Chapter 6
Tick. Tick. Tick. Goes the Time
Rocco
My ears were still ringing from the shot my brother took after the sister of my heart called and warned him about the dead man slumped next to Dennis Fyodorov. Yet I still heard my wife clear enough when she called and warned me about Dennis Fyodorov himself.
He was the man from her nightmares.
The man who wanted my heart dead.
The moment my eyes found mine, the world was separated into two sides.
Safe for her and unsafe for her.
Dennis Fyodorov would soon be dead.
He had just finished a speech. How I should understand why my wife had stirred up suspicion when she wrote a book about criminal dealings that was too close to the truth.
It was all truth my wife’s father had given her. From what Mac had found from his research, my father-in-law had died from a rare condition of the brain that the health department had not yet put a name to. It was not cancer, but similar in the way it spread and the damage it caused.
The untitled sickness ate away at the cells as if it was acid.
From what was known about it, it started with a parasite—a parasite he had contracted from swimming in a foreign country.
Which was why my wife thought he had shared with her the premise of the story in the first place.
He had been almost feverish at the time—talking so fast she almost had not been able to understand him.
All that he’d shared with my wife about Dennis Fyodorov’s criminal dealings had been true. True enough to send men after her.
I understood Fyodorov’s point, however, when it came to women, we did not frighten them only to obtain information.
We spoke to them, true, but unless our wives or our lives were in direct danger, we did not resort to such lame techniques.
Women in our business were not the norm, and when situations did arise, it was a grigio—grey—area.
Unless these women were wives, and we were feuding amongst family.
My grandmother, Grazia, had gone to war for my grandfather, the same way the sister of my heart had gone to war for my brother.
My wife had been frightened by this Fyodorov. Scared from her home. Even though he had sent her directly to me, and that caused me to show some leniency to the boy, Remy Mestengo, I would not show it to this threat. His people had wanted my niece dead and the same with my wife.
Without hesitation, I pulled my gun and shot him once in the head and once in the heart. Perhaps he knew ahead of time he would die. If we did not kill him, his own association would for allowing the situation to get this far out of hand.
Fyodorov would not speak of his operation, but Lev knew it was only a matter of time before a new boss would take the dead one’s place, and another warehouse along the docks would become a fraudulent front for what the suppliers were bringing into the country.
One dies.
Four more could spring up in its place.
Lev and his government wanted the drug off the streets.
It was spreading as fast as the drug itself into the body of the earth.
It had become personal to my family since it was used against my niece as a weapon of war.
The main players would die, the strong arm of the Fausti family suffocating them.
Lev had already left to meet his men at the docks.
It was not always clear how the boats were hiding the drugs.
My nephew, Matteo, who had a personal stake in this war as well—his wife had been held captive by the Russians and French since she was a young woman because she could dance—had arrived right after Lev had dropped the warehouse boss off to me.
Matteo had taken his wife to the hotel to relax with our wives before.
Matteo looked between Brando and me.
“That noise,” he said in Italian. “Sounds like the moving hand of a clock.”
Brando cocked his head to the side, narrowing his eyes at the dead men.
“I hear it as well.” Dario nodded.
“Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.” Romeo chanted, repeating the noise.
That man! Get him out of the house. Now!
Remembering my wife’s panicked words, it seemed as if Brando remembered his wife’s message as well, and we hauled him up, his limp body weighing triple what it would have if he had life to him.
The time bomb noise was growing louder from his body.
With all the strength we could summon, we threw him over the balustrade, toward the pool.
All the men in the office flew down the stairs, and on the last step, the blast from outside almost exploded my eardrums. My shoulder hit the wall as if the entire house had tilted.
When the dead man had hit the water, he had exploded, causing what looked like a whale blowing water from his hole.
Water shot up in all different directions, and so did body parts.
The explosion shattered all the windows, and one of our men stood with the dead man’s hand perched on his head, as if it were a gruesome bird.
The soldier’s eyes rolled up, caught sight of it, and shook like a dog, flinging it off. Watery blood ran down his temples.
He yelled incoherently, his ears probably ringing as the rest of the men’s, including myself. He did not speak another word after that.
Lev’s men ran past us, taking the stairs two at a time. His cleanup crew would clean up the mess of the first dead man. The one outside would not have an explanation. Except when we all started toward our cars at the curb, one of Lev’s men, who we all referred to as Wolf, met us.
Wolf was like my confidant, Mac, in so many ways.
He was not the spitting image of him physically, but they both shared blue eyes and black hair, except Wolf was as pale as winter in Russia.
The men also shared a threatening aura that could not be washed clean, as blood could never truly be erased.
Wolf had claimed Mac’s daughter, one of my godchildren, for his own.
Wolf gestured to the house. “In Russia, we call this the tick of death. We have used it before, but it is new on the streets. An explosive is inserted into a body, through a chip, and whoever controls the detonator controls the time and date of death. The chip completely disappears within the body—there is no trace of it left.”
“Father would hate this,” Romeo shouted as we each went toward a car. “This is not honorable, this tick of death.”
“It is not,” I agreed, sticking my finger inside of my ear, trying to dislodge what felt like an immense amount of pressure.
Halfway down the street, we all started our cars with key fobs. None of them blew.
Brando met my eyes when he arrived at his car with Matteo. Matteo claimed the shotgun seat. After a long second, my brother nodded, then claimed the driver’s side. My brother and I had grown close over the years, and I understood what he was speaking to me without uttering a word.
My wife saved us. Your wife saved us. This is what it means to be powerful—not in physical strength, but something that goes far deeper than that. This is how it feels to be completely loved by a woman. A woman who will be yours even beyond the grave.
My foot hit the accelerator as my chest flooded with warmth.
Fuck hierarchy.
No matter if my brother was in the lead or fell behind, I needed to get to my wife.
I took an alternate route, going a way that would get us to the same place, but at different times.
I could not speed the entire way. The city’s streets were pocked with crater-like holes, and if I wasn’t careful, I would lose the entire front end of my car.
I dodged them as best as I could, and when I arrived at the hotel, I did not take notice of whether Brando had arrived first.
Our men were stationed all around the hotel. Barely making eye contact with one of them, I tossed my keys to him. He caught it and went to valet the car himself.
One foot past the entrance of the hotel, my wife got to her feet from where she had been sitting in the lobby. I had noticed her biting at her newly done nails when I first saw her.
Neither of us took a breather before we collided. She flung herself at me, and I caught her in my arms. Her arms were locked around my neck, and she would not stop kissing me. I refused to let her go, even if my heart stopped beating in that second.
My wife would always be locked together with me, as I would be with her. She felt so good in my arms, it melted my once cold heart, the lion in my chest roaring with fire.
The elevator ride was a blur as we held each other, our mouths refusing to part. My soldiers had already swept the suite and were keeping guard. At our arrival, my men slipped out wordlessly, and I locked the rest of the world out, offering up my heart to my wife.
The only vulnerable spot I had ever had, would ever have, in my entire life.