Chapter 22 #2
“Try it and see what happens, Sidorov,” I warn.
I’m confident that my sisters and Isla are untouchable in the safe house. It’s never been compromised, and everyone placed their cells in Faraday bags prior to going to the casino, leaving any potential hackers unable to track their locations.
“I’m not afraid of the Andriani family.”
“You fucking ought to be,” I growl.
“The old Pakhan was weak, but I’m not. Don’t push me.”
“You’re not going to get your sister back with threats.”
The line goes silent for a beat. We’re at a stalemate.
“I have the upper hand here, Sidorov,” I press.
Because at this point, it’s true. Scorpion has Ekaterina, and Camilla, Bianca, and Isla are at the safe house.
He can blow up more of our buildings, but that’s just going to get the Feds breathing down his neck.
If he wants to stay under the radar, he’s got to lay low after setting off a fucking bomb in the middle of the city in broad daylight.
I’ve already put in a call to a guy who’s on our payroll, and he’s going to make sure the official investigation proves that the explosion was caused by a gas leak. But Sidorov doesn’t need to know that.
“You only have the upper hand if I let you have it,” Sidorov counters.
“Look,” I say, “maybe we don’t want a war.
Maybe what we want is peace. You blew up our restaurant, and now your sister is enjoying a nice little vacation, courtesy of the Andriani family.
I would say we’ve been nothing but reasonable so far.
The ball’s in your court now. I want your promise that you’re going to stand down.
If I don’t have it by five o’clock today, all bets are off.
And I don’t think you want to know what can happen when vacations unexpectedly go sideways. Do you?”
“If you fucking hurt her—”
“That’s not the way this is going, Sidorov,” I interrupt coldly. “We call the shots. Think about what I said. I need your word that you’ll stand down today, or all bets are off when it comes to Ekaterina. I’ll be waiting.”
I hit End on the call and stare out at the sea of endless city traffic, hoping like hell my threats to Sidorov are going to work. Because if they don’t, what the Bratva did at Sergio’s is going to look like a picnic in the park. That bomb detonating yesterday was the opening salvo.
If I don’t hear from Sidorov by five, we’re officially at war.
Isla
I’ve been binge-watching cooking shows with Camilla and Bianca for hours.
Cid’s been taking turns curling up with all of us, apparently impervious to the lack of windows in this place.
Despite every effort I’ve taken to keep myself calm, my skin is starting to crawl, and that ever-tightening band on my chest is cinching more by the minute.
My anxiety is about a whole lot more than being trapped in an underground and windowless safe house, though. It’s because I’m worried about Alessio. He’s still not back from whatever mission he’s conducting in the outside world, where there are Bratva psychopaths running around with bombs.
What if something happens to him?
What if I never see him again?
“You bored?” Camilla asks, jolting me from my thoughts. “We can totally turn on something else.”
I realize I’ve been restless on the comfy black leather couch, shifting and unable to sit still for longer than a few minutes. “I guess I’m just on edge.”
“Want a glass of wine?” Bianca raises her own in a mock toast. “Looks like we aren’t going anywhere soon, and the Andriani boys like to keep this place stocked.”
The last thing I want is alcohol clouding my mind right now.
“No thanks,” I tell her. “But that lemonade your mother made earlier is calling to me. I think I’ll go and get myself a glass. Anyone else?”
“Mom makes the best lemonade,” Camilla tells me. “It’s our grandmother’s recipe.”
“Thanks, but I’m afraid if I have too much lemonade, I won’t be able to drive home,” Bianca adds.
And it strikes me how weird it is that Alessio and Bianca have such similar personalities without ever having met until now. She reminds me of him in a lot of ways.
“I’ll be back,” I say, getting up and stretching. “Keep Cid company for me.”
Cid, who has no loyalty, is curled up with Camilla. He doesn’t even blink an eye in my direction. Why would he, now that he has a new human to convince to dote on him? I head to the kitchen, hoping I find Lucky there as well as the lemonade.
Unfortunately, he’s not alone in the kitchen. Antonella is there, chatting with him. They both look up at me, and I feel distinctly like I walked in on a private moment.
“Sorry,” I blurt. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Antonella had said she was going to shower, so I hadn’t realized she’d reemerged.
“You’re not interrupting,” Lucky says easily. “What do you need?”
“Lemonade.”
“I’ll get you a glass,” Antonella offers, already going to the fridge.
