21. Ciro
21
CIRO
A fter a night of unrivaled pleasure in a situation that freed us from basically any and all inhibition, I could sleep for a fucking week. I feel like one of those floppy inflatable tube guys when the motor gets turned off.
Stretching, I luxuriate in the cool, endless sheets around us.
The bed is bigger than most of the rooms I had growing up.
I thought we were rich. Each of us Diamante brothers had our own apartment at the compound, and our own places in Manhattan. Italy. Paris. Not to mention the other properties I assume we still technically own all over the globe. Vacation homes, essentially what you might call luxury safe houses.
This level of wealth makes us look like wannabes.
And a part of me almost feels mad that we didn’t indulge more when we had it. Of course, not drawing that kind of attention was the whole point in New York.
At least I got to taste a little bit of that sweet life before I died.
Because I feel like today is going to be a big day.
A few minutes later, as if in confirmation, a knock at the door precedes staff bringing in our breakfast, another ridiculous spread. Vanya and I slip into robes behind a divider, freshening up and sitting down.
We eat as they clean up the room, all of them silent, oblivious to our presence, yet somehow highly attentive. I know if I so much as sneeze, one of them would be at my side with a tissue.
Glancing across the table at my partner in crime, a little smile plays at my lips. Then hers.
I hear them sweeping up the remains of the chair.
On the balcony, a maid is polishing the railing in a certain spot.
I almost feel bad.
But what can we do? It’s been life or death nonstop lately and we needed a little life yesterday. All day. And all night.
It’s like she can read my thoughts, wagging her eyebrows a couple of times at me.
Instantly, I’m at attention again.
Good thing I’m sitting down as a server sweeps right by me, refilling my coffee.
“Excuse me…” I venture, guessing none of them will answer any questions.
The flat, polite look I receive is sign enough. Either they are sworn to silence, or they don’t speak our language.
Or maybe they really don’t like us.
I try again a couple of times, giving up as the attendant from the day before steps up to my shoulder.
“Yes, sir?”
“Geez!” I almost slosh scalding coffee on my crotch. “Have you been there the whole time?’
“Perhaps.”
“Oh. Cute. What’s on the docket today, Mr. Turturo?”
“My name is Ahmed.” The bald man folds his hands and bows.
“My name is Indigo…you know what. Never mind. Any news for us, Ahmed?” I flick a glance at Vanya.
She’s stoic as usual, but I see the gleam in her eyes. At least she thinks I’m funny.
“The lord will see you today. You will be ready at 1:45 p.m. sharp.”
“Gladly. Do you think he’ll like my robe? Or should I throw on a curtain…maybe my bath towel?”
“Everything in this palace belongs to Lord Adil.” He speaks blindly, without emotion. But I swear the guy is fucking with me.
“Fine. His towel . If he’s so picky, then I’ll wear what I’ve got on that’s mine. And he is not going to like what we did on his rug.”
“Such an outfit would not be worthy of a meeting with my lord.”
“It was good enough for my birthday.”
“Happy belated birthday, Mr. Diamante.”
“It’s…dammit.” I catch a glimmer in his eye. Smug little shit. “Your lord is about to have a meeting with the back of my hand…”
“That would be most inappropriate, sir.”
“So is your mustache, Cheech.”
“Ahmed,” Vanya interjects before I can pummel the tiny man, “will clothing be provided for us?”
“Clothes will be provided.” He nods, blinking slowly at me like I’m a dullard.
“Thank you. You are dismissed, unless you can answer any of my questions.”
“That would be…”
“Most inappropriate. Da . I get it.”
“I will return when the time comes. Until then, you are asked to remain here.”
“Asked, huh?”
“Consider it a strong suggestion.”
“I’ve got a few of those myself. Is there a comment card I can fill out?”
He bows again before leaving, his eyes meeting mine for a split second. A flicker of movement at his waist catches my eye. But he’s gone before it processed.
“He just…that motherf?—”
“Shakal.”
“He flipped me off!”
