16
T he incessant buzzing of his phone was what dragged him from the sweet embrace of a deep sleep—the likes of which he hadn’t enjoyed in far too long.
Untangling himself from Alessandra's body, Roman shifted onto his back and ran a palm over his face.
With a sigh, he chased away the mist covering his eyes and reached on the nightstand for the obnoxious thing.
Beside him, Alessandra let out a disgruntled sound, pushing her pillow over her head.
He stood on unsteady feet and walked out of the bedroom as he answered Vitaly's call with a sense of trepidation. It was a little over seven in the morning. His father never called this early unless there was an emergency.
“I need you at the house,” Vitaly said as soon as the line connected.
“Give me twenty minutes.”
He had barely made it into the hallway when the call disconnected without warning.
More alert now, Roman turned around, quietly re-entered the bedroom and headed straight for the walk-in closet.
He took a few minutes in the bathroom to brush his teeth and run a wet hand through his hair before quickly putting on a pair of dark jeans and a white T-shirt.
Alessandra was sleeping peacefully on her side of the bed when he flew down the stairs and out the front door. He got into his car and drove off with a screech of tires.
So early in the morning, the drive to his childhood home lasted under fifteen minutes. Letting himself inside, he found his father in his office. Oleg was also there, already dressed in a suit and looking as fresh as a daisy.
Vitaly raised an eyebrow at his son's choice of attire. Roman ignored the pointed look as he took a seat in the empty armchair across the desk. “What's the emergency?”
“Davit reached out to me this morning. He heard about our stolen cargo and wanted to assure me he had no hand in it.”
“And you believe him?”
“I don't, but that doesn't mean we can't profit from his feigned innocence.”
Although he often disagreed with his father's methods, Roman had to give it to him: the man knew how to work any situation in his favor. “What did you have in mind?”
Vitaly tapped the desk with the end of a pen, his face a blank mask. “I will cut a deal with him. From our earlier conversation over the phone, he seemed open to the idea.”
“Do I need to remind you that he already crossed us once? What makes you think he won't do it again? Besides, it’s not only the cargo. I bet money his men also broke into Misha’s bar.”
“I'm not an idiot, son. I don't trust him to hold his end of the deal. What I need is time to figure out a way to put them out of business. If the Armenians see us as friends, they will focus their aggression elsewhere.”
“But he has to know by now about our arrangement with the Italians.”
A look passed between Vitaly and his right-hand man. “He does. Part of the deal is that we don't intervene when they attack Rossetti and his men.”
Roman stared at his father incredulously. “You want to cross both the Armenians and the Italians?
“I want Davit to get what he deserves for betraying me in the first place, and the Italians... well, they will always be the enemy.”
“This is insane. There's no way this plan of yours won't backfire one way or another.”
At this, Vitaly smiled, although it was cold and calculated. “Have a little faith, son. When have I ever been wrong?”
Roman knew his father was going to do whatever the hell he pleased, whether he agreed with it or not.
As for himself, Roman didn't care for the Italians either, but he did care about his wife, who was an innocent in all of this.
“Alessandra will be kept out of it. She has nothing to do with her father's business.”
Vitaly stared at him, all traces of amusement gone from his face. A lesser man would have trembled under the scrutiny of that hard gaze. Roman kept the eye contact, letting his father know he was owning everything he'd said.
“Now, I understand your fascination with the girl—she truly is beautiful for carrying such nasty genes. But do not be mistaken; the Bratva comes before your marriage.”
Roman knew he couldn't dispute that statement without sounding like a traitor to their brotherhood. Still, he insisted, “She will be kept safe. I did what you wanted and married her to accommodate your scheming. You owe me this much.”
Oleg clicked his tongue, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “Don't let her become a liability, Roman. No woman is worth the success of the organization.”
Roman didn't grace that with an answer. Keeping his father's gaze, he pushed for what he wanted nonverbally.
“You're learning something from me, after all,” Vitaly said after a moment, giving a shake of his head. “I will let Davit know she is not to be touched.”
Roman nodded stiffly. He wasn't going to thank him. “Anything else I should know?”
His father reached for the cup of coffee that was in front of him, indulging in the strong java unhurriedly. He was pausing for the dramatic effect, but Roman had no patience for it. Mustering all the indifference he could find in himself, he remained quiet and waited.
“Since we lost two million because of your negligence, you will be present at the meeting. Davit has always liked you. It is important to let him think we don't hold a grudge over past altercations. You being there will help with that.”
Roman wanted to argue it wasn't negligence that had led to both attacks, but fought the impulse. It wasn't going to do him any good. “I doubt he likes me very much if he stole from me.”
“No, he stole from me ,” Vitaly said more sharply. “It doesn't really matter why he targeted a shipment you were in charge of. When this is over, he will have wished he never crossed paths with me in this lifetime.”
“When is the meeting?”
“Tomorrow evening. We will meet on neutral ground. There is a restaurant in Humboldt Park called De León. It’s owned by a former cartel member with no current affiliations to any group in Chicago. Be there at 09:00 p.m. sharp.”
