Chapter 21 #2
“And how did you influence the less eager ones to change their minds?”
“The old-fashioned way. The Bratva way.”
To put it simply, every board member of the Sinclair gambling dynasty who turned down my generous offer is currently hanging in a meat-locker truck next to a shipment of cow carcasses on its way out of state.
“This was quite a feat you’ve accomplished,” Vincent admits. “But I fail to see where I come into the equation. If you needed my blessing, you would have come for it before you started.” His tone edges toward irritation.
“It’s not your blessing I came for, but a partnership. One that benefits us both while solidifying our alliance.”
“Speak plainly, Kirill,” he says, looking more annoyed than interested in my offer.
“What Vincent is trying to say,” Giovanni interjects with a cocky smirk to his lips, “is that you kissing his ass is growing tiresome.”
Shit.
Is that what I was doing?
Trying to impress him?
Fuck.
Look how far I’ve fallen for you, Stella.
Before I met you, I’d never let a man talk to me like that and not cut out his tongue for it.
“It’s a well-known fact that you have a casino running up in Canada,” I begin to explain, “with the Canadian mob laundering your money while they take all the risk of exposure. What I’m offering is a similar deal.”
“You want to wash my money?” Vincent asks flatly. “Why would I get in bed with you, when I have other ways to do that?”
“My niece says your twin sons are wizards with computers. That there’s nothing they can’t do with them.”
Gio’s jaw ticks, but Vincent stays cool and unreadable with the out-of-left-field statement.
“Yes, they’re talented in that area,” he says evenly. “So what of it?”
“I’m sure they’ve found ways to make you millions with the push of a button,” I reply.
“Using crypto to hide how much they make and launder it through shell companies before it ever touches your books.” When I see I have his full attention, I continue.
“But even with all those precautions, there’s still a risk of getting caught.
Especially since cybercrime is on the up with the FBI.
What I’m offering is a second system, a backup, if you will. If one falls and gets hit by the feds…”
“…then the other stays clean with me,” Vincent finishes, finally seeing the full picture.
“It’s a fail-safe,” I say. “A way to protect your assets without anyone being the wiser. As far as the world is concerned, the casino belongs to my family and only my family. The Romano name continues clean as a whistle.”
“And if the feds knock on your doorstep?”
“The fall lands with me. And no one else.”
Vincent hums, assessing me. “All of this for what? A percentage, I assume.”
“A humble twenty percent.” I smile for the first time since I entered his office.
“I think the number you’re looking for is five,” Vincent counters.
“Fifteen.”
“Eight.”
“How about we round it to an even ten?”
“How about we keep it at eight,” he says, cold but with heat sparking in his hazel eyes.
“Eight it is,” I agree, since this was never about the money for me. “But I do have conditions.”
“You have conditions?” Giovanni barks out a laugh. “You’re lucky you’re still breathing after what you’ve done.”
I turn my attention to Giovanni, then Dominic, then back to Vincent.
“I’ve apologized for kidnapping your children. If you can’t move past that, then no amount of goodwill on my part will show you how much the Bratva values its alliance with the Outfit. If that’s the case, tell me now and I’ll leave. And so does my business with me.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve, boy,” Giovanni growls, obviously still pissed about his son.
“I’m no boy,” I say coolly. “And neither is Lucky. He stood his ground in Russia and protected his sister and my niece from harm—not that any harm was ever going to come to them.”
Gio’s eyes widen a fraction when he realizes why I singled Lucky out to him just now.
Because I’m not stupid.
I know he’s Lucky’s biological father.
And now?
He knows I know too.
“Also, may I remind you all that my niece is near and dear to my family and neither of my brothers has tried to come between her relationship with your son. If we can accept him as our own, then I’m sure you can find some humility to show us the same grace.”
Giovanni opens his mouth again, but Vincent raises a single hand, silencing whatever he was about to say.
Cute trick.
I’ve seen that trick a million times. Only in my case, it was usually my brother Misha cutting off whatever nonsense Sasha was about to blurt out.
