26. Arsen
26
ARSEN
“What do you mean, you’re going to La Passione now?” Dominik’s voice booms through the Escalade’s speakers. “Alessandro is there tonight!”
Gedeon covers his ears. “Another octave higher and only dogs will be able to hear you, Dom.”
“You have the Barnaby Gala tonight,” Dom reminds me.
“ Blyat’ . I forgot about that.”
“I called you three times today,” Dominik complains. “All of which you ignored.”
“I was busy.”
“Busy avoiding me, you mean. I had nothing to do with that damn trunk, Arsen!”
Gedeon perks up like a meerkat. “What trunk?”
“I was trying to make sure it was secure! If I’d known it was full of giant dildos, I never would’ve?—”
“What did I miss?!” Gedeon cries.
“Enough!”
I know Dominik had nothing to do with Laila’s stunt, but I can’t think about any of it right now. I have too much on my plate to spend any energy imagining Laila lying in my bed, her legs spread, her lips parted…
I clear my throat. “How many seats do I have at this damn gala? Can I skip it?”
“Two whole tables. And no, not unless you want to offend all of society’s finest and brightest, not to mention some significant business contacts.”
Shit . “Fine. I’ll be there. I’ll be late, but I’ll be there.”
“Are you planning to take…?”
“Who?” I growl.
I know exactly whose name is about to leave his lips, and I can’t hear it. I can’t remember the way she looked underneath me, squirming, moaning.
If I do, I’ll ignore every responsibility in front of me and go to her instead.
“Nothing. Never mind,” Dominik mumbles. “I’ll see you at the gala.”
The line goes dead, and Gedeon looks over. “Am I ever going to hear the story, or?—?”
“No.”
He sighs, but is wise enough to know not to argue. “Fine. What’s the game plan?”
I park along the curb half a block from La Passione. “You stay in the car and have Valentin and Matvey deliver my little gift to the back of the club one they arrive.”
“You’re going in there alone?” Gedeon is starting to sound like Dominik.
“This is Alessandro’s most successful business. Starting shit with me in full view of his patrons would definitely hurt his profit margins. He won’t run the risk.”
Gedeon chews on his lip. “Still?—”
“It’s important that Alessandro knows I’m not intimidated by him. Text me when Valentin and Matvey get here.”
I leave him in the Escalade and stride towards the club.
There’s a long line of people outside, chomping at the bit to be let in by the surly bouncer. I cut in front of all of them, earning a few complaints and some smiles from the women at the front of the line, no doubt hoping to catch up with me inside.
At one point in my life, I might have entertained them.
Now, I couldn’t care less.
The bouncer thrusts out an arm as I approach. “Are you on the list?”
“I’m always on the list,” I reply. “Arsen Adamov. I advise you not to make me wait.”
The bouncer looks like he’s seen a ghost. He leaps aside and waves me through, muttering something about “informing Mr. Calcagno of my arrival.”
I breeze through the doors and into the club, bypassing the sweat, sex, and chaos of the main floor in favor of the VIP section.
When I make it to the top of the velvet-clad stairs, a gorgeous brunette with short, spiky hair materializes in front of me. “Mr. Adamov, I’m Annabelle, the hostess for the evening. Don Calcagno?—"
“I take it he knows I’m here?”
“Of course. Don Calcagno knows everything.” Her sequined dress catches the flashing lights from the dance floor. She looks like a silver fish. “He asks that you wait for him at his private table. He’ll be just a few moments.”
In other words, it’ll be at least half an hour. He can’t move against me in a public place like this, but he can force me to wait on him.
The joke is on him. I’ve been to fucking prison. I have no problem waiting.
I order myself a whiskey and pull out my phone. Now that I have a few minutes to myself, my mind wanders to the one place I haven’t let it go all day.
ARSEN: I have an event tonight. I expect you to be ready in an hour. I’ll have a dress sent to the house for you.
Not even a minute later, my phone vibrates. I feel like a horny teenager as I swipe back into my text messages.
LAILA: Yes, Master. Right away, Master. Is there anything else Your Highness desires?
ARSEN: You know, I don’t hate the sound of that.
LAILA: Of course you don’t. Because you’re an ass.
ARSEN: You can count the ways at the event tonight. Don’t wear any underwear.
I don’t realize I’m smiling down at the phone until a leather coaster slides in front of me. I look up and now find myself smiling inadvertently at the hostess.
She places my drink in front of me, bending over far enough to offer me an unrequested view of her cleavage. “Your drink, Mr. Adamov. Compliments of Don Calcagno.”
“Thank you.” My smile withers. “That will be all.”
Her poise falters, like she was hoping I’d take her up on the invitation she’s obviously extending. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”
I don’t need anything from her. I turn back to my phone as it buzzes.
LAILA: What event are you dragging me to anyway? A public flogging? Open heart surgery on your enemies, sans anesthesia?
ARSEN: A charity gala. Not as gory as your suggestions, but every bit as painful.
LAILA: Is it a charity for rich men with fragile egos? That must be a cause close to your heart.
