Chapter 10
Chapter
Ten
Sage
The countryside passes idly outside the windows of the limo.
I don't acknowledge the rolling hills or vineyard rows, instead preferring to stare daggers at my uncle.
I know he sees me, but he pays attention only to his phone as he purposefully ignores me.
Freddie spares us the occasional nervous glance, but it's not him I'm cursing with my eyes.
"Sage," Anton says, a sigh in his voice even though he doesn't look up or stop scrolling. "Can't you look out the window or something? Must you look at me?"
I narrow my eyes at him. "You can't just override a death-"
"Sage," my uncle begs, raising his voice as he cuts me off.
I go back to pouting. My feelings are clear. I'll deal with working with the Rushkoffs. I can't deal with turning my energy away from this aching feeling in my chest.
I take a deep dramatic sigh, which has my uncle grunting in frustration, and instead go to looking out the window. It really is beautiful to watch as the country passes around me. This is only the second time I've seen this side of our city.
The first and only time I took this trip before, my worst enemy was seated next to me, his tattooed fingers gripping the wheel and his eyes darting over to me like he was actually concerned for my safety.
My heart beats no less hard now than it did then. Nerves eat my gut all the same but I have far less naivety. This time I'm aware I might be walking into a trap.
My leg bounces unconsciously while my head swims with thoughts I can't control. It's not the Rushkoff estate itself that makes me nervous but what it represents. I haven't been back here since my lover left in a body bag. The last time I took this trip, the worst day of my life was waiting for me.
Freddie places a gentle hand on my knee to stop the bouncing and gives me a small smile. There's no way I can get through a negotiation with the Rushkoffs if my mind is focused on what happened the last time I was here.
The big gates to their estate open before our limo can even stop, and then we're traveling up the pathway like welcomed guests.
The house is just as beautiful as I remember and I'm in awe of it now just as I was then.
It's too beautiful to be real. The wooden house sitting next to the lake and surrounded by woods feels like it belongs in a luxury getaway.
Like the instinct upon seeing such a paradise is for your heart rate to slow, nerves to calm and to know here is the place to relax and unwind.
None of that is real, though. Instead my heart races, sweat beading at my forehead.
I step out of the car and my dark green skirt slips back over my thighs as I pull the sleeves of my jumper over my hands for comfort.
When I look up to the front steps I see only memories, and my eyes well at the thought. I almost see a thick beard, blond hair and a sinister smile looking down on me before the image disappears in smoke and reality steps in to replace it.
Black hair, black suit and stormy gray eyes watch me with restrained venom. Alexei's hands are clasped in front of him, his tattooed fingers interlocked and expression impossible to read.
Isla appears behind him, looking worn with tired circles around her eyes and her usually free flowing hair thrown back in a braid. As if there's no time for appearances anymore. She speaks before Alexei can, a gentle smile crossing her mouth.
"DeMarcos. Welcome. Come on in."
They lead us through the house on the same path that Victor took me. Weaving through the maze of downstairs rooms, passing by exposed wooden beams, dark furnishings and fireplaces galore. The modern lake house serenity is inescapable. A far cry from the old Italian architecture of my home.
Eventually we end up in a living space near the back of the house. The one with bookcases littering the wall. Overstocked bar. Quilted maroon couches. With its limited exits and bodyguards lining the walls in a procession. The same one where Victor first tried his hand to kill me.
I have the opposite reaction than I expect. A smirk crosses my features. Being back here feels powerful. This is also the place that I first tried my hand at killing Victor. In the end only one of us came out on top.
I sit down in one armchair, desperately searching for someone I can share this feeling with.
But I don't have an anchor anymore. I am terribly reminded of the fact that he is gone now and I am on my own.
Freddie and Anton don't notice and can't relate.
The only person paying me any heed is Alexei and his jaw tightens like he can tell exactly what I'm thinking.
"Drink?" Alexei offers from where he stands at the bar, muttering under his breath, "Fuck knows I'm going to need one."
"Scotch," Anton replies, settling himself next to Freddie on the other sofa.
Alexei pours a glass for my uncle and Freddie, taking a shot of what has to be vodka for himself.
They take their glasses as Alexei sits down too.
"So," Anton says, mouth smacking as he takes a sip and devours the taste. Or tests for poison. Testing for poison would be a good idea. "What now?"
