Chapter 19
Vivian
I’d learned a long time ago just how many stereotypes there were for people working for the mafia. Especially with Italians. They always ate Italian food, talking as if meatballs and gravy were the two most prevalent words in their vocabulary.
They haunted dark, foreboding restaurants where the walls were conveniently painted crimson to hide the acts of revenge.
A location where candles and gothic music provided a ghostly moment while two lovebirds stared at each other from across the table.
All while eight or ten huge, burly guys with bad attitudes and even worse haircuts huddled together like aging football players, consuming copious volumes of food, slurping down cheap chianti, and sizing up every patron in the joint.
Other than knowing Brighton Beach was a mecca for Russian immigrants and that supposedly they consumed vodka like Italians did cheap red wine, I couldn’t imagine their habits when getting together as a group. Or maybe they were simply much more intelligent than other crime syndicates.
Why was I thinking that way? Because I’d always believed it irresponsible for an entire group of seemingly important men from one group to gather together in a single location.
Maybe that’s because in my youth my father had made certain Nikki and I were well aware of his important status within the mob given his brother-in-law’s position, and I’d thought of hundreds of creative methods of annihilating an entire syndicate.
In one fell swoop.
My uncle’s men were like barbarians from the old days when men used clubs and beat their food to death.
The men liked to imagine themselves as Vikings.
Ha. Fat chance. I’d found them boring, self-centered, not particularly handsome, and definitely not good company.
But they did have habits they never shied away from.
They came in packs like wild dogs.
They owned the restaurants and bars they frequented, which prevented a random slaughter. And they did enjoy their whiskey.
Which was why my uncle hadn’t needed to tell me where he would be for our meeting.
O’Leary’s Pub was ancient, the building crammed among a dozen more on a seedy looking street where almost every business was owned by an Irishman.
While there was a location called Little Ireland in the Bronx, the Manhattan location had been chosen thirty plus years ago by a man who’d known the heart of the wealthy would be centered in this area.
He’d been right. My uncle ran his multimillion-dollar company in four rooms over the bar, but I couldn’t remember a time when I hadn’t found him at his favorite corner table. Holding court.
As soon as I stepped inside, I was reminded why I preferred the far more Americanized side of my heritage.
Yes, somewhere in my father’s bloodline there was some Irish along with being a descendant from the old English crown regime.
That meant something to my uncle, which was why the arranged marriage had been so important to both groups.
So I’d been told.
I’d figured out the truth a long time ago.
If alliances were handled with extreme prudence and planning, they could be extremely lucrative and powerful for both parties.
That’s exactly what had occurred with my mother marrying my father.
They’d quietly built an empire and were now ready to take it on the road.
That’s why my uncle wouldn’t want the Bratva interfering.
The politics of something.
Everyone inside the bar knew who I was. Even though my father had cried the blues with me turning my back on the family traditions by becoming a surgeon, the profession was considered revered, which gave me a pass. For the most part.
Especially since after only two years of medical school, I’d saved my uncle’s life.
Mobsters didn’t forget that kind of thing.
In this world that meant I was owed a favor.
I’d been saving it in case my father proposed marriage for me as he’d done with my sister.
However… things had changed dramatically.
The air was stale from years of cigarette smoke and men confusing dark corners for urinals.
It was very difficult to get the stench of piss out of aging wood.
Still with pictures of local and national celebrities on the walls, including ruthless and very powerful politicians like my grandfather, anyone who walked in would know instantly the bar was a place of reverence.
My uncle was seated with three of his main men, two of whom I couldn’t stand because each one had believed I would be their bride.
Fuck that.
I’d sworn up one side and down the other in the single argument I’d participated in with my father that I would never marry a slimy plastic paddy.
A term I’d learned in school. I’d learned from my father that night when his heavy ring had cut my face as his backhand had knocked me across the room that there was no place for slurs in his house.
