Chapter 27
Papa was one of those people who believed bad things came in three.
Number one: dealing with an uncooperative captive.
Number two is currently barging through my office doors, effectively cutting off the conversation between Anastasia and me, hours before she has to go to her performance.
And I don’t anticipate what hell number three will be.
“ Dyadya ,” I greet the man in an unamused and even more unsurprised tone. As he crosses the room, I straighten in my seat and drop my crossed feet from my desk. Dealing with my uncle always has and always will require me to be firing on all cylinders.
After two years of running the Bratva, he’s come to deal with it. Deal, meaning he barely bothers me anymore. I’m sure he’s waiting around for me to fuck up, but overall, it’s been decent. Dimitri warned me this is simply his father’s way, and not to trust that he actually accepted his early retirement with grace, but until he does something to piss me off, I’ve been civil toward him.
Based on his raging expression and red puffy cheeks, he’s somehow learned about recent events and isn’t thrilled.
Ivan stomps right past Anastasia, who only glances his way with amusement, and jabs a finger in my direction. “You are a fool. Where is he?”
I take my time answering him, making a point that when he says jump , he doesn’t automatically earn my submission. After scraping one nail against the other, cleaning off invisible dirt, I finally give him the attention he’s all but salivating for, like a rabid dog.
“If you mean my prisoner, he’s locked up. Not that I see how this concerns you.”
Ivan’s other hand forms a fist that he doesn’t use, proving his restraint. “Anything threatening the Bratva is my concern. By blood, this organization will always own my fealty, my weapons, and my loyalty.” Words relating to the Bratva’s oaths.
“I respect that, Ivan, but this isn’t your place.”
“A man snuck into the mansion.”
Actually, I let him in. Seems Uncle doesn’t know everything.
Behind him, Anastasia rolls her lips together to stifle a giggle.
“And?”
Ivan’s eyes bulge, and I believe he’s seconds away from literally exploding. “ And? You’re looking for me to say more? Bozhe moy!” Oh my god. “Vanessa, your father would be ashamed. Who’s the intruder?”
Do I tell him? Dimitri didn’t know anything useful, but his father might. As annoying as it is, Ivan was around during my father’s entire reign so if there’s something he did to entice the Cosa Nostra into attacking, he’s my best shot at learning what that is.
With a low sigh, I reply, “A mercenary hired by the Cosa Nostra. Know anything about that?”
Ivan’s expression falters and he leans away from my desk, arms slowly lowering. “The Cosa Nostra?”
Throughout childhood, Ivan’s always reminded me of Papa in the sense of being unfailing. Fearless. Despite Dimitri’s hatred of the man, he was never one to run from a fight. So his face quickly fading from red to white raises my own internal nervous flutters.
“If you know something?—”
“I assume your father never told you,” he cuts me off, and for once, I’m okay with the interruption.
I glance Anastasia’s way, sharing her own look of confusion as she watches my uncle from behind. He shifts before falling into the seat beside her, only sitting on the edge as he swipes a palm down his face.
“He didn’t, but you could have,” I say coolly. “Two years, and you never thought to warn me there’s something between the organizations?” Something without a paper trail, which is disconcerting on its own. No mention, nothing from more recent years than what history has recorded.
With a levelled stare and a huff that almost sounds amused, he starts. “There was a reason beyond the creation of an international empire as to why your father was determined to get into a union with the New York Famiglia . He believed—hoped, really—a connection to another massive and powerful crime family would provide protection against them.”
Papa had one drive: power. That’s all New York was to him. Anywhere he went, if there was authority and influence to be had, he was determined to be the one controlling it. Me included.
“That makes no sense. The Bratva has more manpower than the Famiglia .” It was his main point to Erico; that with me as his wife, New York would gain an unbeatable force. But it didn’t change the numerous rejections Rossi gave him.
Ivan’s lips fold down in the corners. “Or is that what he told you? Because if that was the case, what was your father’s motive behind gaining New York?” Based on his tone, his challenging question isn’t one I’m supposed to have an answer to, but I do.
“Power. A North American partner.”
“Yes,” my uncle agrees, “but not for the reasons you think. Not solely, anyway. My brother knew that with more protection, the Bratva would not only be better set up for war, but he targeted the organization with the largest foothold. The Italians control much of the U.S., so he felt owning the other half would be beneficial. It’s why he attempted to get rid of Rossi’s wife. To clear the path for your marriage…and his security.”
“That still makes no sense.” Not based on the man I knew. His pride wouldn’t allow him to seek backup for a potential war—which I still have no answers to. I slump against my chair backing, drumming my fingers along the desk’s edge in agitation.
Dimitri’s number one piece of advice when he first started training me, before Papa’s death, was to trust my gut. The body instinctively knows things, and to accept the facts and use them to direct my decision making.
Which is how I know, even with all the bad blood between Ivan and me, he isn’t lying. It isn’t some bullshit ploy. It’s genuine advice that resonates and the room fades into a memory, to the first conversation Papa and I had about Erico Rossi.
“Doch'!” Papa yells from down the hallway.
