Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
DANIIL
Emilio’s compound is a gorgeous sprawling Mediterranean-style mansion in an exclusive gated community outside of Miami Beach.
Secluded and well protected. I wouldn’t expect anything less.
Bianca and I exit the vehicle to stand on the stone driveway.
Everything sparkles in the Florida sun—the marble lions flanking the stairs to the entrance, the black Range Rovers lined in the circular driveway, even the sunglasses perched on the noses of the mini army standing guard in the front of the home.
Palm trees rustle in the warm breeze as a hulking guard with a shaved head approaches.
“Bianca,” he says with a curt nod that she returns. And then to me he says, “Mr. Kozlov, I’ll need to confiscate any weapons you have on you.”
Is he fucking serious?
My hand instinctively flexes over the Glock tucked into my waistband. Bianca’s eyes track the movement of my hand, and she raises an eyebrow at me. “My uncle is paranoid. It’s a hard-and-fast rule for anyone entering his private residence.”
I’d like to tell cue ball here to fuck off, I don’t give up my piece ever—especially when I don’t trust the players involved—but if I refuse, it won’t be taken kindly. I might as well declare war against the Zegas, and I’m not quite ready to take up that mantle.
“I’d better get it back,” I mutter, handing over the pistol.
Like most, I’ve never met Morales. With an ongoing war with the Mexican cartels, he lays low, running his empire from afar while Días attends to all in-person business.
But his lack of face-to-face time hasn’t affected business.
He’s obviously doing well, very well, judging by this prime piece of real estate.
A moment later, a stern-looking older woman, who introduces herself as Maria, the housekeeper, ushers us inside through a wide set of steel doors.
“Your uncle will meet with you shortly. Would you like to freshen up first?” Assessing eyes travel the length of Bianca, taking in Kira’s yoga pants and T-shirt.
“Yes, I’ll go upstairs to change.” Then to me she says, “Would you mind waiting in the library while I get cleaned up? I won’t be long.”
I nod and allow Maria to escort me to the library off the main foyer. Settling into one of the velvet armchairs in the corner, I take my phone from my pocket and text my brothers to ask when they are arriving. This whole situation has me on edge, and I’d feel better knowing my people are around.
“So, it’s the groom-to-be?”
My eyes lift to find The Madman’s eye, dark as night, staring back at me. He looks worse for wear, with one eye swollen shut and his right arm in a sling. Satisfaction melts through me to see him hurt like this. He deserved far worse.
In a perfect world, Emilio would have him killed for gambling away his niece, but since this world is far from perfect, he stands before me still alive.
His lips tilt into a humorless smirk, and I remember the sight of him hitting Bianca out on that balcony. How he treated her, the terrible words he said to her. A sense of possession flares in me now, a reminder that if I don’t put a ring on Bianca’s finger, this mudak will.
“I suppose I have you to thank for my upcoming nuptials.” I allow a cocky grin to overtake my face. “I’m very much looking forward to making Bianca my wife.”
“You think you're so clever, pendejo. You think you’ve won the prize, but don’t be so sure,” he growls, dropping any pretense of this being a friendly conversation.
“Take it up with your boss. His orders.” I shrug, settling back in the armchair as if I don’t have a care in the world. Then, with a conspiratorial whisper, I add, “Maybe if you didn’t treat Bianca like the gum on your shoe, she wouldn’t have come to me so readily.”
Annoyance pulls his jaw taut, his scowl menacing.
I’ve seen that look before. Right before guns are drawn or blades unsheathed.
I may not be armed, but as far as I’m concerned, Días can choke on his rage.
Unless he wants to invite the wrath of the Kozlov Empire down on his head—and I’m guessing he doesn’t—he’s powerless against me.
And even better, he has no power over Bianca anymore.
“Rest easy, parce. I don’t give a fuck about her. Never did. That bitch is your problem now.” Despite his callous words, Días’s jaw is locked so tight I think he might crack his molars.
“Say that again, I dare you.” I raise my eyebrows.
A clear indication that I don’t give a fuck, but the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
There’s no way this half-cent gangster is going down without a fight.
I took his golden ticket, the heir to the throne, and that marks me with an X between my eyebrows.
He’ll come at me no doubt; the question is when. One thing I’ll make certain of: when he strikes, I’ll be ready.
A half hour later, Emilio summons us to a meeting.
Bianca walks beside me, fidgeting with the neckline of her dress.
She looks stunning, wearing a simple white shift dress and a stack of gold necklaces that sets off her golden-brown skin.
There’s a certain fierceness in her gaze, as if we’re going to war rather than to see a beloved family member.
I don’t tell her about my run-in with Jorge. Doubt it would improve her mood.
Maria brings us out to an impressive veranda overlooking an Olympic-size pool surrounded by a neatly manicured lawn.
Emilio is sitting waiting for us in a polo shirt and khakis, his dark hair brushed back from his tanned, handsome face.
He looks like a business executive on his day off, not like the head of a deadly crime syndicate.
Emilio’s hooded eyes track Bianca’s every move with a quiet intensity that I don’t fucking like. He looks at her like he hates her, and the feeling seems mutual. There’s no affection in her eyes, no warmth towards her uncle, as she says, “Hello, tío,” and plants a dry kiss on his cheek.
He doesn’t rise to meet us, but he offers a nod in greeting. He gestures for us to join him at the patio table.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Morales.” I force a neutral tone. “My brothers send their regards.”
“Call me Emilio,” he offers with a false smoothness. “We’ll be family soon.”
“About that, tío.” Bianca scoots forward in her seat, her usually golden skin pale. “We should talk about what happened this weekend.”
