Chapter 25
Gemma
The door closes behind Saint.
Artem just laid his cards on the table, and we blinked. Sure, it wasn't a literal blink, but I know I'm white as a ghost, and Saint is gripping the thin skin of my back so hard, that I know he is going to leave bruises.
"Get out," Saint takes a step forward. "Get out of my home, or I'll make sure you leave in a body bag."
Artem doesn't even blink. He's not scared of Saint. Saint, a well-known, celebrated, killer, a man that people have whispered about, and Artem just stares at him, looking slightly bored and even a little bit amused.
That scares me because what the fuck. Who comes into someone else's home, filled with their guards, and sits there with a smirk.
I press my hand harder against Saint's back, a subtle pressure. Stop. I try to say without words. This is not a situation in which he should lose control, and yet, he is determined to do just that. I can feel it.
"What do you want?" I ask, my voice as steady as I can make it.
I channel Bianca. She was never frazzled.
Someone could have a gun to her coiffed head, and she would smile, and ask how they like their tea.
She'd also lace it with poison and make sure to blow their dick off, but I'm all out of those tricks.
"Direct. I like that." Artem leans back and studies me. There's something in his eyes that puts me on edge but also makes me feel powerful. He's taking me seriously, at least, more than he is Saint. "Alexei always preferred women who simpered. Pretended to be helpless. It made him feel powerful."
"Alexei's dead," I remind him. I'm not even sure where the hell he is going with all this.
Saint is breathing loudly next to me. He can't think. He's like a rabid dog. Not that Artem pays him much attention.
He's here for me.
Saint, I suspect, is just the person who will be able to give him whatever the hell he wants. After all, I have no real power.
"Yes. You made sure of that." His eyes are cold. Calculating. "Tell me. How did it feel?"
The question catches me off guard. "What?"
"Don't talk to my wife," Saint snaps. "You are here to talk to me. We are men—"
Artem brushes him off. "Your wife has proven herself capable of sitting at the table, no?"
I straighten my shoulders. Saint notices and glares.
Please, keep quiet, I beg him mentally.
I can handle Artem. "What is your question?"
"Killing him. How did it feel?" He's genuinely curious. "Your first kill, I assume?"
I don't answer. He's trying to back me into a corner. So far, I've admitted nothing, and I don't plan to give in now. I don't know what his game is, but I'm not playing.
"I remember mine," he continues. "I was sixteen.
My father's business partner tried to have him killed.
Failed. Father asked me to handle it." He smiles.
It doesn't reach his eyes. "I was terrified.
My hands shook. But when it was done, when I saw him bleeding out—" He pauses, closes his eyes in pleasure, lost in the memory.
"I felt powerful. For the first time in my life. "
"Is there a point to this?" I ask, pretending to be bored. "We have things to attend to."
"The point is that I understand." He leans forward, trying to appear open.
Doesn't work. There's nothing soft about this man.
"Alexei was a horrible man. He did bad things.
Killing him was necessary." His voice goes low, and his eyes glaze over slightly.
"There are a long line of women who lacked your strength, and they paid for it. "
"What do you want?" Saint asks, sensing I need him.
This time Artem turns to my husband. He's done baiting me, for now, anyway. I'm sure that he will be back at it.
"Power." He says it simply. Honestly. "I want what Alexei had. What he wasted. The New York Bratva. Access to the ports. The operations. The family."
"Igor is next in line," Saint says.
"Igor." Artem's voice is dismissive. "Igor is Alexei's dog. No better."
Saint grits his teeth. "I have no bearing on the succession."
"True," Artem says. "From what I hear, you barely held on to your own crown."
"How is it that we can help you?" I ask. I want this man out of our house. Saint seems to have gathered his control, but Artem is putting me on edge. "You clearly came here with some sort of plan."
"Igor is well liked. Taking his spot will be bloody. I need to bring something to the table."
He looks at Saint.
"I want fifty percent of your business."
Saint snorts. "No, fucking way."
Artem shrugs. "Then I'll have little choice but to share with the family how your pretty little wife has started a war.
" His eyes don't leave Saint. "Tell me, do you think the other families will come to your aid.
After all, the Neros have disowned her, and well…
we all know where the Neros go, most follow. "
"I can handle the Russians."
"I've seen your work," Artem nods in grudging respect. "The question is can you hold onto the family while doing it?"