She’s very much a caretaker. I can see that just from our limited interactions.
That’s an area where she and her son have quite a bit in common.
I haven’t missed the way he’s always been looking out for me, from that first night when he made certain that I got a table and had dinner, to now, keeping me here at his family’s safe house.
“I can get it,” I protest, but Antonella is already grabbing the pitcher and pouring.
“Need anything besides the lemonade?” Lucky asks with a sly look.
Caught. I have the distinct feeling that Alessio’s younger brother is onto the fact that I’ve developed a major case of feelings.
I swallow hard. “Have you heard from Alessio?”
Although I opt for sounding nonchalant, I know I’m being painfully obvious.
“I got an update about an hour ago.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” I blurt.
I’ve been stewing in worry, the knot in my stomach rivaling the panic in my chest. The window decals help with my anxiety over feeling closed in, but every time I look at them, I think of Alessio and wonder if he’s safe.
“Should I have told you?” Lucky asks pointedly.
“No, of course not.” I know I’m not anyone of importance in Alessio’s world. I’m not even a girlfriend. I’m just a hookup. A temporary convenience because we’ve been thrown together again, thanks to the Russians and my cat-sitting gig.
“You like him. Admit it,” Lucky says, grinning.
My face is hot. I can’t look at either Lucky or Antonella.
“Of course she likes him,” Antonella says as she hands me the lemonade she poured for me. “Alessio was always a sweet boy, and I’m so proud to see the man he’s become.”
I thank her, and she waves a hand as if to say it’s nothing.
“Eh, Saint’s kind of okay,” Lucky says in response to his mother’s praise of his older brother.
I smile at Lucky’s joke, grateful for the distraction, but I’m still thinking about how difficult it must have been for Antonella to stay away from her sons for all these years.
What an impossible choice to make. Did she keep her distance because her fear of Alessio’s father was that extreme, or did she do it because she wanted out of the Mafia life, the circle of violence and death that never seems to end? Or was it a combination?
The questions weigh heavily on me, a much-needed reminder that this isn’t a world I belong in.
Alessio isn’t for me. I’ve just been through one heartbreak, thanks to Christian, my whole life has been upended, and if I should have learned anything from the time I’ve spent here since returning from St. Thomas, it’s that danger and unpredictability lurk around every corner. It’s a bad combo for someone like me.
Toxic.
Just like Alessio is.
Besides, he’s a criminal.
A one-night stand I’ve revisited a few times too many.
But despite all these incontrovertible facts, I think I may be in love with him.
Fuck my life. How can it happen that suddenly, without any warning?
“Isla?” Lucky’s worried voice interrupts my impending crash out. “You’re not having a panic attack, are you?”
“I’m not,” I say quickly. “Or at least, I don’t think I am. But how did you know?”
“Saint told me. The abridged version. I hope you don’t mind—he wouldn’t have unless he felt it was absolutely necessary.
He was worried I wouldn’t know how to handle it if something went down.
” Lucky pauses, the same expression I’ve seen on other faces entering his.
“Sorry about what happened to your family.”
People usually don’t know how to deal with approaching the fact that my life was upended by an unimaginable tragedy. I’m not even sure I know how to deal with it. I’ve been trying ever since that day.
So I tell him what I’ve been telling everyone, giving him the best smile I can manage because my emotions can currently best be described as a tornado battling a hurricane.
“It’s okay.”
Suddenly, Lucky’s phone buzzes, and he pulls it out of his pocket, frowning down at the screen and tapping out a response.
“I don’t mean to pry,” Antonella says quietly, “and I have no idea what Lucky is talking about, but I’m sorry too, Isla.”
“Thank you.” Feeling like I might burst into tears at any second, I distract myself by taking a sip of my lemonade.
I really, really don’t want to talk about Lily and my parents. Not when I’m already so raw and worried about Alessio. So I concentrate on the flavors playing over my taste buds.
I have no idea what Antonella puts in this, although I think I saw her squeezing oranges earlier. Whatever this ambrosia is, it’s got to be made from kittens, puppies, and rainbows because it’s the best lemonade I’ve ever tasted.
“When I first left Alessio’s father, I had panic attacks every time someone came to the door,” Antonella tells me. “Most of the time, it was just the mail lady sliding junk mail into the letter slot. Once, it was a neighbor who’d lost her dog.”