My eyes make their way around the room and its clear everyone is at a loss. Even the men around the edges of the room exchange nervous glances. Nobody is sure how this is meant to go. Whether we'll head out of here on good terms or amidst bullets firing.
"You tell me, Anton," Alexei says, the stress in his voice barely restrained as he sits back and rests his arm across the back of the chair. I try not to roll my eyes. It's typical that they'd hatch the idea to work together with no idea what that actually means.
"We came here to negotiate with you," Anton reminds him, even though that does nothing to progress the conversation.
"I'm not actually sure why we're here," I pout.
"Sage, please," Anton says, shaking his head. "You proposed this, you must have some idea of what resources you want from me."
Alexei's jaw grinds and he takes a sip of his drink that is far too stiff to be relaxed. "When I asked you for resources Anton, I meant all of them."
"All of them?" Freddie raises his brow.
"Guns, men, intel-" Isla begins.
"All of them," Alexei says, enunciating clearly. "It would take nothing less to fend him off. Chet has more men than either of us do. More guns. More intel. More everything."
Anton rubs at his temple. "Yes, he's managed to get a lot of people together without drawing attention."
"He's always been good at not drawing attention," Alexei agrees. "Always good at being sneaky."
Anton's eyes go cloudy, as if he's lost somewhere in a distant memory. "He never comes out of hiding unless he knows he has the advantage. I've fought many fights against his people without even seeing him show his face."
"So he's a pussy," Isla interjects, pacing at the edges of the room.
The eyes of their men follow her with an admiration that tells me it's actually her that's been keeping the Rushkoff empire alive since Victor's death.
"Either way, that's off topic. He's drawing at least some attention now. By attacking us."
"Still, it's a lot to ask," Anton says.
"You agreed to work together," Alexei reminds him, nostrils flaring. "That means everything. As much as I don't like it, that means sharing everything. It's the only thing that will get in his way."
Anton contemplates this for a moment, but I'm not sure how he didn't deduce that we would need to share everything as soon as Alexei asked. To really fend off Chet, there's nothing else we can do now but behave as one.
My uncle clearly agrees, his shoulders turning in resignation.
"Then a show of strength is what we need," Anton agrees. "Show him we are willing to work together to defend our territory and Chet will go scuttling away with his tail between his legs like he always does."
Alexei seems satisfied with this and nods. "Without the advantage, he will make himself scarce." The men at the edge of the room don't seem to hate the idea, nodding and shrugging amongst themselves like it's good enough.
But it's not good enough. The whole thought of it makes me want to laugh. I even feel the chuckle building in my gut and traveling up my throat. Unfortunately for me, it comes bursting out of my mouth with an inappropriate amount of condescension.
"Ha!"
The room freezes, all eyes and heads turning to land on me. My limited sense of self preservation tells me to shut my mouth and apologize. But I don't. Because this idea is laughable. From a room of the supposed most powerful people in the state. It's pathetic.
It's definitely not something Dimitri DeMarco or Victor Rushkoff would ever settle for.
Alexei's body doesn't move but his sharp eyes glue to me. "Something funny, princess?"
"Oh you don't think it's funny?" I say, attitude wheezing out of me to jump down their throats. "You're saying Chet's a pussy, and yet your big plan is to ask for resources," I roll my hands and make a whiny noise, "and give him a show of strength, so that he goes away."
Anton's mood shifts from embarrassment to concern, like he can't decide whether to watch the Rushkoffs in case they try to stab me, or jump over the coffee table and slap a hand over my mouth himself.
"Chet very clearly wants both you and me dead," I say, pointing between Alexei and I. "You're the psychotic Rushkoff, and supposedly all you want to do is send him a message to back off."
I feel smug that my point has hit home so I sit back in my chair and cross my arms.
"Sage..." Anton says, and I notice that even though I'm acting a little insolent, I actually have the full attention of the room.
The men standing at the edge of the room, whether DeMarco or Rushkoff all watch me curiously.
The same show of interest and respect in their eyes as when they look at Isla.
Everyone is waiting for me to speak now. I'm not fighting for attention. I have commanded it. Suddenly shy and unsure, I uncross my arms, feeling compelled to explain myself.