ARSEN: A charity gala to fund a wing of St. Francis Memorial, actually.
LAILA: The hospital??
ARSEN: No. The strip club. It’s also close to my heart.
LAILA: You’re hilarious.
ARSEN: This event is important. So I expect you to be on your best behavior tonight.
The three dots appear and disappear and reappear. It’s cute to imagine her scowling down at the phone, debating what to say to me.
LAILA: Tell me where the trunk is and I’ll come.
ARSEN: You’ll come tonight regardless, roza.
I take a sip of my drink, enjoying this far too much.
LAILA: You’re so clever. Is that what you want to hear?
ARSEN: ‘ You’re so clever, Master,’ would be better, but we can workshop that tonight. At the gala.
LAILA: What makes you so sure I’ll obey?
ARSEN: Because I believe you’re a smart woman, Laila. One who knows when to pick her battles.
My thumbs are poised over the keypad, waiting for her reply, when Alessandro Calcagno arrives with his entourage in tow.
“Arsen.” Alessandro’s arms are raised like we might embrace. “How wonderful to?—”
I hold up a single finger, keeping my eyes fixed on my text thread with Laila.
ARSEN: If I don’t make it on time, go in without me. But stay close to Dominik.
I press Send . Only then do I stand and offer him my hand. “Apologies about that, my friend. Had some business to attend to. You understand.”
Alessandro tries to rearrange his scowl but doesn’t quite manage to hide his irritation. “Of course.” He gestures to the younger man at his shoulder. Yet another heir happy to hide behind his father. My enemies breed like rabbits. Someone ought to teach them the value of a condom. “You remember my son, Enzo.”
“Nice to see you again, Enzo.” We all know I’m lying, so I skip to the main event. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen one another that I came with a gift for the two of you.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“My wife’s death.”
Enzo steps forward immediately. “I don’t know what you’ve heard?—”
“I don’t listen to idle gossip, Enzo,” I interrupt. “But facts are stubborn things.”
Alessandro feigns surprise. “Coming to my club and accusing me of murdering your lovely wife is bold even for you, Arsen.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Have you always been such a bad liar, or are you losing practice in your old age?”
All at once, the pretense falls away. His face twists into a hideous sneer. “What was my tell?”
“No one who knew her would ever describe her as ‘lovely.’”
He laughs viciously. “You’re not wrong. As far as I can see, I did you a favor.”
“You tried to make me look weak.”
Enzo bends over to whisper something, his voice low in his father’s ear, but not low enough that I don’t hear almost every word. “… don’t think this is the appropriate place to have this conversation, Papa.”
“What are you afraid of, Enzo?” Alessandro scoffs. “Arsen is here to thank me, aren’t you, my friend?”
“That’s exactly what I’m here to do. Hence the gift. It’s right outside the club. In the body bags.”
Alessandro’s eyebrows arch in surprise.
“Did you really think there would be no retribution for the men who killed my wife?”
He lurches toward me, but Enzo holds him back.
“A few of them were killed today,” I continue, “so they’ll be fresh. I can’t say the same for all seven, though. You’ll have to move fast if you don’t want the stench bothering your patrons.”
“I suppose you think this makes us even?” I don’t miss the flash of hope in his eyes.
“Hardly.”
“You don’t want to start an all-out war with me,” he grumbles. “Not so close to the Pobeda launch. There’s a way for us to coexist.”
“Says the man who ordered a hit on my wife.”
“I’ve heard through the grapevine that your wife is alive and well. Pregnant, too. Didn’t take you long to replace the corpse, did it? It’s a win-win, wouldn’t you say?”
Enzo shuffles awkwardly from one foot to the other. Their dynamic seems slightly more functional than Rolan’s relationship with Feliks.
But not by much.
“What do you really want, Alessandro?” I ask.
“Why, a long lasting friendship, of course.” His eyes glitter like a bird of prey’s. “And dominion over the Temple District.”
“The Temple District is where I do the most business.”
He shrugs. “You do business everywhere, Arsen. And you’re pretty damn good at it. Relinquishing control of the Temple District won’t really hurt you.”
“No, but it might hurt you.” I drop my fake smile. “Come near my family again, Calcagno, and I will demolish yours. And if you stick so much as a pinky toe in the Temple District, I’ll sever it and shove the bloody stump down your fucking throat.”
Then I sweep around him and saunter out of the VIP section.
I’m almost to the doors when Enzo catches up to me. “You forgot your wallet, Mr. Adamov.”
The leather wallet in his hand isn’t mine, and I’m about to tell him as much when he whispers, “It was my father who ordered the hit on your wife. I advised him against it.”
“Clearly, he’s not listening to you.”
Enzo sighs. “The older he gets, the more resistant he becomes to my input.”
“If you don’t take charge, then someone else will.”
“I’m taking steps,” he admits vaguely. “But I’m waiting for the right time.”
Hm. Interesting. Alessandro may be a write-off. But there might be hope yet for the son.
“Just don’t wait too long,” I warn. “Once things are set in motion, it’s difficult to change their trajectory.”