“Humboldt Park?” Roman asked with a frown. “That place is usually crawling with Armenians.”
“It's neutral territory, Roman. You have a better idea?”
He didn't, but meeting Davit somewhere public didn't sit well with him. “What if word of the meeting reaches Rossetti? A restaurant is frequented by all kinds of people.”
Vitaly waved off his concerns. “No Italian would ever dare venture that far up north. León Pérez will ensure that we have our privacy. He will be paid handsomely for his trouble, after all.”
???
The last thing Roman wanted to do on a Saturday evening was sit at a table with his father and the head of the Armenian mafia.
Aside from the three of them, there were two other people taking part in the meeting: Oleg and Davit's personal hound, Grigor.
Tucked away in a secluded corner of the restaurant's second floor, their table was safe from prying ears—there was even an opaque glass partition to shield them from the other customers.
The mood was lighter than Roman had anticipated, with the occasional joke thrown in on both sides.
Davit looked relaxed with his suit jacket hanging from the back of his chair and the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up.
He had one arm on the table, thick fingers wrapped around a glass of tequila.
Across from him, Vitaly didn't manage to look so casual, although he had also discarded his jacket.
“A meeting between old friends,” Davit had said with his shark-like grin when everyone arrived and hands were shaken. “No need for formalities.”
Roman didn't buy his laid-back attitude. The man had a vicious character and wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet into every single one of them, if the opportunity arose.
Everyone at the table knew this wasn't a friendly get-together.
It came with the promise of an end-game that would benefit all of them—or so Davit thought.
“Congratulation on the wedding, Roman. I hear she is very beautiful. Haven't had the pleasure of meeting her myself.”
Roman looked at the Armenian boss across the table and tried to gauge the extent of his sincerity, but the man’s expression gave nothing away.
Nevertheless, given Davit's feelings of resentment toward Alessandra's father, it was safe to assume the congratulatory remark was deceptively innocent. “Thank you.”
“Of course, had I known Nero Rossetti was willing to part with his only daughter so easily, I might have tried to secure her for myself.
If nothing, at least I would have gotten myself a lovely, young wife.
But interesting move on your father's part, still.” Turning to look at Vitaly, he continued, “I have always admired the way your mind works. It is one of the reasons our organizations have been allies for decades—mutual appreciation goes a long way.”
Disrespecting Roman one moment and stroking Vitaly's ego with flattering remarks the next—Davit was a fucking snake.
Roman knew he shouldn't take the bait, but the way the asshole spoke about Alessandra made him want to fly across the table and pummel his ugly face until he was choking on his own blood.
The hand resting on his thigh clenched with barely restrained fury.
He had to keep a cool head before he ruined everything with his temper.
Vitaly, sensing his son's agitation, threw him a warning look.
“It's time we discussed business, no?” he asked in a friendly voice, moving his attention back to Davit.
The Armenian produced a thin cigar from a silver box and smiled.
“Yes, this is why we have gathered here, after all.” He put the cigar between his lips before lighting it with an engraved DuPont.
“The conditions are the same as before—we give you guns, and you supply our strip clubs with your product. Do we agree on that?”
“We do, although I do have some new terms of my own.”
Davit raised an eyebrow in silent challenge. “Oh?”
“The price for the product will be increased by ten percent. There is still discontent within the Bratva for your... let's call it lack of loyalty toward our friendship. You can understand why my men will expect some sort of incentive to rekindle that bond.”
Davit puffed out a thick cloud of smoke. “Of course. Ten percent is reasonable.”
“And the girl will be kept out of the issues you have with her father. She is a part of my family now, and it is my responsibility to ensure her safety.”
“She is of little interest to me at this point,” Davit told him with no inflection to his tone. “Pardon my candor, but she doesn't seem to be worth very much to her father.”
Roman turned his head to the side to hide his reaction.
His jaw tensed and a vein in his temple started to pulse furiously.
The motherfucker was being provocative on purpose.
He knew damn well the reason for Rossetti's decision wasn't a lack of affection for his daughter, but rather the fear of what the Armenians could unleash upon his Outfit with the help of the Russian Bratva.
What exactly was the purpose of his goading, Roman couldn't tell.
The lines around Vitaly's eyes tightened. “Regardless, she is not to be touched.”
“I think we already agreed on that, no?” Davit pressed the edge of his cigar against side of the ashtray sitting in front of him. “Regarding this arrangement you have with Nero Rossetti... is there anything I could do to persuade you to sever all ties?”
“No, comrade. The deal I struck with the Italians has increased my profits by twenty-five percent in the last two months alone. So, you can see why I would like to keep my ties with them intact.” Vitaly smiled coldly before adding, “Well, at least for the time being.”
“Fair enough.”
“Can I count on you to keep this reunion from reaching their ears?”
“It goes without saying. But I will need information on Rossetti so I can put together a course of action for what I have in mind. That srika will get what’s coming to him.”
Vitaly inclined his head, though Roman recognized the dangerous glint in his father’s eyes. The man was out for blood. Unfortunately for Davit, he was soon going to learn that Vitaly Leskov did not forget and he certainly did not forgive. “Of course. What are friends for?”