“I am sure you imagined it. He is an elite assistant to a…king.” Vanya waves her hand in a circle, gesturing to our surroundings.
“Ghandi is playing dirty.”
Vanya busies herself for a while stretching, warming up. Smart.
I join her for part of it, but I’m too restless. This whole situation has me on pins and needles. Pacing the balcony and snacking from our endless buffet of culinary wonders, I do a double take when I come back in to find Vanya dressed and bathed.
She looks stunning in the vibrant colors of the flowing gown.
It covers more than I would prefer on her, but I can’t look away. Apparently, they also provided makeup. Hair products.
“Go shower. It is almost time.”
I do, rushing through the motions.
Ten minutes later, I’m fidgeting by the door like a British kid waiting for daddy to come home. Only I look more like a high school performance of Jesus Christ Superstar .
I swear they gave her a real outfit and got mine from Wish .
When Ahmed comes for us, I keep my thoughts to myself in a rare show of self-restraint. Mostly because I need time to absorb. To plan.
We discussed what might happen, what we might bargain with to get out of this mess. Most of that was speculation. There’s no way to know until we meet this Adil Abas what he has planned for us.
The palace once again stretches on forever, taking a solid fifteen minutes to reach our destination: one of the many dining halls. This one is unique with an entirely glass ceiling.
I’ll admit, this guy has style.
“Make yourselves comfortable while you wait for his excellency.” Ahmed opens his palm to some plush chairs in a sort of antechamber to the main area the table sits in. Probably rude to go to the dinner table without our host.
But I’m starving again.
“Your stomach is making a scene,” Vanya whispers.
Another growl echoes through the hall. “He’s had a taste of the good life. I’m staying here, I thought I’d let you know.”
“I am sure Mr. Abas has the space.”
I’m about to make another comment when soft footsteps draw our attention to the main entrance.
“Miss Sokolov, Mr. Diamante. Welcome to my home.”
The man is dressed in a long coat over loose pants. Both look elegantly cut to fit him, but simple in color and style. With a tilt of his head, he strides confidently into the dining hall. Shrugging, I move to follow.
“Please, sit and be well. You are my guests.” His voice is deep, melodic. A real speaker’s voice. And on a man unusually tall for the region, it adds even more clout. Adil must be in his sixties, but he’s fit. Lean, but broad shouldered and light on his feet.
Vanya takes his left hand, signaling with her eyes that I should take the right. She’d know better in this case. The move seems to please our host.
I’m a second from opening my mouth to make a snarky comment about misogyny when food arrives, a plate for each of us. Apparently, this will not be a spread, but a served meal.
The plates are generous, but not overloaded. Another statement, a detail about Adil that I add to the profile in my head. He is practical in some ways. Not overeating, fit. Indulgent in some ways, but not a glutton. So he likely came from more humble roots.
“Do not wait on my account, begin.” He smiles, a tight, diplomatic expression.
At this invitation, I pause.
With a pleasant smile, I nod my head toward Adil, “Not before our host.”
“Ah. It is a pleasure to host such well-mannered guests. Sahtain ,” he intones, taking a bite.
“ Ala-albeck ,” Vanya responds, and I mimic the phrase. A tiny thrill of shock zips up my spine. She’s as versatile as I am, and constantly surprising me with her knowledge.
“Our accommodations, for at least part of our stay, have been impressive,” I offer, diving into my meal.
“An unfortunate necessity, the first half of your visit. A simple misunderstanding.”
“Unfortunate. Right. Misunderstanding? On whose part?”
“Yours. As you are aware by now, I am sure, you came here in err. Searching for a man whose whereabouts I would also be very interested to ascertain.”
Vanya pauses, her eyes narrowing slightly. “So you do not have my uncle.”
“I always enjoyed dealing with you Bratva. Straight to the point. No. I do not have him.”
“So why keep us alive at all?” I follow suit, getting to the real questions I have.
“I was convinced by one of my assets to forgo your execution. Odd too, given his propensity for killing. One of the reasons I procured him.”