Saint hesitates, just slightly. He's quiet, tense, and I know he's thinking about the vote. He's just starting to come into his own as Don, and now…this would ruin him.
Guilt gnaws at my stomach. I did this.
Artem places his phone on the table. "Perhaps, you need an incentive."
The footage is grainy but clear. Me entering Eclipse. Timestamp: 1:47 PM.
I don't leave. I'm not on camera anywhere. It's not a smoking gun, but it's enough to get people asking questions. At worst, everyone will know I was there when Alexei died, at best, this makes Saint look like a cuck. Either way, we lose.
My stomach drops.
"This alone could ruin you, but I also have my own coroner's report. Had it done before the body was released. Interesting how many discrepancies there are with the official one." He pockets the phone. "I'm taking over the Bratva. If you force my hand, I'll take over your business as well."
"What are you offering for my cooperation?" Saint asks.
"Saint," I grip his arm, my fingernails pressing into his flesh, "don't."
"The footage disappears."
Saint's jaw works. He's seconds from agreeing, and I can't allow that to happen. I wrack my brain, but I can't think clearly, can't see a way out.
Luckily, Artem throws us a bone.
He pulls out a card and sets it down on the table. "You have one day. I have business, so I can grant you the gift of time. After that, the footage goes to the Bratva council. And your life becomes very complicated."
He moves toward the door. Stops. Saint hasn't moved, and if I couldn't feel his heartbeat under my hands, I would be sure he was dead.
"One more thing." Artem is addressing me. "I meant what I said. About understanding. What you did to Alexei—" Something like respect flickers in his eyes. "He underestimated you. Thought you were just another pretty thing to own. He died for that mistake."
"Is that a warning?"
"It's a compliment." He opens the door. "Don't waste it by making the same mistake he did. Don't underestimate your opponent."
He leaves, and all hell breaks loose.
Marcello is in the room immediately.
"What did he say? What does he want?"
I look at the card on the desk. At the door where Artem just left. At my husband, whose eyes haven't left the card. His fingers flex as though around a gun, and I already know what he's going to do.
"He wants cooperation. Neutrality while he takes over from Igor." I pick up the card. "And he has twenty-four hours' worth of leverage to get it."
"Fuck that." Saint's moving. His stupor has cleared, and he's become Don once more. The coldness in his eyes makes them look like Emeralds, and I know, without a doubt, he's ready to kill.
I also know that won't work. There's no way that Artem was allowed in by the guards, which means he got in on his own. There's a lot more to him than meets the eye.
"What does he have?" Marcello asks.
"Footage of Gemma entering the club the day Alexei died. He wants us to stay neutral while he takes over the Bratva and cede fifty-percent of our territory, or he sends the footage to the Russians and starts a war."
"Shit." Marcello runs a hand through his hair. "Okay. We can work with this. He gave us twenty-four hours, which means we can negotiate."
Saint's pacing. He's not in the space for a negotiation, and Marcello is na?ve if he thinks that's what Artem wants. "He wants us to bend the knee."
"Then we give it to him." Marcello's voice is calm. Logical. "Territory. Operations. Whatever keeps him quiet. We can't afford a war with the Russians. Not now. Not while you're still consolidating power."
"You want me to give that fucker what he wants?" Saint's voice rises. "You want me to pay him off for threatening my wife?"
"I want you to be smart. We can lose some territory. Give him marginal operations. It'll still be a win."
"Smart is putting a bullet in his head. Tonight. Before he can use that footage."
"And if he's made copies?" Marcello steps forward. "Saint, think. He has failsafes. We'd be fighting the entire Bratva while half our own captains are still questioning your leadership."
"Then what?" Saint wheels on him. "We just let him walk in here, threaten Gemma, and give him whatever he wants?"
"If that's what it takes—"
"No." My voice cuts through their argument.
They both turn to look at me.
"No?" Saint's eyes are wild. "Gemma, he threatened you. He has footage that could get you killed—"
"I know what he has." I set down the card. "And I know what you both want to do. You—" I look at Saint. "—want to kill him. Eliminate the threat. Protect me." Then to Marcello. "And you want to pay him off. Give him territory. Keep the peace."
"Do you have another suggestion?" Marcello's voice is careful. Like he's humoring me.
I move to Saint's desk. Sit in his chair. Look at both of them.
"I suggest we do neither."
"Explain." Saint's still tense. Ready to fight or fuck or both.