Chapter 4
Ivan
Condensation collects on the outside of my lowball glass. I watch the water droplets gather and slide down, forming a small pool on the wooden surface of the table. The mess stirs a need within me to clean it up, to maintain control over this small piece of the world.
But I resist. In places like this, the Bastoni e Pietre, men like me are constantly watched—even if it is supposed to be neutral territory. Wiping up a bit of moisture could be perceived as an act of nervousness—an act of weakness. I can't afford that.
A coaster should have been placed beneath my glass but as I glance around the room, I see none of the other patrons have coasters, either. I wasn’t singled out. My brain flicks quickly as I continue my study of the room.
I spend every waking moment aware of every single person around me, waiting for an opportunity, an opening to take away everything I've built. I can feel their eyes on me, even when they pretend to be engaged in their own casual conversations at other tables. Their glances are quick, almost imperceptible, but I don’t miss them. That’s what has kept me alive for so long. Never letting my guard down, never assuming anyone is loyal; knowing that everything and everyone is a threat, and they always will be.
Enzo Scarpetta emergers from the deep shadows at the back of the door—earlier than the agreed-upon time, but I knew this would be his move. Enzo had asked me to come here at a specified time. Naturally paranoid, I arrived earlier, and he would have anticipated that. The game is easy to predict; harder to play.
Neither of us can afford to be careless. Although it’s forbidden to war within the walls of the Bastoni, nothing is preventing Azrael from breaking that rule.
Enzo takes the seat on the other side of the table. "Ivan," he says with a nod, his eyes scanning my face for any sign of emotion.
"Enzo," I reply, keeping my expression neutral. The tension between us is palpable. Around us, the murmur of conversations continues, but I can sense the focus of the room shifting subtly toward our table.
I take a sip from my glass, feeling the cold liquid burn its way down my throat. "So, what is it you want to discuss?" I ask, setting the glass down carefully. My fingers itch to wipe away the condensation ring it leaves behind again.
Enzo leans back in his chair, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. "Just a friendly chat, Ivan. It's been a while since we've had one of those."
I let out a dry laugh. "A friendly chat in neutral territory, surrounded by your men? You'll forgive me if I find that hard to believe."
He smiles, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "It's just business, Ivan. You know how it is."
I do know. It's always about business. The Romanovs joined the Five of NYC a generation ago. We're considered the smallest, the least powerful, the least worrisome. But I've used the Bastoni for many meetings over the years. It was never guaranteed to be safe for a non-Italian group, but we've used it all the same.
A waiter brings Enzo his drink without needing an order. I watch as he places the glass in front of Enzo with a respectful nod, the same treatment I received when I first arrived. Once word gets around about who you are and what you represent, the help tends to make sure you are satisfied with their service. It’s a small perk of being in our line of work, though it comes with its own set of dangers.
Enzo lifts his glass slightly, acknowledging the service, then turns his attention back to me. "To be honest, I never thought that we would be meeting like this," he says, his voice smooth but with an edge that suggests he’s been thinking about this encounter for some time. “You’ve always been very quiet and level headed, Romanov.”
I lean back in my chair, studying him. "You never thought me much of a threat, I’d imagine."
He smirks, taking a sip of his drink before responding. "Our world does not encourage friendship. I was never delusional enough to think we were anything but loose allies waiting for our opportunity to take advantage of the other person."
Is he trying to explain why he has me surrounded by his men?
A small, humorless laugh escapes me. "That’s good to hear. Helps with the immense guilt I’ve been feeling."
"Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Romanov," he replies, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Angelus Valachi may have been the one who loaded Azrael’s bullet, but you are the one pulling the trigger. They can’t be called off. You know that. You’ve put the Commission in a bad position."
I meet his gaze steadily, refusing to show any sign of intimidation. "I do not fear these assassins, Scarpetta. Every other day, there is someone who threatens to take out this family or that family. It is the way of things. Azrael is no different."
Enzo leans forward, his voice low and intense. "Then, you have no idea what has been happening."
