43. Kirill
Kirill
Ihate fucking Las Vegas.
Drago sits next to me in the rented SUV as we drive to meet Ares at Nico Scava’s hotel. It’s been six weeks since the encounter in Arizona where Scava was last seen hauling Sandrine’s cousin away to his car.
I’d heard Lourdes tell her sister that the brunette was all right. But Ares is worried, so worried that he flew here with all his guards.
We reach the hotel, and in front of the Millennium Plaza, three black SUVs idle on the curb. Their formation is familiar and a warning to anyone who understands the ways of the mafia.
“I hope this is quick,” I say, already looking forward to fucking Sandrine when I get home.
“Ares fucking Zervas.” A growl rumbles in my throat when I catch that familiar dark hair and pompous posture striding toward the hotel entrance, seven linebackers trailing behind him.
For just a moment, I consider sitting back. Let the Greek walk into a possible trap. Let him bleed for those months he kept Sandrine from me while I tore the world apart trying to find her.
I should, but I don’t. Damn it.
“Come on.” I signal Drago to follow me out of the car.
My enforcer keeps pace with me as we walk. He signals the men we brought to follow behind us. On the sidewalk, we are a show of force, and people step aside as we enter the building.
“God of War,” I call out to Ares.
He stops and turns around at the sound of my voice. His eyes narrow, taking me in. And all of my men.
“Pakhan. It’s about time,” he grouses, speaking low. “We lost contact with Elodie and Scava hasn’t returned my calls.”
“He can’t ignore both of us,” I say about the Borgia Don who’s been slowly killing off other dons, as I’ve been.
Why would he risk stealing a woman with ties to two mafia houses in the middle of that murder campaign? And I don’t want a fight with the Cosa Nostra. But I stand shoulder to shoulder with Ares Zervas. Not as allies, but not quite enemies anymore. Something in between.
Family. Christ.
As we crowd the elevator bank, Ares points to a giant guard and the one next to him. “Wrath and Pride, you’re with me. The rest of you stay down here.”
“Drago, we can handle this, just us.” I nod to my enforcer, who signals my men to wait with the rest of the Greek king’s guard.
With all of us crowded in the elevator, I’m concerned about the weight limit. But that moves down to concern number two when the door slides open and Nico Scava stands in the middle of the lavish foyer holding a fucking machine gun, the barrel pointing right at us.
“Looking for me?” Scava says wryly, his love of pointing weapons matching my own.
Drago reacts instantly, as do I. Weapons drawn, the metallic click of several safeties disengage in a sinister chorus. Ares’s two guards push The God of War aside and draw their Glocks. This scene teeters on the edge of an irreversible massacre.
I step forward before it can tip that way.
“We’re here for our wives’ cousin, Scava,” I say, my steady voice cutting through the tension. “She belongs to us. You know how this works.”
“I’m fine.” A delicate voice comes from deeper in the room.
She sounds almost bored.
Elodie strides out from a shadowed corridor. I recognize her from Arizona. Her posture is relaxed in a way that doesn’t quite match this tense, armed situation. She doesn’t look hurt, and she doesn’t look afraid.
“Brunette, get your things,” I say, ignoring what can be a coerced lie. “You’re coming with us.”
“Who are you?” she snaps at me.
Fuck, I had a mask on in Scottsdale.
“This is the man Lourdes told you about,” Ares answers for me. “Sandrine’s husband.”
“The guy who put a gun to her head?” Elodie snaps.
Scava snickers.
“I told you to get out of the car,” I say, as if that justifies what I did. “You didn’t listen.”
“Ares,” she says, ignoring me and sounding miffed at our intrusion on whatever the hell is going on here. “I told you on the phone last week, I’m fine.”
What’s with these strong women?
The brunette’s gaze flicks to Nico for just a fraction of a second before returning to Zervas. “Nico and I have an agreement.”
“Agreement?” I repeat with a frown.
“Inked,” he adds.
She tilts her head, a faint smile touching her lips. “I’m fine.”
Ares’s jaw tightens as we look at each other.
“If she’s fine, why the machine gun, Scava?” I ask, genuinely curious.
Nico’s lips curve into an amusing smirk. “Two mafia bosses with an army walk into my elevator,” he says, like he’s telling a bad joke. “What did you expect?”
