My Enemy’s Enemy
MY ENEMY’S ENEMY
Evelyn
“What do you need me to do?”
I’d met some difficult customers in my time, but none of them had anything on Valentina Marcelli.
The woman was tough, smart, and more than a little scary. Now I knew where Dante got his ruthless control from. She barely reacted at all, but I could tell her brain was firing on all cylinders behind those arctic blue eyes and that carefully composed expression.
Valentina was formidable, and I knew better than to push her too far.
“I was thinking about a three-pronged approach.” She glanced at Dante.
“You’re seriously considering letting her go?” he blurted out.
I threw him hard look, but it was concern in his eyes, not control.
His mother saw it too and frowned.
“Of course. This is the way we’re going to play it.”
Like it was a game of chess and I was a measly pawn.
“Hear me out,” Valentina said to her son.
He gave an irate nod.
She turned back to me. “As I was saying, we launch the attack in three stages. First, we make Malakov think the cartel is affecting their money laundering operation. He loses bids, they find out the cartel are filtering cash through the gallery. Malakov won’t like that.”
I listened, wondering where this was going. Why annoy Malakov when it was the cartel who were the greater threat? Sure, the Bratva were arch enemies of the Marcellis, that much I’d already learned from Dante, but they weren’t the problem here.
“Next, we make it personal.” I swear her eyes were gleaming.
“How?” Dante slanted his gaze at his mother.
She flattened her lips. “I’m not a hundred percent sure yet. An act of aggression on a cartel member? An unfortunate accident? All with links back to Malakov.”
I drew in a sharp breath. I was beginning to understand what Valentina was thinking. If I was right, the woman was diabolical.
“Malakov, of course, will retaliate, as he always does.” She paused and glanced at Dante. “The man is a hot-headed idiot.”
“He’s far from that,” Dante muttered.
I didn’t comment. This world was one I had no experience in, and I wasn’t sure I wanted any either.
But then, I was stuck in the middle of this organized crime triangle, and the only way I was going to get out alive, and with my gallery intact, was to do what I was told.
Even if it meant crossing the line and working for the Marcellis.
I noticed Dante’s rigid expression, his locked jaw and the hard line of his mouth, and felt a flutter of anticipation in my belly. I’d much rather be working with the Marcellis than Malakov or the cartel.
“My enemy’s enemy,” I whispered.
Valentina smiled for the first time since walking into the cabin.
“Now you’re getting it. Once they’re at war, it will destabilize both organizations.
If we help it along with a few strategic hits of our own, with a bit of luck, Malakov will take out the cartel for us.
” She brushed her hands together as if to dust off imaginary crumbs.
I exhaled, staring at her in wonder. How did she sleep at night knowing all that blood would be on her hands? She was talking about starting a war.
“They’ll back off and relinquish our supply route and the gallery takeover,” Dante finished, locking eyes with his mother.
I saw the same predatory gleam, the same need to dominate, and a shiver ran through me. How could I sleep with a man who would senselessly kill to benefit his own family? His own business? Then again, he would have killed me if I’d been the one to betray him.
An acid taste rose in my throat and I swallowed it, determined not to show how affected I was by the reality of my situation.
“Unless, of course, you don’t have the guts?” Valentina said, still facing Dante.
She meant me.
I drew in a long, slow breath. “If it means getting my life back, I’m in.”
Valentina looked at me and I was sure I saw a glimmer of respect there, or maybe it was satisfaction. She was about to move her pawn across the board.
“Evelyn—” Dante protested.
“You heard her, Dante,” Valentina cut in. “Evelyn clearly knows a good deal when she hears it.”
I didn’t miss the condescending note in her voice, but she was right about one thing. I did know how to spot a deal, and in this case, I didn’t see how I had any other choice. It was either hide out here until the cartel came looking for me or be proactive and get my gallery back.
The Marcellis, the Malakovs, and the cartel were all terrible people. If they wanted to scheme and plot and murder each other, who was I to stop them?
