Chapter 25 #2
Shit. The airport isn’t far from our casino, on the outskirts of the city. It shouldn’t have taken Rocco more than an hour, maximum, to drop off Isla and get back to the safe house.
Let me know as soon as you get word.
Will do.
Now I’m more restless than ever. Something about this doesn’t feel right.
But the G starts moving again, taking us closer to our meeting with Sidorov, and there’s not a fucking thing I can do about it.
It’s eerily quiet as Russians file into the empty dining area of our latest Italian restaurant in the city. Topolina is a newer venture for us, only open for a few weeks, but it’s closed on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, which made it the perfect location for hammering out a peace deal with the Bratva.
We’ve got the perimeter guarded like Fort fucking Knox, and every one of the men sitting at the tables we’ve pulled together had to be patted down and turn in their weapons as a condition of this meeting. Shit could still go sideways, but that’s a part of doing business with the enemy.
I’m trying to keep myself calm, because this deal depends on cooler heads prevailing.
But it’s damn difficult when all I can think about is Isla.
I can’t stop wondering why the fuck I haven’t heard from Rocco.
Is she through security? Did she get herself a ticket back to Iowa?
Did she take the money we told Roc to give her? The questions won’t stop.
Fuck.
I have to keep my head in the game. Which means I need to stop thinking about Isla. An evil fucker like Mikhail Sidorov will tear me apart if he scents blood.
Speaking of the devil, he walks into the room, a smug little smile on his face, like he’s got the upper hand. I’ve never liked the bastard, and I like him even less now after what he ordered done to Isla. Not to mention the fact that he bombed our restaurant.
“Andriani,” he greets Priest first, shaking his hand over the table that’s been arranged with linen and water glasses we have no intention of using.
He’s lucky we aren’t setting him on fire. But peace is worth far more than war to us, so here we are.
“Sidorov,” Priest returns.
It’s almost comical, watching the two of them squaring off over the handshake. Each wants to overpower the other, and in the end, it almost looks like they’re thumb-wrestling by the time they give up.
“Sit,” Priest invites everyone gathered around the table, our closest capos on our side, and the Bratva goons towering over the opposite side.
Chairs slide over the chic custom carpets that were hand-selected by Luna.
She has an eye for things that are expensive yet tasteful, and she’s enjoyed playing a bigger role in the family over the last year.
I catch myself wondering how Isla would fit in before I slam that mental door closed and throw the dead bolt.
“I must thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” Sidorov says first, still trying to big-dick Priest by speaking first.
And the humility is an act.
Priest just stares into his soul in response. “I’m sure you heard about what happened at our restaurant.”
“A gas leak, so I’m told,” Sidorov drawls, folding his tattooed hands on the table. “So very unfortunate.”
“It was. The Andriani family is doing everything in our power to make sure something like this never happens again.”
Sidorov nods. “I understand you removed the problem. This was wise.”
There’s a reason everyone is speaking in riddles. We don’t trust the Bratva any more than they trust us at this point, and neither of us is taking any chances that there is somehow a recording device planted somewhere by the Feds, or that there’s a hacked phone or another fucking rat.
“We solved part of the problem,” Priest allows, keeping his tone conversational. “The gas leak has been repaired.”
“Da, this is very good news.”
Priest raises a brow. “I’m so glad you approve.”
Sidorov’s smug smile fades as he leans forward. “Do you know what would make me glad, Andriani?”
“I don’t think I give a fuck, Sidorov.”
I see the men flanking Pakhan exchange a look. Priest is goading Sidorov. This wasn’t part of the plan, but I don’t blame him for going there. The bastard deserves to be raked over the coals. He deserves the fires of hell raining down on him.
“That is interesting to me, because I think, if you knew what guest I have visiting me right now, you might change your mind.” He turns to the man at his left. “Igor, where is the picture of our guest?”
Igor reaches inside his suit, and every Andriani at the table is instantly on edge, hands hovering over their concealed weapons in case any one of us needs to draw. Yeah, we patted them down and gave them a thorough check, but it’s not always a foolproof art.
“Easy,” Sidorov says lightly. “Igor only wants to get his phone, da? I think you will enjoy seeing who has paid me a visit.”
Why the fuck is he going on about a guest? My hackles are raised, a sick sense of misgiving washing over me until I have to swallow down the bile rising in my throat.
“Show us,” Priest bites out.
Igor extracts a phone, taps in a code, and then turns it so we can see the screen.
There, in a still photo, tied up and sitting on some dank floor next to a restrained Rocco, Santino, and Giovanni, is Isla.
The men look like they’ve been beaten up, and Rocco is shirtless, wearing a bandage on his shoulder.
Isla looks pale and terrified and helpless, her eyes swollen and red from crying.
I don’t see any signs of blood or bruising, but that doesn’t mean she’s injury-free.
It’s my worst fucking nightmare.
I burst to my feet so fast, my chair flies backward and topples over. The Russians shoot up, and so do the rest of our guys.
“What the fuck is this about?” Priest demands. “She’s a close friend of my wife’s. That’s all. She’s not even a part of the family.”
“Isn’t she?” Sidorov turns his unusual, pale gaze to me.
“What the fuck did you do?” I demand, ready to kill the bastard with my bare hands.
Priest holds me back to keep me from jumping over the table and beating the shit out of Sidorov.
Sidorov laughs faintly, eyes still on me.
“She was on her way to the airport when there was an accident. My men were in the area, and since the car was damaged too badly to drive, we offered them a lift. When they refused, we had to be a bit more forceful with them. I’m told a man named Santino needed a few stitches after he took a knock to the head. ”
“I’ll fucking kill you,” I growl. “If you hurt her, I’ll end you, but I won’t make it easy. I’ll torture you until you’re begging me for mercy first.”
Sidorov tsks. “Prosti, Saint, I am sorry, but I don’t think you are in a position to be issuing threats just now.”
The picture of Isla is still facing me like an accusation.
I want to kill Igor for holding it. For looking at her, so vulnerable and afraid.
This is all my fucking fault. I should have insisted otherwise when Priest said Isla should fly back to Iowa today.
If I had, none of this would have happened.
She’d be in the safe house and out of this psycho’s reach.
It takes all the willpower I have to keep myself under control. I’m panting, my hands shaking with the need for violence. I’ve never been in such a rage. But I know that if I keep letting Sidorov get under my skin, it won’t help Isla.
“What do you want, Sidorov?” Priest demands.
Sidorov’s smug smile returns. “Now you finally get to the point, Andriani. Took you long enough. We can do this the easy way or the hard way, up to you. The hard way, I’ll pay our friend Isla a visit.
Maybe she has some things she’d like to tell me.
Maybe she’s tired of a man who throws her away like trash.
Maybe she wants a man who would appreciate her and keep her. A man who could give her so much more.”
“If you touch her,” I rasp hoarsely, “you’re a fucking dead man, Sidorov.”
He laughs like he’s having fun, like this is all one big game for his amusement. “Then maybe we should do this the easy way, da?”
“Saint,” Priest says my name in a warning tone. “Check yourself.”
And as much as I fucking hate it in this moment, he’s my don, and I need to stand down if that’s what he asks of me.
“What do you want in exchange for Isla’s safe return, Sidorov?” I bite out.
I’m prepared to move mountains. To do anything and everything I can to make it happen.
“I want you to marry my sister,” the smirking Russian says.