He’s got a point.
Still, I step forward, placing myself between Ares and the gun, my gaze locking on Nico’s. “Lower your gun if she’s fine.”
He narrows his eyes on me, calculating what I’ll do. What I’m capable of. If he’s holding her against her will, given her relation to us, he’s got a bigger problem than a smart-ass captive.
Smiling, he lowers the weapon and then gestures to Elodie. “You can go if you want.”
Her jaw drops open. “What?”
Something silent passes between them.
“I need to stay,” Elodie says.
Need?
“See? She wants to stay.” Nico’s smirk resumes.
He then struts to a console table next to where Elodie stands and lowers the weapon on it. Right in front of her. I take a breath to see what she does. She could pick it up and shoot him, if she really is his prisoner.
She doesn’t touch it. Weird.
The tension in the room eases just enough to breathe.
“Brunette,” I say to Elodie, my tone deliberately casual. “You good?”
She nods, then looks at the God of War. “Ares, do you promise Sandrine is safe?” she asks, her arms folded.
“She’s safe with Kirill,” Ares answers for me, gripping my arm. “Lourdes and I saw her in Chicago,” he adds, but doesn’t mention my daughter.
Elodie looks from me to Ares. “I’ll call them both soon. I promise.”
“You heard her. Now, with all due respect.” Nico gestures slightly toward the door. “Get the fuck out of my hotel and do me the courtesy of making an appointment next time.”
Ares and I exchange another look. We don’t have much of a choice. We expect the same in our cities. We leave, but unease lingers in my gut.
We turn back and ride down the elevator in silence.
“Did you buy that?” I ask Ares out on the sidewalk.
He exhales slowly, pushing a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure.”
“She didn’t look hurt.”
“No,” he agrees. “She didn’t.”
“Then why is she still here?” I adjust my wool jacket to get relief from the heat. “What did he mean, inked?”
“That’s what worries me.” Ares clocks Drago and my guard over my shoulder. “I need a word with the pakhan.”
“I got this.” I signal Drago to get my car so we can get the fuck out of here and home to Chicago.
Home to my wife and daughter.
Ares grips me by the suit jacket collar with surprising force. “Why didn't you tell me at the auction that you and Sandrine had a child?”
I think about that. “I asked if you loved your wife. You said no. That told me you didn’t plan to keep her. Without her, you mean nothing to me.”
“Lourdes missed five years with her niece. But you knew all this time.”
“Do you know what I went through to get that woman in my possession for questions?” I bump my chest with his. “And who stood in my way?”
Ares straightens to his full height. “You had your coronation, you paraded your wife as your queen. You’ve got more Bratva to kill. Why don’t you give them both to me? I’ll—”
I have a knife to his throat in a matter of seconds. “I will forgive you because you’ve not held your child. When you do, I want you to think about that question again and how you would react if I threatened to take them!”
I don’t want this to turn into a bloodbath Sandrine will read on the news, so I back off and put the knife away.
“I am legally married to Sandrine. She stays where she is.”
“You’re an asshole,” he says and adjusts his tie.
I straighten my jacket. “Here I thought we were going to be friends.”
“I expect you to be at the Aurelian next month. It’s the inaugural meeting.” Ares holds his head high.
“I’ll check my calendar,” I say, not sure I like him having this role in our new world order.
I stare at Zervas and wait to hear more threats, but he just stares back. Looking the same as me. Itching to get back to his wife.
Checking my watch, I nearly yawn because now I’m bored as hell. “I’m going back to Chicago. See ya, War.”
I turn before Ares can say anything else. Drago falls into step beside me, and we get into our SUV. He stays silent, not mentioning my scuffle with the God of War.
We reach the airport, and I smile seeing my plane. An urge to be with Sandrine is pulling me back home harder than power, harder than expansion, harder than the endless hunger for control.
The men we brought with us take seats in the back, while Drago and I sit at a table near the cockpit. For just a moment, I lean my head back when Drago’s phone rings.
I bring my gaze forward to see him staring at the screen with a perplexed look on his face. He takes the call, and his eyes immediately fly to mine.
Throat tight, I grip the table. “What?”
“There’s been an incident. In Chicago.”