Chapter 17
Kirill
Since the dawn of time, men have used their physical strength to overthrow another, often without harboring a single regret.
Those carrying the burden of guilt were considered weak links, either pushed aside or run over altogether. Power and greed were always the reason for structured fighting whether inside a closely knit organization or when two or more regimes were determined to have control over the others.
Creating chaos used to be different but was always an effective method of disarming an opponent. When you pushed them from their comfort zone, they generally couldn’t adapt without suffering damage if not death.
With the invention of the computer and the internet, acts of vengeance had become much more sophisticated.
In the world of corporate business, those considered honorable men were often the most corrupt. They usually wreaked havoc with the stroke of a pen and money exchanging hands, but the destruction was just as catastrophic.
With crime syndicates, there were those who’d evolved, becoming staunch commerce leaders who rarely got their hands dirty.
Then there was the Bratva who reveled in bloodshed and violence, akin to the most addictive indulgence.
Men could be reduced to ash, their wealth distributed and their bodies cut for parts and no one batted an eye.
Yet there was one thing that held true and always would, no matter the innovations accepted within the organization.
The family was sacred.
Including the men and women with no blood relation. There was a code of conduct required, respect demanded. And without honor, there was nothing.
All acts of betrayal were handled swiftly.
And above all, women were considered sacred.
That didn’t mean they hadn’t been used as pawns or commodities, including within the older generations of Bratva.
Using their obvious qualities had prevented various wars over the years and started others.
The intelligent syndicates when utilizing an arranged marriage honored the union, requiring everyone in the empire to do the same.
That’s why Dimitri had so readily made the suggestion.
He’d grown up knowing his parents’ marriage had been arranged.
Yet even in my thirty-some years on this planet, I’d heard of several horrific failures that had resulted in streets being lined with blood.
That was why I’d been cautious when Kazimir had married Rafaela. She was a true Italian mafia princess, although the failure of the alliance had little to do with their marriage. Still, it was a lesson in how fate wasn’t always kind to men of violence, no matter the adoration he had for her.
Their relationship was a caustic tale.
Neither Kazimir nor Rafaela would call what they shared an arrangement, especially since her father had succumbed to the very type of violence he’d been the master of. But others throughout the world saw things differently. A man who’d betrayed an alliance.
Even after the number of years he’d spent in prison, there were those unforgiving of crossing certain lines. How many times had I warned him his enemies wouldn’t look away forever?
Could I add the Irish to the mix? It made sense doing so given the recent regime acquisitions. Plus, there’d always been bad blood between us.
However, Kazimir and Rafaela’s union had brought an interesting dynamic, including with destroying the Marichetti hold on Sicily.
Gaining control had upended the balance of power inside Italy.
Kazimir hadn’t given a shit who’d remained in power and certainly hadn’t asked for approval from the remaining Italian powers.
Which meant he hadn’t followed Italian protocol.
But the five families, now four for all practical purposes remained on edge, uncertain what the Bratva would do.
In turn, there were some people inside their organizations who were angry.
Was it possible those still holding some power in the Marichetti regime had found a home with another equally powerful Cosa Nostra? Yes. Was it also possible, given what I’d discovered about the reason Vivian had been in Rome, that she’d been used, our initial meeting a part of the game? Also yes.
With Mikhail being banished, I had no doubt one or more of the other Cosa Nostra regimes could have offered him a place within their regime.
For a price.
Kazimir’s death.
Why was I bothering to go over the history of Kazimir’s love affair? Because in a twisted way, my gut was telling me the scenario was about to occur all over again.
Vivian was my weakness, one that had been shoved into my life and my heart at the wrong time. In truth, she was my kryptonite, a woman who’d invaded my system with her laugh and her smile, eyes that could burn a man into the ground and a touch that had finally brought me back to life.
And she could very well be the reason the Ghost succeeded, but first he’d have to go through me.
