Chapter Three #2
He reached into his pocket and withdrew the packet of mint-flavored antacids he’d tucked away earlier. He popped two into his mouth and crunched the powdery tablets. The noise drew Ben’s interest, and their gazes met in the rearview mirror. Luka shook his head, silently telling him not to even ask.
“My granddaughter Dafina will be the perfect wife to you,” Artan said, his voice raspy and wet. “She goes to church every Sunday, and she volunteers her time with charities.”
Yes, I’m sure she’s Mother Teresa reborn.
“She’s so modest, and she knows her place.”
That’s not what I’ve heard.
She was obviously a career-minded woman, and she didn’t shy away from enjoying the finer things in life—or men. Over the years, he had kept an eye on Dafina from afar. She had a type—big, burly professional athletes—and she had run through a string of them.
Not that he held her sexual history against her. She had been free to do whatever she wanted with her body and her heart.
But now she’s mine—and she will behave the way a wife should.
There was no question of that. He would lay down the law, and she would obey. She would move to Tirana, and she would be faithful to him.
The old man continued droning on and on about Dafina. Luka was waiting for him to claim she could walk on water when Ben piped up from the front seat. “You have another granddaughter?”
Artan’s breath rattled in his chest, and Luka hoped it might be the last one he took. Fate had other plans. The old man inhaled shakily and said, “The fat one.”
The answer was so rude that Devil, who had been as still as a statue the entire ride, turned in his seat to scowl at Artan who shrugged his bony shoulders. “Wait until you see her. You’ll understand.” He made a face. “I should have arranged a marriage for her before she grew up and lost value.”
“That’s enough.” Luka cut him off with a slash of his hand through the air.
It wasn’t only the way he spoke about his granddaughter having no value that disgusted him.
His beloved mother had struggled with her weight until the day she died.
She was an incredible, loving woman, and he woke up missing her every single day.
“Some men would find your granddaughter to be even more valuable.”
“Only if her dowry matched her weight in gold,” Artan said with a harsh laugh.
“We’re only a few minutes away,” Ben interjected before Luka could smack the crypt keeper next to him.
“Thank you, Ben.” Luka’s patience was already wearing thin, and dinner hadn’t even started. He checked his watch and calculated how long he would have to stay to be polite.
When they turned down the lamp-lit driveway, anxiety stabbed his gut.
He was walking into the home of an enemy.
These people had killed his father and caused the death of his mother.
They were responsible for dozens of deaths in a violent street war.
Attacking him tonight would be stupid, but he would have understood it.
To avenge their father and uncle, honor demanded his blood.
Not that Nikolai Kalasnikov would allow that to happen. He and his wife would be at the dinner tonight, ostensibly as honored guests. Luka was certain they were there to ensure everyone was on their best behavior. He wouldn’t put it past Ana Dushku to knife him in the back on the way out the door.
There was also, of course, the chance that Nikolai intended to corner and interrogate him about the deal that had just been made.
Knowing that he was only weeks away from regaining control of the lucrative narcotics corridor he had given as collateral rather than sending Rina to be a hostage, Luka had gone in search of a big deal.
There was only one place to go for the volume he needed—Moscow. Specifically, Nikolai’s boss, Maksim.
The terms had been unfavorable, but with the money coming from the trust fund held by the Raffaellis, he could swing it. Barely. But it was the only way for the family to get back on their feet.
Besian didn’t know yet. Luka dreaded that conversation.
He could already hear all the arguments his uncle would have.
They were the same ones Zec had harangued him with when he’d discovered the secret deal only minutes before Luka left Tirana.
He’d forbidden the fixer to speak one word to Besian.
That was the only reason Besian hadn’t been waiting at the airport tarmac to slap him upside the head.
The view of Dafina’s family home overtook his anxious thoughts.
the mansion was even more ostentatious than the photos Besian had sent.
From the outside, the Dushku family seemed wealthy, but that wasn’t the case.
Whether the matriarch would come clean tonight was anyone’s guess.
He wanted a full accounting and no surprises after sliding a wedding band on Dafina’s finger.
Devil stepped out and opened the door. Ben didn’t do the same for Artan who wheezed as he clambered out of the SUV. Luka took his time getting out and adjusted his tie and jacket before walking toward the front door. He was still a few steps away when it opened to reveal Besian.