“I know everything that happened this weekend.” He doesn’t bother to look at Bianca, instead he focuses on placing the napkin in his lap and helping himself to the fruit salad on the table.
“It was a misunderstanding. Daniil didn’t know who I was. That I was your niece. Everyone was drinking … emotions were high … you can imagine. Daniil made a mistake.”
Emilio’s eyes snap to my own, but I keep my expression blank.
I won’t agree with Bianca that I made a mistake because I didn’t.
If Emilio had better protected his niece, we wouldn’t be in this situation.
I doubt it was the first time Días had been rough with Bianca, and there’s no way Emilio is ignorant of that.
He appears to be a man who is aware of everything that happens within his organization.
But he’s awaiting a response from me. I clear my throat, and say, “It’s true, I didn’t realize who Bianca was when I made the bet with Jorge.” I pause for effect. “Nonetheless, a deal is a deal. And I intend to uphold my side of it.”
Bianca lets out a frustrated groan and glares at me like I just ate her firstborn while Emilio nods, spearing a piece of papaya with his fork.
“Jorge made a mistake, but he is the man I want to marry.” She practically chokes out the last part, and I wonder what game she’s playing. That or she’s scared of retribution from Días. “He’s the man you wanted me to marry, tío, was he not?”
Emilio drops his cutlery on the table with a loud clang and glares at his niece.
A wave of possessiveness has me on edge.
This is no longer the face of the amiable CEO; this is the violent criminal drug lord who doesn’t blink at the prospect of killing.
“Your virtue was compromised by the events of last night. It made us look weak, and Jorge has been punished for his stupidity.” His reptilian eyes cut to me, dead and flat.
“You’re lucky it was a Kozlov that claimed you.
This marriage stands to benefit both families. ”
My lip curls in contempt, but I hold my tongue. I want Bianca to absorb his words. To understand how little regard her own flesh and blood holds for her. When she accepts that her family doesn’t give a shit about her, she’ll understand I’m by far the best option available.
Bianca releases a defeated sigh. “But why so quickly? Surely, we can delay the engagement by a few months. I don’t even know Daniil, we need some time to—”
“?Silencio!” Emilio seethes. “It’s decided.” He grabs her chin roughly and tilts her face towards him. “Do you want people to think you are a whore, dear niece?” She blinks at him and holds her ground, even as tears form in her eyes.
“Get your hands off her.” My voice is low, but my words have a lethal edge that hangs heavy in the air. I don’t move a muscle, but I’m all coiled energy, prepared to pounce if he doesn’t release her immediately.
Emilio’s jaw ticks, but his hand falls away from Bianca’s face.
His eyes, dark as night, continue to hold her captive.
“Half the mafia families in greater New York saw you leave with Daniil last night. You don’t think they’ll talk?
” Calmly picking up his fork, Emilio’s attention goes back to the food in front of him.
“Now we throw the wedding of the year, and we give people something positive to talk about. A union between the Colombians and Russians.”
Bianca grits her teeth but holds her tongue this time. She won’t look at me, but frustration ripples off her in waves. She’s unhappy I didn’t push back. Let her be unhappy with me, let her hate me. Frankly, I don’t want this marriage either, but I don’t want her in Días’s grasp even more.
After a moment of blistering silence, Emilio stands, dropping his napkin on the table in front of him. Checking his Rolex, he frowns. “This is no longer open for discussion, Bianca. You will be married tomorrow. The wedding planner will be here momentarily to discuss the details with you.”
With that he nods his head to me, the only sign of respect the ublyudok has shown me, and stalks from the patio, leaving us in tense silence. Tears trail down Bianca’s face. I reach out and swipe at a tear, licking the salty moisture off my finger.
Her face falls, and she sucks in a shuddering breath. “Why are you going along with this? I thought you didn’t want a wife?”
“I’m second in line to the Kozlov throne. I was always going to have to marry. The bratva is like royalty from the days of yore. We marry to create alliances and produce heirs.”
She sneers, as if it’s my fault the world is this way. “That’s so fucked-up. You’ve never thought about marrying for love?”
“No.” What I don’t say is that I don’t believe in love.
It’s a fallacy that we’ve been fed from day one, and I don’t buy into the fantasy of happily ever afters.
My parents married for what they said was love, and it ended with my mother in misery, eventually taking her own life.
“You’re as good as any other wet hole. Make me some babies and look good on my arm, that’s all I need from you.
Like your uncle said, it’s a powerful alliance. ”
She flinches, but I don’t care. She already hates me, now she needs to understand the terms of our arrangement. I brush invisible crumbs off my suit jacket as her eyes laser into the side of my face. Such an innocent thing. She can’t even hide her feelings. It’s written all over her face.
“Hijo de puta,” she snaps.
While I don’t speak Spanish, I know enough to understand I’ve been called a son of a bitch. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest, and she’s twisted her body as far from me as possible. Fine. Let her be angry. But I do need her to hear what I have to say next.
I turn her face towards me, her jaw so delicate in my big hand, I could crush it without breaking a sweat. “But I want to be clear about one thing, printsessa. I’ll never hurt you like he hurts you.”
She gulps, and her eyes drift down to my mouth. An electric charge flares hot between us, lighting me up from the inside out. Even the air around us feels magnetic, the calm before a storm. She feels it, too. That I am sure of.
Before one of us breaks the spell, Maria emerges, announcing the wedding planner has arrived and that we are to meet with her in the study. It’s the last thing I want to do, but as the old saying goes, in for a penny, in for a pound.
I stand and offer her my upturned palm. She stares at it like I just offered her a dead fish, before turning the other way, rising from her seat, and storming ahead of me.
Fuck. I like winding her up and watching her spin.