Would I lay down my life for Kazimir and his family?
Absolutely. What bothered me was that I believed I would do so for Vivian as well.
Was that feeling, the intense need realistic?
Absolutely not, but my body, my soul, and yes, my heart told me otherwise.
Fuck. Fuuuccck.
I threw my head back, cupping both sides of my face. What in the hell was I thinking? Exactly what had kept me awake for hours.
All about Vivian.
Another princess. Another organization. Another ride straight into hell if I wasn’t careful.
Plus, she had a sister, another princess who’d just entered into another equally powerful arrangement. Planned of course as well as recent. There’d been no way of hiding the Bratva’s growth in New York. Why bother? The identity of that family would need to be secured.
Was there some purpose in putting the Irish together with the Russians? Or perhaps the Irish mob was part of the killing game.
While Vivian had been honest about her hatred of her family, she’d purposely left out important details.
Not that I blamed her. She still had no way of knowing if what I’d told her was true.
Visions popped into my mind, including the scene inside the church.
Only they were even bloodier than before.
The ultimate question was whether my beautiful weakness was herself using me.
With me out of the way, Kazimir could more easily be killed?
Or was the Ghost’s vendetta completely personal?
If my lovely guest wouldn’t provide details, then I’d use more modern methods of doing so. One thing was certain. I’d need to be careful what I told her.
What fascinating timing.
Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
Secrets.
Vivian had been right. We all carried secrets, many hoping they could do so to their grave.
I wiped sweat from my face, loathing the dull ache in my joints. The tension was killing me.
After a few minutes, I dropped my head, determined to make sense of the discovery.
At the meeting in a few hours, I’d have additional security placed on every building Mikhail owned and send out soldiers to take notes about the businesses owned by the Irish.
Then I’d need to work with our hackers to try to establish a tracking device of some kind to intercept emails and phone calls.
After that, I’d need to let Kazimir know what I’d discovered. And he would be none too happy since we couldn’t be certain the Irish had anything to do with the Ghost. Although I suspected they did.
And why?
One beautiful blonde whose hair appeared anointed in copper. A goddess.
Or more accurately, an Irish princess.
I sat in darkness, the light of the laptop blinding. I rapped my fingers on the desk while staring at the screen.
The same one I’d had in front of me for at least an hour.
What the hell had I managed to accomplish at this point?
Yes, I’d enjoyed dinner with my companion after she’d dressed my wound. Smirking, I swirled the glass as I tried to focus on the screen.
She’d asked about my life in Russia and I’d told her. I’d asked about her life in medical school and she’d held something back. Someone she’d cared about. That I hadn’t been able to discover in going through her social media.
What my gut told me was that she’d been placed in the middle of a dark, twisted puzzle.
I glared at her phone, every breath I took short and extremely labored. The silly girl had kept facial recognition as her password, allowing me full access after she’d gone to sleep. From there, I’d found out almost everything I needed to know about her.
Her friends.
The name of several family members.
What she’d been doing in Italy.
The only answer I’d yet to discover were her intentions in hunting me down. And I had no doubt that’s what she’d been doing. Her appearance on my flight and in first class was no coincidence. Not a chance in hell.
One thing she hadn’t lied about. She was the daughter of an important man.
Even without knowing much regarding American politics and private equity firms, I knew the power both could wield depending on the hands manipulating their use.
I had no doubt such was the case with Gerald Hamilton.
Not only had his father been deep into New York politics, he’d also been a successful businessman, buying companies on the brink of bankruptcy, dismantling and selling off the parts.
He’d made billions.
His son, Vivian’s father, had inherited the company, turning the corporation into a private equity firm with ties to several countries, including Russia, Saudi Arabia, and most of Europe including Italy.
If that wasn’t enough of a red flag, he’d also purchased a security firm that could rival anything in the US or any other country.
And an article on talks with a prominent oil and gas company. Not for dismantling but for controlling.