“The guy in the mask?”
“One of a select few. They are the fingers on my hand, stretched out where I would not reach.”
“Yet you reached for St. Petersburg. For our ports.” Vanya fails to mask the bitterness in her voice. “What does the Mocro want with Russia?”
“I will get to that. You’ve discovered much in your travels. More than most. I have spent the greater part of my life ensuring we became a legend. A mystery. This empire is my family’s legacy.”
“So why step into the open now?”
“I dealt in the shadows for so long, making quiet deals. Like with the Bratva. The other leaders were eager to open trade. Until things became unsettled in our world. They panicked. Thought they could outmaneuver me, stab me in the back and end our dealings. You of all people would understand that behavior, Mr. Diamante.”
“I do. And would I be way out of line for thinking that you were negotiating with Dom Vipera as well?”
“An ambitious man. A devious man. And ultimately out of his depth. Although his actions following his arrest certainly showed a lot of clever forethought. He at least understands the revenge game.”
“More like the ‘if I can’t have it no one will’ game,” I mutter.
“Indeed. Those were the very actions that sent ripples through the criminal underworld. It made the Bratva nervous. Thus, they made a fatal error.”
“Fatal?” Vanya grits out, looking dangerous.
“They dealt in poor faith, then tried to renege. I miss the old days. Your great-uncle Giancarlo and myself were acquainted, Mr. Diamante. Allies even, from time to time. It was a tenuous alliance. But honest. We held trade, we stayed on our sides of the water, and we minded our business. The same could be said of the Bratva back then, the Lyras, the rest of the old Italian families. The Triads meddled, but mostly returned to the East when they got caught. The Yakuza stayed on their island.”
“Sounds like the good old days. No communication, no accountability.” I sniff, seeing both sides of the argument.
“In many ways. Things were simpler. The digital era is a double-edged sword. Better tech means more efficient work, but it also means someone might always be watching.” Adil muses, tapping his trimmed bearded chin.
“You still have not told us why you invaded our territory.” Vanya leans back, clearly done with her meal. And this history lesson.
“Come, walk with me in the gardens. We will continue our business there.”
We leave the white and bright room for a terrace, down a flight of winding steps. Below, clay-red tiles line the walk, leading into a resplendent garden, fountains and blooming, vibrant blossoms.
Even Vanya wonders at the sight, her frustration put on hold.
“When your brother died, I realized that with such a vacuum of power, I might make a bold move. So I reached out to the Bratva heads. Most were open to trade. Pyotr Sokolov of the Volk Bratva was not.”
“He is wise.”
“Perhaps. Certainly stubborn. He advised the rest of the clans not to deal with me. Even his rivals.”
“The clans have always been at odds, but ultimately, they share a certain amount of patriotism, you could say,” Vanya admits dryly.
“Precisely. Pyotr also advised them not to betray me when they decided to end our negotiations. But they did not listen. They killed many of my people.”
“So you were forced to retaliate?” I state, knowing the way things always go. Blood for blood.
“Yes, but knowing the bonds of the Bratva, I knew they would seek aid from the Volk, the most powerful of the clans.”
“Are you saying that you only invaded St. Petersburg to keep us busy?”
“To drive Pyotr and the Volk council to ground, yes. It worked. I did not expect two of his most decorated soldiers to come knocking at my door, however. I suppose it was a silver lining of sorts. It kept anyone with the ability to stop my Fingers from eliminating the Bratva leadership.”
We walk on in stupified silence for a few minutes, no longer noticing the lush greenery on all sides. The temperature of the gloriously sunny day drops for us by several degrees.
“You…killed them? All of them?”
“The Krest put up quite a defense. The rest did not see my emissaries coming.”
To this, I have nothing to say. Vanya is seething. At a loss.
And I’ve got my fucking foot in my mouth. These situations, dealing with leadership and negotiations…I feel so out of place. That was always Alessandro’s boat. I was the muscle, the briber, the strong arm, or the killer.
Now, I’m being treated as an equal with an underworld sultan.