My uncle was jovial as usual, his ruddy cheeks a reminder of the various sins he enjoyed indulging in. One day I wouldn’t be around to save his life.
As soon as I approached, all the men at the table stood, my uncle’s companions moving away to give him privacy yet not going far. Even I wasn’t considered trustworthy. They were right to assume I wouldn’t play the game.
Especially not today.
“Ah, my beautiful niece. It’s good to see you.”
“We just saw each other a few days ago.” While my uncle had made an appearance for Nikki’s wedding, his trip had been cut short, returning to New York almost immediately after the marriage had been made official.
I leaned over, allowing him to squeeze my arms.
“Yes, but in a more formal setting.”
His eyes narrowed when he noticed the bruises on my neck.
Immediately, I snapped my hand around my throat. “My patient had a psychotic episode. He thought I was trying to hurt him.”
“The man you shouldn’t be caring for?”
“He’s my patient, Uncle Sean. He would have died had I not been there. Someone used a very toxic poison to try and kill him.” I purposely locked eyes with him, daring him to challenge me. I wasn’t in the fucking mood. Thankfully, he backed down.
“Please sit. What can I get you? Wine? Whiskey?”
His gaze dropped to the scrubs I’d barely remembered changing into. “I’ll need to get back to the hospital. I have a patient that is still in ICU.”
“Always working. So very dedicated.” He sat back, swirling the glass of whiskey. I could swear he used the alcohol as a prop half the time because I’d never seen him intoxicated.
I held my purse in my lap, curling my fingers around the handle while holding my head high. “I took an oath to save lives and not only will I continue to do so, I find it much more fulfilling than fancy parties or sinful indulgences.”
While yet to turn five in the afternoon, the bar was crowded, even more so than usual, which meant word of the Russian’s near demise had slithered into the darkest corners of every Irish hole in the wall.
What I was determined to discover was whether or not my uncle was the reason Kirill was fighting for his life.
Or was there another crime syndicate involved?
One benefit of being locked away on an island with so many criminals was that the conversations almost always turned to business.
That’s not something I’d offered easily to Kirill.
I’d also pretended as if I wasn’t paying attention or even disgusted, which at the time I had been.
Now I was thankful I had at least some understanding of what my uncle was facing.
A classic squeeze.
In the years of obtaining wealth, apparently my uncle no longer needed to ‘lean’ on the police department, the city or state officials, or politicians as he’d once done. With one hand greasing the other, not only had all parties become extremely wealthy but they’d also become complacent.
Something my uncle feared would come back to bite his ass. It was also one reason the alliance with the Savoy family from Rome and my sister’s sudden marriage had been planned.
I’d already formed additional scenarios in my mind, including expansion, which was what little I’d overheard during their conversations around the wedding.
The only saving grace was that after the ‘surprise meeting,’ which even my sister had known had been planned, she’d found Enzo charming. She’d even admitted she’d fallen in love, although I still had my doubts she’d accepted her message with her full heart.
Was there such a thing as true love any longer?
His laugh was one I’d heard several times used on people foolish enough to push against his advice. He truly believed he was a man of importance as evidenced by the way he sat back in his chair, steepling his hands.
His smile was slowly fading. He wasn’t interested in our usual friendly banter. “What have you gotten yourself involved in, Vivian?”
“I could ask you close to the same question. What did you thrust me into dealing with?”
Perhaps he wanted me to fear him given the shift into full darkness in his eyes. “What are you insinuating, child?”
“I’m not insinuating anything, Uncle Sean.
First Nikki marrying an Italian heir to a faction of the Cosa Nostra, then your own daughter being wooed by another Italian.
Will I soon learn about another upcoming wedding?
Now, in my case, you knew I wouldn’t fall in love with another Italian after…
after what happened to my fiancé four years ago, so you had to work a little harder. ”
“For what reason exactly?” Every muscle in his body was tense, but he was genuinely curious about where I was going with my accusations.