15
“A ny news on that missing cargo?”
Stepan came to stand beside him, an unlit smoke hanging from the corner of his lips. He cupped one hand in front of it and flicked open a blue lighter. “That's not good.”
Roman gave his friend an annoyed look. “No shit.”
“Is the boss having a fit over it?”
“He's had several until now. We suspect it was the Armenians.”
“I know. I ran into Andrei this morning.”
They fell quiet for a moment. Roman gazed up at the darkening sky. “How's Nadia?”
“She's due in a few weeks.”
“Nervous?”
Stepan's lips curled into a half-smile. “Yeah.”
“Can't say I envy you.”
“You'll get to where I am. Give it a few more years.”
Roman couldn't argue with that. He wanted children, but for now, he appreciated being able to sleep a full night.
Well… most of the time. Their talk about children made him think of Alessandra.
For some annoying reason, that thought quickly shifted to her father.
“How are the Italians faring with our business arrangement?”
Stepan was in charge of the newly acquired territory that had belonged to Nero Rossetti until he struck a deal with the Bratva. “They don't like it. Haven't seen such a bunch of begrudging assholes since my father and his brother got into a fight over some money and almost killed each other.”
Roman smoked his cigarette, thoughtful. “You think some of them could act out?”
“I don't know. There is resentment on both sides. Shit could turn ugly.”
“What about our men? Is there still talk about my marriage?”
Stepan hesitated, and Roman had his answer before his friend finally responded. “Some of them can't and won't ever accept your father's decision. They won't voice their opinion in front of your family, but the discontent is there and it won't go away anytime soon.”
“Who?”
“Boris, Ivan, and others.”
“Ivan?” He gave Stepan a surprised look.
Ivan was one of Roman’s men. He had been tasked with driving Alessandra to her parents' house today.
A feeling of unease started in the pit of his stomach, but he pushed it down quickly.
Ivan wouldn't dare do anything stupid. His animosity for the Italians aside, he was a loyal soldier and would never go against his Brigadier.
“He hasn't been as vocal as the others, but he let it slip that he's not very happy with our alliance with the Outfit.”
Roman let out an irritated sigh. Despite the circumstances of their marriage, Alessandra had turned out to be a great choice for a wife, but being married to the enemy's daughter brought more of a hassle than he cared for. It was currently giving him a goddamn headache.
He flicked his cigarette butt to the ground, putting it out with the tip of his shoe. “I have to get going. Let me know if the men become too vocal. I'd like to avoid a fucking riot.”
???
Later that evening, Roman entered the house through the kitchen.
Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, he ignored the casserole their new cook had left on the top shelf and headed upstairs.
He drained the entire bottle by the time he made it at the foot of the stairs, and as he ambled through the darkness, his steps echoed in the silence blanketing the house like a pleasant cocoon.
As soon as he opened the bedroom door, he stopped short, empty bottle in hand.
The room was nearly pitch dark and eerily quiet.
He listened intently for any sounds coming from the bathroom, and when there was nothing, he decided to check for good measure.
With no sign of activity in the house, he reached into his pocket for his cell phone and dialed Alessandra's number.
“Hey.” Her voice was too low against the loud noise in the background—an amalgam of cheery voices and what sounded like a pop song.
His first instinct was annoyance, but he managed to keep it from spilling on his tongue. “Where are you?”
“I'm with your sister.”
“Where?”
“Uh… it's this pub called Sunshine.”
His displeasure dissolved, if only momentarily. At least the pub was affiliated to the Bratva, so she wasn't in any immediate danger. “You should have told me you were going.”
“Sorry.” Her voice was soft and apologetic, and he shook his head to himself.
“I'm coming to pick you up.”
“Okay.”
He hung up and ran a palm over his jaw in frustration. This girl.
By the time he made it to the pub, his mood had improved somewhat. Scanning the crowd, he found his wife and his sister huddled together in a booth at the back of the joint.
“Roman, long time no see.” The man crossing the room with a tray full of empty glasses stopped in front of him and shook his hand respectfully. Mikhail—commonly known as Misha—was the owner of the pub and an associate of their organization. “Can I get you a drink?”
“I'm not staying.”
“Your sister's in the back.”
Roman nodded in acknowledgement, deciding to focus his attention on Misha for a minute. “How are things? Everything good?”