My gut clenched. I hated that part of me was already rationalizing it, but survival had a way of blurring lines. I hadn’t asked for any of this.
“She’s going to need protection,” Dante said, and I could tell by his stance, he meant it.
“Rocco can babysit her.”
Dante’s face turned thunderous. “No. Rocco’s a brute. I don’t want him anywhere near her.”
Valentina’s eyebrow quirked. “My, my. Seems Izzy was right.”
He glared at her. I didn’t know what Izzy had said, but Dante obviously didn’t like it.
“So what do you recommend?” Valentina asked him, leaning back in her chair.
Dante hesitated, then said, “She comes to stay with me.”
“What?” I blurted, staring at him as if he’d gone mad.
For the first time since arriving at the cabin, Valentina looked genuinely surprised.
“You can’t stay at yours, you’ve got a broken front door and the cartel know where you live,” Dante pointed out, turning back to me.
Okay, so maybe he had a point.
“I’ll stay somewhere else, then,” I said stubbornly. The idea of staying with him, in his space, all the time… My breath caught. It was too much. I’d be in the devil’s lair. No better than a prisoner here at the cabin.
“Where? A hotel?” He scoffed. “Anywhere you go, they will find you.”
“And they won’t find me at yours?” I challenged.
Valentina was staring from Dante to me and back again, an unreadable expression on her face. I guessed she’d never seen her son argue with a woman before—other than her.
“Find you? Maybe. Get to you? No.” He didn’t elaborate.
I gasped in exasperation. While his manly bravado was annoyingly reassuring, I’d just spent four days with him in this isolated cabin. I didn’t want to go to his apartment, wherever the hell that was. I wanted to go home.
Then I thought about my broken door, and the dangerous men after me, and sighed.
“If I stay at yours, isn’t that putting me directly in the firing line? I have to work. I need to go into the gallery and pretend like everything is normal. I can’t do that if I’m at your place.”
Valentina raised an eyebrow at Dante. “She has a point.”
He let out a frustrated growl.
“If we want this plan to work, I am the only shot she has at staying alive.”
I bit my lip to stop a sob of frustration from escaping. This sucked. I was in mortal danger if I went home, but I was in a whole other kind of danger if I moved in with him.
“It’s not as unrealistic as you think,” Dante continued, this time addressing his mother. “We met at an exhibition. We started dating. Things progressed. I moved her into my apartment.”
I threw up my hands. “Don’t I have a say in this?”
Both mother and son turned on me and said in unison, “No.”
I huffed back in my seat, knowing when I was beaten.
“They’re still going to try,” Valentina warned. “You know that, don’t you? By taking her in, you’re putting yourself at risk.”
Was it possible that Valentina the ice queen had some maternal instincts after all?
“I’ve got my own protection.” Dante nodded toward the window.
“I noticed,” she replied coolly. “They seem extremely competent.”
His jaw worked while he stared defiantly at his mother. I could only imagine what the family dinners must have been like in the Marcelli household when the siblings were growing up.
“Okay, fine,” I said abruptly, causing them both to stare at me. I nodded at Dante. “I’ll stay at yours.”
He let out a quiet breath. “Good.”
Valentina looked back at her son, her normally smooth forehead furrowing. I caught a quick flash of something I didn’t understand, but then it was gone and she turned back to me. “Once you’ve settled in, we’ll have a little family sit-down and plan next steps.”
Like it was a meeting of the board and we weren’t about to unleash a violent gang war.
I nodded. I wasn’t sure what a family sit-down was, but I guess I was part of it now.
Valentina got to her feet. I guessed the meeting was over.
Dante stood and, without looking at me, said, “Pack your things. We’re leaving today.”
“Evelyn,” Valentina said, with a tiny nod of her head.
I gave a cautious nod back and watched as she took Dante’s arm and steered him outside, a knot I couldn’t dislodge gripping my stomach.
When Dante came back in, he seemed more agitated than before. His face was dark and tense, and his eyes were the color of clouds before a thunderstorm.
