Chapter 26 Calling for War #2
Evelina took the quickest shower of her life after Dante’s astounding phone call. Not because she was so short on time but because some stupid part of her feared her magical new relatives might evaporate or grow common sense and run away if she lost sight of them for too long.
He had allowed her and Otto to sit in, out of sight of the camera, while he and Romeo sat in-view and made one call to two entirely different men.
Men who, she quickly learned, were the actual bosses of other mafia families in completely separate territories.
Men in completely separate states. Men who took direct calls from Dante De Salvo, even conference calls.
Men who didn’t sling a single insult during those calls, and who didn’t more than briefly pause over the no-warning politely worded command to send a full dozen soldiers to Chicago. Immediately.
Dante’s only spoken concession? The cost of the flights and the promise of transportation upon arrival.
The cooperation blew Evelina’s mind. It was so much the opposite of the culture she’d grown up in, even inside her father’s bratva.
Her father hadn’t let her see too much, she knew, but a lot of what she had witnessed had been competitive and ego-driven.
Sure, she believed her father could have ordered his brigadiers to show up at the same fight against a common enemy and they’d have done it.
But they’d have done it while prodding and sneering at each other.
It would have been cooperation under the umbrella of one-upmanship.
No force that she knew of could have compelled her father to direct his resources on another’s behalf.
There would not have been any calmly professional assurances, and certainly not any laughter. Yet one of the men Dante had called had signed off with what sounded like a genuine laugh and a quip about needing to chat more often.
If she’d thought she could stand to learn bits of things from her father’s stoic example, Evelina suspected she could earn a damn PhD from Dante.
In under three hours, Evelina was cleaned up and standing outside camera range of what had been her father and uncle’s shared distillery. The one property she hadn’t been bothered, really, to see go to Pyotr. The one property it might have made sense for her father to split between them.
It was still surreal to think the little bastard was dead, but she knew his was one death she wasn’t upset about. Not in any way other than what had followed.
The street-facing front of the distillery bore a weather-beaten brick facade and still heavily resembled the old firehouse it had supposedly once been.
She’d never known the building before her father and uncle had acquired it, and she didn’t well remember the original footprint before they’d expanded.
What she did remember were aisles of barrels, barrels stretched along the entire farthest wall from floor to the second-story ceiling, and just feeling as though they were endless.
From a child’s point of view, they had been.
What she knew, though she hadn’t dared step foot in the space herself, was that the forward-most space was small in comparison and only meant as a place for customers to come for product samplings before placing orders.
The distillery had never opened a bar, or even tried to compete with more touristy scenes.
“Here they come,” Mikey muttered from where he stood at her right.
She turned her gaze from the building and her heart picked up speed as she caught sight of the first SUV coming down the street. Behind it, another rounded the corner.
Otto curled his hand around hers in a firm grip.
“Don’t worry,” Mikey said, his voice calm as they watched the SUVs park in a line just shy of their position. “Whatever Morozov thinks he’s throwing at you, he’s aiming at you. He’s not prepared for the war he’s really starting.”
She tried to hear Mikey’s words as she watched a slew of men in various combinations of black pour out from the SUVs now parked on both sides of the street.
War? It was hard to wrap her head around.
Much easier to question how these men, let alone half of them each, had made it through any airport security.
But she chose not to voice the curiosity.
It only took a moment to spot the faces she was becoming familiar with—Dante, Romeo, and the security guys they’d taken with them.
“I can’t quite believe all those guys showed up because Dante made one phone call,” she mumbled, watching the men who’d parked farthest away jog over.
Romeo chuckled as he and Dante stepped up. “You’ll learn, Lina. When the Dragon calls, you fucking answer.”
She filed that away as something to definitely not forget.
Dante and Romeo moved forward, gathering closer, and Dante faced the men who’d silently fallen into crowded rows before them. “I appreciate you all coming out here today. The loyalty you’ve shown to your families, and mine, will not be forgotten.”
Evelina swore she saw several men stiffen their spines, as though those few words had rocked them.
“Now,” Dante continued, “let’s get straight to why I called for you.
” He laid a heavy hand on her shoulder without warning, his grip firm but nonthreatening.
“This is Evelina Nikolaev. Yes, her name is Russian. We do not care. What matters is that Evelina is my mother’s niece—she is my cousin.
My blood.” He paused as some of the soldiers flicked nervous eyes to her for a sparse second. “And today, she is under attack.”
Otto’s grip tightened until it was just shy of crushing, so Evelina wedged her fingers through his to better hold on to him in return.
Dante’s hand fell away and he pointed almost lazily toward the distillery. “Her enemy has taken a hostage, an elderly man who has shown her loyalty. He is not to be harmed. The only other people we worry about are the ones standing out here now. You know what to do with the rest.”
Bozhe moy. It was like something out of a movie. Evelina had never imagined herself even witnessing such a scene, let alone being at the heart of one.
Mikey moved forward, talking in a clipped, no-nonsense voice as he set to work coordinating the tactical details.
Or something to do with communication hierarchies, maybe.
He wasn’t making a speech for everyone and by the time Evelina realized he was speaking she was already behind, so when she was sure he wasn’t speaking to her, she let herself stop chasing the details.
Dante faced her. “We will come in with you. Romeo will have his gun in-hand, but he’ll keep it down until he needs to shoot. I won’t tell you how to speak to Morozov, but it’s important you hear one thing.”
Evelina nodded slowly. She wasn’t entirely sure if she was the one gripping tightly to Otto’s hand now or if he was still squeezing hers, only that theirs seemed to be a shared tension.
He wanted to rush in and rescue his father, and she respected that.
She wanted to save his father, too. But she recognized that it had to be done right or everything would somehow end up worse.
Dante held her stare and spoke firmly. “Under no circumstances are you to surrender yourself.”
Evelina blinked and opened her mouth, but found she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say.
“You know,” Romeo offered, “no ‘spare the old man, take me instead’ bullshit. Or if anything seemingly unexpected happens and you convince yourself the enemy has the upper hand again and it’s the only way any of us walks out. Don’t fucking do it.”
Dante nodded.
Evelina glanced between them. “I mean, I wasn’t planning to.” She replayed Romeo’s words and felt herself frown. “But … what if it is the only way you all can make it out?”
“No.”
She jumped in place at the firm surround-sound. Even Otto had barked at her.
So, she aimed her frown up at him. “I said I wasn’t planning to.”
“Just fuckin’ say you won’t.”
“Are we ready to go?” Mikey asked as he rejoined their circle. “Or are we still going over the no-sacrifice-play thing?”
Evelina huffed.
Romeo chuckled.
Dante tipped his head back and a faint smirk lifted his lips. “We’re ready.” He motioned toward the looming building. “Ladies first.”
Evelina drew a deep breath, eyeing the distillery one more time, and gave herself a mental smack to the face.
This was no time to be nervous. She was not going to have the opportunity to be better prepared.
She could not afford to wallow in how much had gone wrong, or to linger in her anger over all the deceit.
I just need to hold my head high and plow forward.
She’d lost nearly everything in the past couple of weeks.
But, somehow, she’d gained even more.
All they had to do was keep Otto’s father alive and take Grisha—preferably all the Morozovs, but at least Grisha—off the board.