After another few minutes, Vanya grains her stoic composure, raising her head and asking the main question on my mind. I wait, letting her take the lead here.
“Where does this leave Pyotr? The Volk? Us?”
“First, it leaves him with a choice. He may preserve the Volk. Keep his little kingdom. If he will agree to relinquish the footholds I already have all over Russia. Give me the rest of the Bratva.”
“He will never?—”
“Please. Allow me to finish. I believe he is a wise man. And a reasonable one. As for the two of you, I would be interested to hear your take.”
“I would use us as leverage.”
“Ah, a classic move.” He nods.
“If we are talking classics, I would almost expect you to imprison Vanya and make her your bride to solidify your claim to the Bratva,” I offer, immediately regretting it as Van hammers me with a glare.
“I dare anyone to try.” Vanya growls. She is genuinely terrifying.
“Alas, I have no need for such theatrical gestures.” He smiles almost apologetically as I point to everything around us and give him a skeptical look. “Perhaps I do enjoy a bit of the drama. But it would be without honor. And I have wives. Money. What I seek, is to preserve the black market, so to speak.”
“And what does taking most of that market in the North do for you?”
“Access. Consolidation. You see, the key organizations of the criminal world have been diminishing over the decades. Waning. Fading into the background. But this is a way of life that is necessary to the way the world works. So someone must preserve the underworld. Who better than me?”
“I can think of a few governments that might disagree.”
“Which is the next step in my conquest. Once I hold the North, I can begin my maneuvers on the West.”
He means my family’s assets. With Dom in prison, with Alessandro missing, presumed dead. There’s no one to stand in his way.
“With that sort of powerbase, you could challenge the biggest fish in the sea…” Van huffs a sigh of disbelief.
“The Triad. Yes. Times are changing. The world is evolving. My lands, they are secure. But the enterprises in the East, they are growing bold. Careless. Violent.”
“And you’re not?” I scoff, risking his offense.
“They are like a blunt weapon. The Mocro are a blade in the dark. And I am a sound mind guiding that blade. Keeping the balance.”
“Forgive me if I do not trust your hand to remain steady.” Vanya doesn’t hold back, giving him one of her looks.
“Trust this, then. You are free to go. Return to Russia, find your uncle. Relay my wishes to him. I want peace. This does not have to be a long, bloody war.”
“As long as he joins you.”
“Very simple, you see? Given with a token of good faith that I did not harm his adopted daughter when given the chance and allowed her to return home.”
I snap my mouth shut at that one. He definitely harmed her. But I know what he means.
“And if he does not comply?”
“Then he will join the other leaders in the grave.” Adil stops, turning back toward us as we reach the exit to the gardens, a door leading back inside. It’s clear we are at the end of our meeting too. “It has been an enlightening experience meeting you, Miss Sokolov. Ahmed will see you both out.”
“What about me?” I blurt out.
“A nostalgic encounter. You are so much like them, Giancarlo and Aleesandro. Less refined, perhaps. But do not mistake your situation. You are here because of a favor asked, and because I know that Miss Sokolov would not have met with me had I killed you. Honorable, your loyalty to one another. As to why you are being allowed to leave? Call it goodwill toward old friends. Do not push your luck.”
And with that, he dismisses us, turning, pressing his hands together and bowing lightly with that faint sinister grin on his face.
Ahmed is already standing in his place, ready to lead us out.
A half mile later, we reach the vaulted palace doors, down the steps to a waiting SUV. Without any other alternative, we climb in.
The drive is long.
A few hours. Mostly spent in silence.
Finally, the driver pulls into what appears to be an abandoned village, a cluster of buildings at the side of the road. Again, we don’t have much choice but to get out.
“Seriously? You’re just going to monsoon us out here?” I shout after the car as it drives away.
“It’s marooned, you shithead.” A voice drolls behind us.
A voice I know way too well.
Vanya grabs my arm.
When I turn around, surprise, surprise. It’s the man in the mask, leaning in the doorway.
“Hello brother.”