I stop walking, almost regretfully, my purse becoming the outlet to shield my annoyance from him as I clench my hands around the pink leather handle. Papa preys on weaknesses and I’ll never let him view mine.
Three days ago, he got home from wherever he frequently disappears to. Which means, it’s been three days of walking on eggshells. Not that his absence makes a difference, considering the force of men he has around, but at least with him gone, he takes his judgement with him. Small wins.
Beside me, my friend—if I were to call her that—Inessa stops as well, eyes lined with too much makeup darting from me to Papa and back. I nudge my chin toward the hall, silently instructing her to continue to my room so she doesn’t have to be subjected to whatever’s about to happen. She takes my offer with a tight smile and I watch her go, wishing I could escape too.
Inessa is someone from Papa’s list of approved friends. Meaning, we’re shoved together constantly, despite me being in my mid-twenties and not needing my father to meddle in my friendships. Inessa is the exact definition of a social butterfly and cares more about who kissed who this week than anything even relevantly important. She’s as annoying as the reality shows she enjoys watching, but useful in getting me out of the mansion and away from Papa all the times Anastasia’s father refuses to release her from her metaphorical cage.
Once Papa and I are alone, he flicks a finger toward the purse in my hand. “Did you have a good time?”
Net. “Bought a dress.”
“That’s nice.”
His tone says he’s not asking out of interest, and the conniving gleam in his eyes suggests more is coming. And it does, between my next stilted, barely audible breath. “A husband will keep you happy and ensure you continue to spend freely, moy dorogoy .” My dear.
Yep, he wants something. Clearly, he’s chosen said future husband, despite my numerous attempts to change his mind. Marriage isn’t something I’m chasing because it won’t make me the next Bratva’s leader. That position will get handed to my husband, while I’ll be idle on the sidelines, producing heirs.
Crossing my arms, I stare at Papa, unamused over the complicated path he’s taking to make his point. “I’m sure,” I reply dryly, hoping he hears the displeasure in my tone. “He’ll also limit me in other ways. Make me less of myself. You wouldn’t do that to your only child, would you?” My voice lowers into a sweeter, give-me-what-I-want tone. The same a child uses when pleading for sugary treats.
Papa rolls his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic, Vanessa. It’s a dishonour to your mother.”
Yes, the woman I hardly recall, only mentioned when convenient to him.
“I found you someone perfect. Erico Rossi of the New York Famiglia .”
“America.” I don’t hide the disgust in my voice. “Americans are…not us.”
Papa’s shaking his head. “This is not up for debate. Pack a bag. We leave tomorrow for New York. I’ve already been in communication with Erico’s father. There’s some complications with this union, but none that’ll stop us.”
Us. Of course, because now I’m worthy. Needed. So he makes us a partnership when it’s convenient for his cause.
“No.”
Papa’s eyes lighten into a frosty ice. “This is not up for debate,” he repeats. “You will wed Rossi and you will be fucking happy with the empire your son will one day inherit. The Famiglia will be good for you. They have a large force we can benefit from.”
Papa then glances to the side, but nothing’s there so I’m not sure what he’s looking at. His eyes are tight in the corners, which usually indicates annoyance, as does his firm jaw. He rolls his lips together and shifts in his spot before looking my way again, his gaze more resigned than before.
That’s when it hits me. He’s not annoyed, but…Even my thoughts can’t formulate the words because they’re simply impossible. Unfailing, strong Papa doesn’t fear anything. One of the most useful things he’s ever told me is to only fear the unknown when there is no other option, no control.
So what’s the unknown in this instance? A fear so grand, he’s not hiding it.
“Papa, are you all right? You don’t seem well.”
He blinks, jerking away. “I’m fine. Pack your bag. We leave tomorrow.”
Then he walks away and I ? —
“Vanessa!”
I blink, inhaling a large breath through my lungs as both my body and mind wake up and return me to the present. To where Anastasia’s now hovering by my desk and my uncle’s standing again, practically leaning over me.
“Sorry. I just…never mind.” Rubbing my hands over my face, I try to wake myself up before saying, “You mentioned how much Papa wanted the alliance with New York and it hit me. He was so forceful in demanding that I marry Rossi.”
Which means, as suspected, what Ivan says is true. Papa feared something, which I now presume to be the Cosa Nostra, and wanted Rossi’s forces to pad his army to be even larger.
I focus on my uncle again. “One thing I don’t understand: what happened between the Cosa Nostra and the Bratva that sent us into war?” Zeno claimed this is retribution for my father’s actions, but it seems my father was the one running scared, which means all this started somewhere. “And why are there no records of it? The only information out there seems to be from way back, long before you and Papa were even born.”
My uncle drops into the chair again, his shoulders slumping. His gaze darts to the window at my back, staring through the glass pane rather than me. “Fuck, I didn’t think I’d have to be the one to tell you this. Vanessa, around the time you were?—”
The truth, so close, is robbed from me with a loud boom, followed by a bang from elsewhere in the mansion that throws us all into action.
And then a spray of bullets.
Bad thing number three.