Apparently, Vincent and Misha are more alike than either of them realizes.
“This is an olive branch, Giovanni. I will not turn a friend into a foe over one mistake.” He then levels a death glare at me. “But make no mistake, had my Stella died in the recovery of your niece, this would be an entirely different conversation.”
It would have been war, his eyes say.
“I would have expected nothing else,” I reply.
“And I would have been the first to die for such a crime in repentance.” A crease instantly forms on Vincent’s temple, but I continue before he can linger on what I’ve just said.
“My conditions are simple. I know you’ll want guarantees to ensure your money is protected, and that you’ll send someone to handle the day-to-day operations of the casino and work alongside me. ”
“And you would be right,” Vincent nods. “You will work alongside Marcello. He will be my proxy.”
“Not Marcello,” I cut in. “I want Stella.”
This time, all three men glare at me with murder in their eyes.
“No,” Vincent snaps. “My daughter is not part of this syndicate.”
“But she will be. And soon, from what my intel tells me. She’s who I want.”
“You get Marcello, and that’s that.”
“Apologies,” I say, tone flat, “but that will be a deal breaker for me. I trust Stella. I don’t trust your son.”
“Careful,” Vincent seethes.
“I’m not being disrespectful,” I say, head held high. “I won’t work with Marcello. What kind of underboss would I be to put my trust in a man who isn’t even aware he’s spending his free time with an FBI agent.”
“I don’t believe you,” Giovanni snarls, leaping to Marcello’s defense.
“Ask him,” I suggest calmly. “Or better yet, do your own digging. I’m sure you have more than a few feds in your pocket. Ask them if there isn’t a federal agent sniffing around your family.”
Giovanni’s eyes dart to Vincent, alarm flashing across his face.
But the Capo Dei Capi? He doesn’t move a muscle.
“Very well,” Vincent states evenly. “From here on out, I’ll make sure Stella is available for anything you need concerning the casino. Stella will be my proxy in these matters.”
“Thank you.”
I rise from my seat and offer him my hand.
Vincent stays seated for a few seconds, a deliberate reminder of who’s in charge here, before he finally stands and takes my hand.
“I’m going to take you at your word,” he says, voice cool. “That this gift you’ve brought is just that—a gift to fortify our alliance. But if any of my children are ever in danger because of you again…” His eyes harden. “I won’t lose sleep starting a war with the Bratva.”
I clasp his hand with my other, leaning in so he sees the truth in my eyes. “None of your children will ever come to harm under my watch. You have my word.”
He studies me for a long, heavy moment, then nods. “Good,” he says, satisfied.
“Gentlemen,” I say in farewell, glancing at a still-pissed Giovanni and a statue-still Dominic.
I’m almost at the door when Dominic finally speaks.
“You chose wrong,” he says simply. “You should have picked Marcello.”
“I’m pretty confident in the choice I made,” I reply with a wolfish grin.
“Then you’re more of a fool than I thought.” His eyes narrow. “Stella will eat you alive when she hears about this.”
I give him a single nod and walk out of the office.
He’s right.
Not about choosing wrong but about the storm waiting for me.
Stella will give me hell when she learns what I’ve been up to. When she learns I’ve been plotting behind her back, making decisions about her future without her input.
Dominic is right. She’s going to eat me alive and spit me up.
I just need to explain myself fast enough…before I end up with a dagger in my ribs.
“Are you out of your God-given mind?!” Stella shouts the moment she storms into my lake house that same afternoon… like it’s hers, like she’s lived here her whole damn life.
“Well, hello to you too, milaya.”
I flip the shashlik on the grill, the scent of marinated meat rising with the heat. “Hungry?”
“I’m supposed to be your lackey now? Do you have any idea how humiliating that is?”
“You’re not my lackey,” I say, calmly turning another skewer. “You’re your father’s proxy.”
“Which is just a fancy word for lackey!” she snaps. “I could kill you right now!”
“But you won’t.”
I smile and press a quick kiss to her lips before she can curse me out again.
