Chapter 35 – Luca #2
She's quiet for a moment, processing. Then she nods, a small, decisive movement. "Okay."
The tension in my shoulders eases slightly, one problem sorted, but there's still work to be done.
As the family heads gather near the bar, my father among them, Mikhail drifts closer, still keeping Ignacio in his sights, and inserts himself into the conversation, earning a few curious looks.
My father's lip curls. "Mikhail Volkov. I wasn't aware you were on the guest list."
Time to go. Reluctantly, I hand my stunning bride off to Corso with a kiss, while I join the men drinking whiskey and smoking their cigars.
"A recent addition," I state, crossing to the high top where the men have gathered.
Mikhail signals the bartender for a drink as the heads exchange loaded glances. They recognize the name, they know Mikhail is a hitman for hire, but they’re still used to being treated with a certain level of deference, which the Russian hitman clearly has no intention of observing.
"Speaking of recent events, I was hoping to discuss a small matter with you, Alfonso. Regarding your nephew." He takes a long drink. “Orlando.”
The atmosphere shifts immediately. The other family heads watch Mikhail with interest, suddenly alert. This is no upstart with too many drinks on board. He’s here for a reason.
"Orlando?" My father asks, trying to disguise his concern. "What about him?"
Mikhail leans against the bar, in no rush to put my father out of his misery, knowing he has everyone’s rapt attention.
"He's been expanding into Russian-controlled business operations.
Quite aggressively, actually." Mikhail shrugs.
“Some would say stupidly.” He accepts his drink with a nod of thanks.
"Prostitution, which we were assured you would not get involved in. Yet two of his girls were arrested last week, drawing considerable attention from the authorities, right outside one of Conti’s clubs, bringing the kind of interest from the police we all wish to ignore. "
Conti shifts uncomfortably. "We've had inspectors at three of our establishments since then. Routine, they claimed, but the timing seemed suspicious." He narrows his gaze at Alfonso, his temper rising. “Now it makes sense.”
Mikhail nods gravely, pretending to be sympathetic to their woes.
"None of us were consulted about this expansion." Marchetti's more than a little displeased. "Orlando doesn't have the authority to make those kinds of moves. Where is he? Maybe we should ask him who gave him permission."
Because everyone knows he didn’t do this unsanctioned.
All attention turns to my father. He's cornered, and he knows it, his glare poisonous as his fingers tighten around his glass.
"I'm sure there's been a misunderstanding," he says smoothly, almost disguising the venom behind his words. "Orlando is ambitious, yes, but he would never act without approval. I'll speak with him, get this sorted out."
Mikhail’s not the least bit intimidated by the feared Alfonso Calvano. "See that you do."
Mikhail's smile is disturbing rather than reassuring.
"We value our relationship with the Italian families. It would be unfortunate if one arrogant man's recklessness jeopardized decades of carefully cultivated trust and undermined our ongoing business alliances."
The implied threat hangs in the air. Everyone knows what the Russians will do if Orlando’s operation isn’t shut down, and that it won’t be pretty.
My father nods stiffly, accepting the rebuke, but I see the fury simmering beneath his polished exterior. He's been publicly humiliated, his authority questioned, and his grip on power is visibly slipping.
Exactly as I’d hoped.
“We’ll talk,” I promise Mikhail, and he nods, drifting off to resume his position near Ignacio, who watches our conversation with interest.
I’d love to take care of him right here, right now, if it wouldn’t cause chaos. Instead, I nod at him as I pass, knowing his time is nearly over.
The party continues, the other guests oblivious to the power play that just unfolded, but the family heads will remember this moment, this display of weakness, when the time comes to choose sides if my father still refuses to go willingly.
I find Sienna near the edge of the dance floor, watching the proceedings with interest.
"What was that about?" she asks quietly.
"Politics." I pull her close, swaying gently to the music. She’s about to ask me more but then seems to decide against it, lowering her head to my shoulder instead as the music changes, the DJ asking the lingering crowd to gather around.
Corso approaches on one side, but before he can take Sienna’s hand, my father, his smile wide and false, blocks his path.
"Luca. I believe it's traditional for the father of the bride to dance with his daughter at least once." He extends his hand toward Sienna. "In the absence of your own father, may I?"
Every instinct screams at me to refuse, to keep her close and shield her from whatever poison he's planning to drip in her ear. But Sienna shakes her head, assuring me she’s okay.
We're surrounded by guests, by family heads and their wives, and by people whose good opinions still matter, and she’s determined to play the part of the capo’s wife to perfection.
Sienna glances up at me and I see a hint of fear there, but also, resolve.
"Of course." She places her delicate hand in my father's. "I'd be honored."
I watch as he leads her onto the dance floor, his hand settling on her waist with a possessiveness that makes my skin crawl. As they begin to move, my father leans in and whispers close to her ear.
She stiffens almost imperceptibly then mouths, I love you.
Nico appears at my side. "Want me to intervene?"
"Not yet." I keep my eyes on them, watching every micro expression, every ounce of tension in her shoulders. "Hopefully, he gets his kick from pissing me off and leaves, tail between his legs."
Even as I speak the words, Sienna’s pale face and thin smile send a cold dread settling in my stomach.
I thought the worst of the day was over, the shooter identified and Orlando’s wings clipped, but watching her rigid posture and my father’s sneering face, I have a feeling it’s only just begun.