I take a drink, keeping my eyes on Enzo as the glass tilts. I have some idea of what has been going on. I've been skimming the police blotters in all the major papers, looking for evidence that Azrael is preying on some lower members of our community, their way of sending messages to people in my position. But whatever Azrael is doing, it is being kept from the public. Kept from me, and I won’t ask anyone else for information. I refuse to show my hand.
I don’t doubt that someone in the local government is working with the Commission, keeping all the darkness of the mafia world out of the light.
I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. "I've heard bits and pieces," I say, a lie that I hope Enzo doesn’t take too long to dissect. The last thing I need is the other families knowing how out of the loop I am when it comes to Azrael.
Enzo doesn't seem to react to the lie, but his eyes narrow slightly. "There is no way to tell who belongs to Azrael. One of my men was gutted by a woman passing him in the subway. She had his belly opened and had disappeared back into the crowd faster than anyone could even see her face. Evie had a man who had been working for her since her parents were still alive suddenly attack her when they were alone. If Cassidy had not doubled back to get his phone, she would be dead. None of us know who to trust. Not even our homes are safe."
I lean back, considering his words. "Then, it’s a good thing that no one from the Italian side ever considered me a threat. It’s unlikely that they planted someone in my ranks. Still, if they did, I’m sure I can sniff them out, and I assure you that I wouldn’t need help if someone were to betray me."
The borderline threat lingers in the air between us. Enzo finishes his drink and signals to the waiter for another. The waiter quickly brings the drink, and Enzo holds it but doesn’t drink. Instead, he swirls it, the ice clinking loudly against the glass.
He watches me, his expression serious. "If you were to release Angel to the Commission, they could possibly call off Azrael."
I shake my head, keeping my voice steady. "I’m not a fool, Scarpetta. Holding Angel is the only reason why Azrael has not taken me out."
Enzo leans in, his eyes piercing. "It’s also the reason why Azrael cannot back down. You have taken a Don captive. The Commission knows that not acting upon this opens up every other Don to an attack, which opens us up to out and out war. They will use you as an example to every person who's ever thought of betraying their Don. You must know this; they can’t back down."
I meet his gaze steadily. "And you must know that neither can I. None of this is happening without my complete control. I’m not as helpless or as stupid as you think."
At that moment, I snap my fingers. Though Enzo had people sprinkled in the room, more heads swivel toward him than he expects. A number outnumbering his own men. Enzo stiffens, his eyes glancing around the room. He doesn’t look scared. In fact, his face shows amused acceptance. He finally takes a drink, finishing the entire glass in one great swig.
He slams the empty glass on the table. "I underestimated you again." Enzo stands up and straightens his jacket. "If you can’t release Angel, at least release Viviana. My wife has been very worried about her, and you know how it is when a wife wants something."
I raise my hand, revealing the ring on my finger. "Oh, I understand all too well." This is a moment I savor.
Enzo's eyes flicker with surprise. "Ah, I see. That was a bold move. The others won’t be happy.”
I lower my hand and shrug. "She walked down the aisle herself, and her brother gave her away. I don’t see any issues."
Enzo snorts. "You wouldn’t. Honestly, I don’t either. We’ve both played this sort of game, but Damon and Lulu Papparado, who have taken over the Valachi estate, may not be as happy over baby sister’s secret nuptials." With a smirk, he turns to walk away.
"Why would you tell me this?" I ask, genuinely curious.
Enzo pauses, looking over his shoulder. "Consider it one last favor for an old friend."
As he leaves, I lean back in my chair, contemplating the implications of our conversation. Enzo's words echo in my mind. The Commission can't back down, and neither can I. This delicate balance of power is a deadly game, and every move counts. I glance around the room, noting the faces of those who are loyal to me. For now, at least, I have the upper hand.
But how long can I keep it? The question lingers as I finish my drink, the cold liquid doing little to soothe the fire of determination burning within me. One thing is certain: I will not be the example the Commission uses to instill fear. If they want a war, I'll give them one.