Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
Kirill
Lucy De Lucci was proving to be a worthy adversary.
I expected her to cower, but the rebellion in her eyes made what I planned for her more enticing to see through.
My initial disappointment that Viktor didn’t get rid of the bane of my existence quickly morphed into devious scheming that would actually solve many of my problems. But first, I needed to placate the pakhan of the Moscow mob.
He answered on the second ring. “What the fuck, Zahkarov? What happened?”
“My men are on the scene. It appears Viktor had a run-in with a state trooper, and he was carrying bricks of cocaine and illegal weapons in his trunk along with Davenport’s body.”
“Tell me something I don’t know!” Peter growled. “And I don’t want to hear ‘I told you so.’”
“I don’t recall saying that.”
“I don’t need your sarcasm either. My brother is dead. The least you can do is say, ‘I’m sorry.’”
I clenched my jaw. “Sorry that his recklessness is causing me more problems? He killed a senatorial candidate. I told you not to interfere on my turf. I don’t owe Moscow anything, and I’m fixing your brother’s fuckups. You shouldn’t have sent him here to deal with Davenport.”
“Watch it, Zahkarov.”
I had made my point, and I didn’t want Peter to lose the narrative of what I was spinning. “Viktor was smart enough to wrap Davenport’s body in garbage bags. He killed him with a heroin overdose. Anya will support the story.”
“You don’t see any problem with her?”
Besides making her a merry widow and in control of her husband’s estate. “No. I will go to her now and make sure everything is in order before she calls 911.”
We discussed other concerns that would ensure the authorities would be satisfied with the resulting investigation. I assured Peter I could pay the right people to look the other way. Disruption of Moscow’s business interests took precedence over Viktor’s death. I had to remind Peter of this.
“I have to go,” I told him. “I’m personally overseeing that everything goes according to plan.”
“Thank you.”
Turning this around so Peter would be in my debt was my objective all along, but I had to be careful not to gloat.
“Wait,” Peter cut in.
I paused, my finger hovering over the end button.
“What is this I hear you have a fiancée?” There was slight disbelief in Peter’s tone. Humor even.
“You heard correctly.”
“Who?” he demanded. “You’ve turned down every respectable match, including Anya. Why get married now?”
“In answer to your first question. Lucia De Lucci.”
Silence over the line. “Wait, is she…?”
“Dominic De Lucci’s sister and Luca Moretti’s niece.”
“She nearly ruined the Zahkarov bratva!” he spat.
“Ruin is overstating it. It was a mere inconvenience.” With the bonus of my father stepping down and me ascending to the pakhan role.
“Didn’t you put a contract on her head?”
“I did.”
“You’re going to fuck up that girl and cause problems between me and Moretti. That’s probably why he’s blowing up my phone.”
Ah, if you only knew, Peter.
“And in answer to your second question, I’m pakhan now. I need a wife.” Before Peter could interrogate me further, I cut him off with, “I really need to go. And no word about my engagement to anyone.”
“I can’t avoid Moretti’s calls forever.”
“Why is he calling you anyway?”
“He’s probably worried about what Viktor would do to Davenport.”
“All the more reason for me to set the stories straight. Do not under any circumstances tell anyone that I have Lucy. You only know about Viktor’s unfortunate encounter with the state trooper. I need to go.”
I didn’t wait for Peter to end the call. I was pakhan. He was pakhan. We were equals now.
Forty-five minutes later, Anya Davenport led me in through the back of their Long Island mansion.
Anya was three years older than my thirty-six.
Together with Kolya, we grew up together on the outskirts of Siberia.
Kolya. My brother, not in blood, but my brother in every way and probably the only person besides my sister who I found acceptable to care about.
Kolya was in jail for a crime he didn’t commit.
Another reason I wanted Lucy De Lucci dead.
I had the evidence to set him free, but we agreed to wait a while longer.
Finding advantage in disadvantage had always been my expertise.
It was a lesson I learned early in life when my father exiled me to Siberia.