“Don’t.” She shoves me back before I can get too close.
“No sweet talk. I’m not in the mood after the stunt you just pulled.
Imagine my surprise,” she continues, pacing the kitchen, “when my father called me into his office this afternoon to discuss syndicate work, only for your name to come up. I don’t know how I kept my blood pressure down while he interrogated me, asking why you trust me and not Marcello. ”
“I’m not fucking Marcello,” I say simply. “I’m fucking you.”
“Kirill, I swear to God, if one more word like that leaves your mouth, I’m going to hit you.”
“Why all this aggressive energy toward me, milaya? I did both of us a favor.”
“Oh yeah? How do you figure? How am I supposed to feel when other people make decisions about my life for me? My life, Kill! Mine!”
“Because now we can see each other whenever we want,” I say, turning off the grill and stepping toward her, “and no one will think twice about it because of the deal I made with your father.”
Her brow furrows as the meaning sinks in.
“We don’t have to hide anymore,” I add softly. “We can be together.”
“No, we can’t,” she fires back. “Working together is not the same thing as being together.”
“It’s a start,” I counter. “And that’s all I want. To start a life with you. I don’t care how the beginning looks, just as long as the ending is us. Together.”
“Kill…” She sounds suddenly exhausted, drained by the whole conversation.
Leave it to Stella to act this way. Every time I start planning a future, she tries to shut me down before I can even speak it into existence.
“What, Stella? What? What exactly do you want to tell me? That we’re just fucking? That we’re having a good time and that’s it? That none of this is real?” My voice sharpens. “What lie will you tell me next? Better yet, what lie will you tell yourself next?”
“I shouldn’t have come,” she mutters. “You’re not making sense today and I’m exhausted after fielding my father’s questions. I should go home.”
I’m so angry that part of me actually considers letting her go.
But the part of me that loves her—the part that can’t breathe without her—fights harder.
“Don’t go.”
Stella stops at the door, hand on the knob, shoulders tight.
I watch her wrestle with herself. Caught between what she thinks she should do and what she wants to do. And she’s been wrestling with that choice for a long, long time, now.
“Do you promise not to talk about the future?”
My shoulders slump. My heart aches. But I concede anyway.
“Yes.”
She turns around, facing me, vulnerability shining in her eyes.
“Do you promise we’ll only focus on tonight and nothing else?”
“Yes.”
“Do you promise to leave all that shit with our families—and all the scheming you’ve done—outside the door, and only concentrate on the here and now?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Thank you,” she breathes, relieved, shrugging out of her coat.
I brace my hands on the counter, grounding myself as she walks toward me. She wraps her arms around my waist, rises onto her toes, to place her chin on my shoulder.
“This smells good,” she whispers, eyeing the food.
“I made it just for you,” I say, still sounding defeated.
“What is it?”
“A little taste of home.”
“Are you homesick?”
I turn, take her face in my palms, and press my forehead to hers.
“No. Because this is my home. Right here. Right now. With you.”
Stella closes her eyes, letting the words settle into her bones.
She demanded I leave the future outside the door but she can’t force me to hide my love for her. Not anymore.
“I like it here too,” she murmurs so softly I almost miss it.
“You do?” I lift her chin so I can see every inch of her truth shining brightly back at me.
She nods, emerald eyes steady and sure. “Did you think I’d say something different?”
“I don’t know what to believe sometimes,” I admit honestly.
She places her palm over my heart, then takes my hand and presses it to hers.
“I like the way we dance,” she whispers. “Don’t you?”
It’s the closest thing to an ‘I love you’ I’ve ever gotten from her.
“I like how our hearts dance too, dusha moya,” I breathe. “It’s what I live for.”
Her eyes go soft as she continues to stare deep into mine.
And we stay like that for a long time.
Just breathing.
Just feeling.
Letting our hearts dance and beat in the same rhythm.
Two pulses moving as one, so perfectly in sync it feels inevitable.
No… it’s not an ‘I love you’…but it sure is fucking close.