“Moonlighting as a butler?” he asked his uncle.
“Trying to escape that—.” Besian didn’t finish what was sure to be a nasty thought. “Our hostess,” he said instead. His unhappy gaze slid to Artan. “I see my birthday wish didn’t come true.”
“Oh?” Artan wheezed and rattled.
“I was hoping a blood clot would take you out somewhere over the Atlantic.”
Luka silently cursed. And so it begins...
“Well, I still have to fly back.” Artan shoved by Besian and walked into the house.
When he had shuffled out of sight, Luka sighed. “Really?”
“Listen,” Besian pulled at his collar, “that’s a pretty good taste of the shit show that’s waiting for you.”
“How so?” Luka hadn’t even stepped foot into the house, and his stomach was in knots. I should have brought more antacids.
“Well, for one, your bride is missing.”
“Excuse me?”
“She’s gone. She went out to get her hair done, and she hasn’t returned. According to her mother, at least,” Besian clarified. “Considering what a lying who—.”
“B?” Marley called out. “There you are!”
His uncle’s beautiful auburn-haired wife crossed the foyer and sidled up next to him.
She was even prettier this evening than she had been earlier in the day.
That emerald green dress looked incredible on her, and Luka felt a twinge of envy that his uncle had been allowed to choose such an incredible woman as his wife.
“Luka! Ben! Dev!” She gestured for them to join her.
“Come inside. Dinner hasn’t started yet, but the bar is top shelf.
” She glanced at Ben. “Aston and Vivian are talking about babies. If you don’t hurry up and get in there to separate them, Aston is going to want to start working on number two as soon as you get home. ”
Ben, who looked as if he hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in months, practically ran into the house. Luka noticed the slight touch of Besian’s hand to his wife’s stomach before giving her a tender kiss. They hadn’t said anything earlier, but maybe they would have interesting news soon.
“I’m staying here,” Devil stated, his arms already crossed.
“Keep the car running.” Besian’s remark was half-joke, half-order. “Maybe look up the closest ER and memorize the Poison Control number, just in case.”
“Stop!” Marley swatted her husband’s chest.
“Remember that when your soup tastes metallic and you start wondering why your lips are numb.” Besian gave her hip a squeeze and silenced her with a quick kiss before she could protest.
I’ll have to remember that move.
His stomach suddenly lurched, the mix of stress and anxiety churning his guts in the most painful twist. He set his jaw and prayed he wasn’t about to embarrass himself. Cold sweat erupted on the back of his neck.
“There’s a powder room down that hall toward the kitchen,” Marley said helpfully. “If you need a minute to gird your loins before storming the lion’s den.”
Her compassion and consideration shamed him. He would never forget how mean he had been about his uncle marrying her. The things he had said in private were awful, and she was never anything but kind and sweet. Even now, she noticed he was unwell and offered him a quick out.
“Thank you.” He glanced at Besian who seemed concerned. “I’ll be right back.”
“Take your time.” Besian shrugged. “You’re the guest of honor.”
With his stomach about to erupt, he walked as calmly as he could manage down the hall Marley had indicated.
He found the powder room and grimaced at all the gold and marble.
As soon as he shut and locked the door, he flicked on the exhaust fan to cover the sound of his retching.
Nothing came up but bile and the remnants of the antacid. And a little blood.
Fuck. He flushed the evidence, not wanting to spend another second thinking about what it meant. It’s just stress. I’ll be fine.
But after rinsing out his mouth several times and washing his hands, his stomach still felt uneasy.
He couldn’t show weakness in front of these people.
Out in the hallway, he heard noises coming from the end of the hallway and assumed it was the kitchen.
Desperate for something to quell his nausea, he decided to see if any of the staff had antacids with them.
“I’m so sorry, Mariana,” a woman said. “If I had known the catering hadn’t been paid for before I got here, I would have handled it.”
“It’s not your fault, and it’s not your problem to fix. No, no, no. Don’t touch that sauce. You’ll stain your dress!”
“I’m wearing an apron, Mariana.”
“Yes, but the apron won’t protect your shoes. Or your hair! You’ve gone all frizzy!”
“It’s fine. No one cares what I look like anyway.”
Luka hesitated at the doorway of the kitchen. He shouldn’t eavesdrop, but the discussion confirmed what he had suspected about the family’s financial situation.