“Oh, thank God you’re here.” Anya’s face greeted me in the darkness of the kitchen.
She remained naturally beautiful, with rich, thick, golden hair and features untouched by a plastic surgeon’s scalpel—or so she swore.
A pinch of stress lines appeared below her violet eyes. Eyes brimmed with unshed tears.
Did she love Davenport? After she married, I ceased thinking of her in a way a lover should.
Or I should say, I didn’t care enough to think about her other than if Davenport was treating her right.
Anya always said my father had removed my heart and replaced it with a block of stone. She couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Where is he?”
Sato appeared by the kitchen entrance. He was a lean man of mixed race.
Russian and Japanese. He was not tall at five-nine, but he could take down a juggernaut with a few jujitsu moves.
I discovered him at an underground fight.
Second to Kolya, I trusted him to take care of important jobs that required meticulous execution.
“I’ve positioned him in his study. He hadn’t gone full rigor mortis, and I was able to stage it like an overdose.”
I entered Davenport’s office. I’d been a visitor here over the years.
He was Peter’s associate more than mine and had dealings with my father.
My connection to him was through Anya. Bruce Davenport was bisexual, and for six years, he and Anya had had a satisfactory marriage.
The problems started with the lack of an heir.
Davenport blamed Anya for their inability to have children, and Anya blamed Davenport.
Eventually, that led to Davenport shedding his straight-guy skin and resuming his use of male escorts until he’d fallen in love with one of them.
Anya wanted to pick up where we left off, saying her husband wouldn’t care since he had his own distractions.
I had no desire to become anyone’s distraction. Both of them had been discreet in their affairs until Davenport became enamored with his latest lover, just before his senate run.
I hadn’t seen his body earlier, but now as I scrutinized his pitiful form, I derided how he had let love destroy him.
He had billions in generational wealth. He was a partner at a prestigious law firm.
In case his bid for Congress failed, a whole future awaited him.
He was only forty-five, and he threw it all away.
But then again, the heartbreak of others worked in my favor.
Anya clasped my elbow and leaned against me.
I caught a whiff of her familiar perfume.
Rose and oranges. Was I supposed to comfort her?
Was that what she was expecting? I was honest enough to know that empathy didn’t come naturally to me, but I was shrewd enough to pretend how to fake it to benefit me in situations.
I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her temple. “Are you okay?”
“I can’t believe he’s dead,” she sniffed. “We had our problems—”
I released her, and turned her around and pierced her with my eyes. I clasped her shoulders for extra emphasis. “No, Anya. Now is not the time to talk about your problems. You will play the grieving widow in a loving marriage to the hilt, understand?”
“But, you and I—”
“We can’t raise suspicion. With law enforcement, with Peter.” With Luca Moretti.
I hugged her close for the purpose of whispering in her ear. “We never talked about getting rid of your husband. Forget it. Have amnesia about it.” I leaned away. “None of this is your fault. You were the perfect wife.”
Her mouth twitched amidst the tears streaming down her face. “I loved him.”
“Perfect.” Then, I lowered my voice again. “Call the cops at five a.m. Under no circumstances are you to contact me. I will come to you when I’m ready. It has to appear as if I found out from other sources. Also, whatever you hear about me, do not react.”
Anya pushed away, alarm shadowing her eyes. “Kirill?”
When I simply stared at her, she pressed, “You’re scaring me. What are you going to do?”
Besides marrying a viper?
“Trust me. I need you to play the part of a devoted and grieving widow.” I gave her a light shake again. “It’s important for my plans to work.”
It took another ten minutes of trying to pry myself away from Anya. Time to face the person who would make this master plan flawless.
“This isn’t set in stone,” Margo Winthrop told me when she appeared at my door at five a.m. “I want to see with my own eyes you’re not blackmailing the poor girl.”
I was running on caffeine and the euphoria that success was within reach. The matchmaker was my last hurdle. Well, she and Lucy accepting the arranged marriage.