I’d already packed my suitcase—the one Dante had brought my clothes in—and the few other belongings that I had here and was ready to go.
I wouldn’t miss this place, I thought as I gave it a final look. Too many memories. Fear. Confusion. The sick panic of realizing my life had detonated overnight.
My gaze landed on the couch. Although, they weren’t all bad.
Dante didn’t have much to pack. Within twenty minutes he’d dismissed the armed guards stationed outside and loaded our bags into the black SUV. Then we were pulling away from the cabin for the final time, gravel crunching beneath the tires.
Dante drove the same way he did everything else.
Fast, controlled, and without hesitation.
The SUV surged smoothly down the highway as he overtook slower traffic with effortless precision, one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel.
He seemed completely at ease despite our speed, leaning back against the leather seat while the scenery blurred past outside.
An hour and a half later we hit the edge of Manhattan and traffic thickened around us. Dante clicked his tongue softly in annoyance and eased off the accelerator.
“Where do you live?” I asked suddenly, realizing I had no idea where he was taking me.
“Upper East Side,” he replied, glancing across at me.
Of course he did.
The knot in my stomach tightened.
“Do you even have room for me? What about closet space?” My voice was becoming high-pitched as I tried not to freak out.
“I’m going to have to go home and get my things.
I can’t go to work looking like this.” I glanced down at my leggings, casual T-shirt, and cardigan.
I’d never be seen dead like this in the city.
At the cabin, when my life had been hanging in the balance, it hadn’t seemed important, but now…
I glanced out of the window at the high rises and apartment blocks.
This was my world. Gallery openings. Investors.
Champagne receptions. Curated smiles and million-dollar artworks. This was where I thrived.
I had to look like the competent gallery owner that I was. Particularly if I was going to pull off this little stunt.
Depends how useful you are.
Valentina’s words came back to haunt me, and I closed my eyes. Now that it was really happening, I couldn’t help feeling nervous and jittery.
What if Mikhail saw through me? What if I ended up with the Russian mob after me as well as the Colombians?
I took several long, deep breaths, trying not to hyperventilate.
“Calm down,” Dante said smoothly. “I can send someone to your apartment to pick up the rest of your stuff. And repair the lock while they’re there.”
“I am calm. What makes you think I’m not calm?” I replied in a high-pitched voice.
“Ophelia,” he said softly.
I opened my eyes and looked at him. “Yeah?”
“I saw the way you handled Valentina and, trust me, she’s not easy to handle. Malakov is going to be a walk in the park.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, but I appreciated the sentiment. Coming from Dante, that was high praise indeed.
“Thank you,” I murmured.
He gave a gruff nod, his eyes already back on the road.
Eventually, after zigzagging through Manhattan traffic for nearly forty minutes, we descended into a cool underground parking lot beneath an apartment block on the Upper East Side.
“This is it?” I asked, as he pulled into a designated bay. “We’re here?”
Suite Eleven was attached to the wall in gold lettering. He had a suite, not an apartment.
He gave a stiff nod. “We’re here.”
I hadn’t seen the block from street level, so I wasn’t sure what it looked like from the outside, but even the underground parking lot was upmarket.
It had strip lighting—and not the flickering, half-dead kind—actual white lines on the asphalt, and polished glass doors with a smart black logo stenciled on them, leading to the elevators.
Dante held a key fob up to the scanner on the wall, and the doors hissed open.
We rode the elevator to the eleventh floor. The penthouse.
“You’ll be safe here,” he said as we stepped out onto a landing with marble flooring, recessed lighting, and actual artwork on the walls. “There are men downstairs and one will be posted here, outside the apartment.” He nodded to the only door on this level.
“Okay.” I wasn’t sure if a man with a gun outside the apartment made me feel better or worse.
“After you.” He unlocked the door and stood back.
I hesitated, then blew out a breath and stepped into the apartment that was to be my home for the foreseeable future.