smoke.
“I better not find out you had anything to do with your friend's little stunt.
The only reason he's still breathing is because he's not worth the war his death would cause. Don't fucking test me, Rossetti.”
Before Matteo could utter another word, Roman hung up and tossed the phone on the passenger seat. He continued to smoke thoughtfully for another minute, his eyes glued to the windows to their bedroom where he knew Alessandra was.
His phone started to ring again, but he ignored it. After throwing the cigarette butt to the ground, he climbed inside the car and drove off.
By the time he made it to Beluga2, his conversation with Matteo Rossetti was already pushed to the back of his mind.
He picked a spot in the almost empty parking lot and shrugged on his suit jacket as he exited the car.
Walking to the rear entrance, he found his brother and three other men unloading crates of alcohol from the back of a truck.
Each of the two nightclubs hosted a special event every month. This Friday, Beluga2 was organizing a foam party, complete with bikini-donning dancers and a rain shower of champagne to top it all off at the end.
Alek passed the last crate to another man and jumped down from the cargo bed.
His lips stretched into a lopsided grin as he spotted Roman.
“Don't you look fucking dandy.” He rubbed sweaty hands over his pants, leaving behind the imprint of his manual work.
“And here I thought you came to help. Too bad we're all done.”
Roman didn't acknowledge his brother's teasing. Reaching for his wallet, he tipped the driver and made his way inside the club. Alek followed.
Passing the men still dealing with the newly arrived alcohol supply, he made his way across the darkened corridor with Alek on his heels. Before he could reach the office, a door to his left opened and a leggy blonde stepped out, blocking his way.
“Oh good, you're here,” Laney said, shoving a clipboard at him. “I need your signature on these.”
“What's this?” he asked, eyes already lowered to the papers in front of him.
“Expenses for the party this Friday. As you can see, everything is within budget.”
“A fucking miracle,” Roman muttered, stealing the pen she’d used to wrap a few stands of blond hair on top of her head. Signing the papers, he pushed the clipboard and the pen back into her hands.
Laney gave him a sweet smile he didn't buy.
At five foot nine and wearing high heels, the clubs' event planner was almost at eye level with him.
She was beautiful in an urban way that said she took religious care of her body, though she could swear worse than a sailor when angry or irritated.
However, what Roman appreciated the most was neither her looks or smart mouth but her professionalism and ability to do her job so well.
Even when his Vory brothers—Alek included—pestered her with unsolicited advances, she always managed to keep that professional line intact.
“Anything else?”
“Nope, boss. That's all.”
“So, Laney.” Alek stepped up from behind his brother as if on cue. “How about that date?”
She shot him an unamused look. “In your dreams, baby Leskov.”
He ran a hand over his mouth to hide a smile. “You're hurting my feelings, you know. What will it take to finally get you to go out with me?”
“Please go find someone your own age to annoy.”
Roman didn't linger to hear more of their banter. Stepping into the office, he sat behind the curved glass desk. He powered up the computer and inserted the password to log in.
He was in the middle of reading an email from Leonid when Alek walked into the office and closed the door behind him. Wordlessly, he sat in a chair across the desk, blue eyes focused on his phone.
“You done harassing my event planner?”
His brother didn't look up, but a smirk tugged at his lips. “You see, brat , persistence is key. One day she'll agree to that date.”
“She made it clear you're too young for her. She'll never look at you.”
Alek was undeterred. “Just give it time.”
Roman gave him a dry look. “You've been chasing after her for two years. What makes you think she'll change her mind?”
He shrugged and finally tucked his phone into his pocket, not offering more. “How's Alessa?”
“We went to buy her first car today.”
“Yeah? What did she pick?”
“An RS5. It's nice.” Roman's phone vibrated on the desk, but he ignored it after throwing a quick glance its way. “Speaking of the car, I'm going to need you to talk to Slava. I want it bulletproofed.”
“You expecting trouble?”
“I’ve got a feeling this shit situation with the Armenians is going to get nasty. I don't want to risk anything.”
Alek was thoughtful for a moment. “Never thought I'd see the day you cared so much about a woman—an Italian one, no less.”
“She's my wife, no?”
“You know what I mean. I'm glad you two sorted shit out.”
“Yeah,” Roman said, grabbing his cell phone when it began to ring again.
His wedding band caught the fluorescent light coming from the lamp above, his thoughts shifting for a moment to earlier in the day when he'd dropped Alessandra off at the house. Since returning home, he’d been able to get more sleep.
As much as it bothered him to admit it, that week away from her had been hell.
He’d been constantly on edge, his sour mood fueled by too little sleep and too much alcohol in a way that had made even Vitaly take notice.
In the end, he’d chosen to believe her, because otherwise he would have lost his damn mind.
A significant part of him rebelled at the notion of being enslaved to his emotions. He was reluctant to accept that he felt anything but lust for her, knowing these feelings he had developed for his little wife were going to fuck with his concentration and ability to make important decisions.
He hated feeling weak and that was exactly why he had to tread carefully with her. She already had too much power over him, as proven by the fact he couldn’t keep his distance from her for more than a week.
Undeniably, hearing the profession of love falling from her lips had stirred something deep inside of him.
He'd felt relief and a possessiveness so intense he could barely keep himself from locking her inside their bedroom so no other man would ever set eyes on her.
It sounded crazy, and it made him question everything he knew about himself.
Eight weeks. It was all it took for a nineteen-year-old to get under his skin like no other woman before her ever could. Roman would have laughed at the absurdity of it all, but he didn't find it even remotely funny.
Glancing down at the phone in his hand, he realized it was still ringing. “What?” he answered the call coming from one of his direct reports.
“I'll talk to Slava,” Alek said quietly, getting to his feet.
Roman listened to Ivan report about an incident with some street thugs in the northern part of his area.
Alek opened the door to leave and nearly head-butted with Dimitri who was on his way in, carrying a black duffle bag in each shovel-shaped hand.
Roman snapped his fingers to get Alek's attention then gestured he was to stay and help Dimitri with counting the money.
Alek didn't look happy about it, though he wasn’t about to ignore an order from his Brigadier .
With a heavy sigh, he closed the door, raising a middle finger in Dimitri’s grinning face.
When Roman was done with the call, he put the phone on the desk and pondered on his earlier conversation with Alek. He planned to get back home early so he could spend some time with Alessandra.
“Boss.”
He looked at Dimitri who sat on the couch, neat stacks of money piled on the coffee table in front of him. “What?”
“Something weird happened.”
“What do you mean?”
“A few months ago, the cops pulled out some guy’s body from the river near Columbia Woods. His head had been chopped off.”
Roman briefly recollected reading about it in the newspaper. “I remember. What of it?”
“They identified the guy. He was Anatoly’s uncle.”
Roman’s eyebrows reached for his hairline. “No shit?”
Anatoly was one of their many soldiers, though he reported to Boris.
“Yeah. They found the head a couple of weeks ago and they used his dental records for the identification.”
“Why didn’t Anatoly say anything?”
“His uncle was a drunkard. It wasn’t the first time he went AWOL with some mistress, so they didn’t think much of it. His wife was actually happy that he left.”
“The article in the newspaper said the police were suspecting the mob.”
“Yeah, and that’s the weird part. It wasn’t us.”
Roman thought about it. “Was he involved?”
“Barely. He helped Anatoly with some minor stuff, and sometimes our guys used his trucks for transportation. But he knew about us.”
“Can you look into it?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Roman nodded. If foul play was involved, it only added to the pile of shit already on their plates.