I scoffed as I led the woman to my study. “Poor girl? She’s a conniving, nosy, interfering little brat.”
Perfect for me.
“Yet you want to marry her.”
“Could be fun.”
“I can see that and don’t think I don’t know this has nothing to do with Viktor Koshkin’s encounter with the cops. You’re insulating yourself against backlash.” She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure from whom, and you’re not giving me enough information to approve the match.”
“Unless Lucy is willing.”
She nodded. “Unless Lucy is willing. But the contract I have is intent to marry. That simply states that there was an honest consideration of a marriage proposal.” She shook her head partly from amusement when my face didn’t show her anything.
“This isn’t a game. You do not want to mess with the De Luccis or the Morettis. ”
“Yet you’re right here because Lucy De Lucci has turned down eight of your matches and you’re desperate.”
“You’ve turned down twenty-five,” she retorted.
“That was over a ten-year period.”
“Now you want an alliance with the Italians through Lucy De Lucci. The woman who almost singlehandedly brought down your organization and sent your best friend to prison. Forgive me if I don’t trust your intentions.”
I played my final card. The matchmaker would be my staunchest ally before we met my bride. And Lucy will be my bride. “This doesn’t leave this room.”
She stiffened.
“Peter doesn’t know about it. And what you have”—I tipped my chin toward the folder she was holding—“is going to prevent a war between the Russians and the Italians.”
When she didn’t say anything, I added, “Do I have your word, Margo?”
“Do I have to know about it?” she ventured. Margo was playing coy. She loved secrets, especially ones to hold over someone’s head. But it was a balance, especially when the mob was involved, because she couldn’t risk blowback either if she took part in a cover-up.
A short chuckle escaped my mouth. “No. But then you’ll have to be singing my virtues to Lucy to convince her to marry me.”
“So, you don’t really have her approval yet.” Margo crossed her arms and eyed me drily before casting a brief glance at the door.
“She’s thinking about it.”
“Fuck,” she muttered on a rare occasion of cursing. “Out with it.”
“I have your word?”
“Yes,” she snapped.
“It was Lucy who killed Viktor.”
Margo’s eyes widened and then narrowed. “How…?”
I gave her the gist of what happened tonight.
“In about an hour, the world will know that Bruce Davenport died of an accidental drug overdose.”
“I know he was running for the senate, but there are rumors he was going to back out because he was divorcing Anya. That won’t go over well with Peter and Luca since they’re depending on that senate seat.”
Thank fuck I didn’t have to explain the stakes to Margo.
“That foolish, foolish girl,” Margo exploded in a rare show of emotion. “She tried to fix the scandal for Luca.”
“That’s what I suspect.” When she started pacing in deep contemplation, my patience became a scarce commodity.
I needed to get this done. “We don’t have much time, Margo,” I told her curtly.
“The news of Davenport’s death is going to hit the six o’clock news.
Luca may very well be on his way to New York as we speak. ”
She stopped wearing a hole in the Persian rug and glared at me. “I don’t know if I’m impressed or appalled at the level of manipulation you executed in such a short amount of time.”
“That’s why I deserve to be pakhan and I need a fitting bride by my side.”
“Lucy is the answer?”
“She’s a godsend,” I deadpanned.
Margo scoffed, “More like a sacrificial lamb.”
“I won’t abuse her if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
“Physically,” she replied. “But even now you’re a master of mental games. I think that’s why you’re relishing this match. You want to get your hands on Lucy, but she’s protected by the De Luccis and my covenant. This way, you're like a cat playing with a mouse.”
“I don’t think Miss De Lucci will appreciate being compared to a mouse,” I drawled. “Admit it, Margo. You’re salivating at this match because you can’t wait to see her make me miserable.”
“Now what kind of matchmaker would I be if my goal is to make my clients miserable? I would, however, like to see you taken down a peg or two.”
Not likely.
“This is still an intent-to-marry contract,” Margo warned.
“Of course.”
“Well, okay, then, let me see your prospective bride.”