Misha hesitated before setting the tray on a table and answering with a question of his own. “Can I keep you for a minute?”
“Let's talk in the back.”
Throwing one last glance toward the girls, Roman followed after the other man. They entered a small storage room that doubled as an office, for some privacy.
“I had a break-in two nights ago. They stole all the cash in the register. It wasn't much, just a couple thousand, but they also smashed two large windows up front. Those were a bitch to replace.”
Roman frowned. “Why am I only hearing about it now?”
“To be honest, I was too wrapped up in trying to clean up the mess they left behind. I was going to give you a call tomorrow.”
“You have cameras at the entrance.”
Misha shook his head with a bitter expression on his face. “They broke those too. I got nothing—no idea who could have done it.”
Roman wanted to curse, though he managed to refrain from showing his agitation. Two different attacks in two successive nights, both targeting the Bratva. The Armenians were getting bold.
“I'll handle it,” he assured Misha, giving him a quick pat on the shoulder.
With that promise, he exited the storage room and made his way to the back of the pub where the girls were still oblivious to his presence. He clenched and unclenched his fist to release some tension, but to no avail. He was now more riled up than earlier when he'd found the house empty.
Tatyana noticed him first. “And the big bad wolf is finally here,” she said over the rim of her glass.
Roman looked down at Alessandra who had an empty cocktail glass in front of her. Her cheeks were tinted pink and her brown eyes were glassy from the alcohol. “How many did you have?”
She sawed her bottom lip, having the decency to look a little guilty. “Three.”
He had half a mind to walk back and punch Misha in the face for serving her alcohol in the first place, but knew his sister had had a hand in it. He gave her a hard look. “Next time you want to get my wife drunk, you ask for my permission.”
Tatyana didn't look impressed with the pissed-off expression on his face. “So controlling, brat . Since when?”
“Since she’s not old enough.”
Tatyana scoffed. “She didn't have that much to drink. Let the girl have some fun.”
Alessandra grabbed his hand, surprising him with the contact of her warm skin against his. “I'm fine. At home, I used to drink wine with dinner sometimes.”
“Let's go,” he said, stopping the argument there and motioning to his sister. “Come on, I'll drop you off.”
Tatyana muttered something under her breath, but got up nonetheless.
Alessandra did the same, and he noticed for the first time what his wife was wearing: a strappy top and skinny jeans that clung to her legs and ass like a second skin.
Her red heels were almost the same color as the shade of lipstick on her lips.
He stared at her mouth and fought the sudden urge to grab a fistful of her long hair and drag her in for a bruising kiss.
Alessandra leaned into him, her beautiful, round-shaped eyes mirroring his desire. Not one to deny either of them, Roman put his hand on the small of her back and bent his head to brush his lips over hers gently. Anything more intense had to wait until he got her home.
As he escorted the girls out of the crowded pub with Alessandra's fingers still curled around his own, he saw Misha's eyes dart toward their joined hands. A small crease appeared between the man’s eyebrows before he caught himself and quickly averted his gaze. Apparently, news of his marriage to the Don’s daughter had spread like wildfire inside their community.
His earlier conversation with Stepan came to mind, but there wasn’t much he could do about it for now.
As long as people kept their opinions to themselves, neither Roman nor Vitaly could accuse them of being disloyal to the Bratva.
Tatyana lived only two blocks away from Sunshine, but Roman made sure to drop her off in front of her apartment building and wait until she was inside before heading home.
“Are you mad that I went out?” Alessandra asked when they were finally alone in the car.
He spared her a quick glance and saw that she was twirling a strand of hair around her index finger—one of her nervous habits, he was starting to learn.
“No. Although I would appreciate a heads-up next time I come home at night and you're not there.”
“I didn't mean to worry you.”
Roman nodded, his attention focused on the road ahead. “Ivan drove you?” When she didn't answer immediately, he briefly met her eyes and irritation washed over him at what he saw in them. “I thought I was being clear when I told you I didn't want you in a car with a stranger.”
“It's only a ten-minute drive. I took an Uber.”
“Alessandra,” he warned, voice getting tight with restrained anger. “When I tell you to do something, you fucking do it. Do you understand?”
“Sure.” The defiance in her tone screamed louder than her apparent compliance. He fixed her with a hard gaze at a red light.