Chapter 16
Vissarian
“You don’t have a favorite ice cream flavor? You are kidding me.”
Laughing, I had to shake my head. “I’ve never been asked the question before.”
“But you have had ice cream in your life. Right?” Megan shot me a look with her cute little nose wrinkled.
I reached out with my thumb and forefinger, catching the tip, but only for a few seconds before she jerked away.
She pushed hard against my chest before twirling around, reaching for the door handle.
“Yes, I’ve had ice cream,” I told her. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my shorts, marveling at the way the sun had cast a shimmer across her face.
“Uh-huh. Funny how I don’t believe anything that comes out of those tight lips of yours.”
“My lips aren’t tight!”
Grief was a debilitating and funny creature.
There were weeks, even months that went by when my mind wasn’t strangled by the events of fifteen years before. Hell, I’d even managed to lose track of time over the years, no longer counting how many days since I’d heard her laugh or felt the soft brush of her fingertips against my skin.
Then I went through bouts of mental torture when days and nights ran together, nightmares constant even when I did manage to catch a few hours of sleep.
At first, the only thing soothing the demons had been violence.
I’d gone off the deep end for months, searching for every goddamn Italian from Jamaica to Vegas, rousing every Italian crime syndicate to the point my father and uncle had been forced to intervene.
They’d taught me the art of anger management while finding other reasons and methods to curtail my need for revenge.
The worst thing about my sorrow was that the people responsible had never been found nor had they claimed the act of violence as their own.
But I’d discovered enough in my months of being rogue that in my gut, I knew the person responsible.
What I had determined was why. Everyone in my family had attempted to convince me that the people who’d committed the act had been random criminals.
But I knew better.
I’d seen the look in their eyes, had heard the laughter as I’d fallen to pieces. They’d allowed me to live so I’d suffer for the rest of my life.
Time didn’t heal. It festered, old wounds easily picked at.
The memory was bittersweet, images that had remained dormant in the back of my mind for years. Where they should remain. Every once in a while, grief did that to me, picking apart the sweetest memories to bring nightmares from the shadows for no other reason than to torment me.
As the image of Megan’s face began to fade, another equally beautiful one shifted into place.
Fallon.
For the first time since I’d lost my world, I’d felt something again. Not just physically, but emotionally, a connection that had caught both of us off guard. How was that even possible? I knew nothing about her, prepared to resort to using another Italian to dig up whatever dirt she was hiding.
Whatever monster was hunting her.
Anger unlike anything I’d ever known lingered in my mind.
Whoever had hurt the beautiful woman would face my wrath. No matter if she refused to allow me to help her.
No matter if the person responsible was someone she was close to.
They would face harsh punishment.
“You need something.” Alessandro Costa had proven himself to be a formidable player in the world of casino kings.
Not only because of his business acumen, but also because he was an expert hacker.
Yet he was fucking Italian. How long had it taken me not to consider murdering anyone who even appeared Italian?
At least our alliance was strong, which had softened the blow of their heritage.
Italians. As soon as I’d read the character’s name, I’d almost choked. How ironic. Maybe karma really was trying to interfere with my life.
My entire family had teased me that I could no longer eat pizza because of my hatred of the nationality. That wasn’t true. I didn’t hate Italians. I loathed my failure, the weakness that had caused me to let my guard down.
I’d failed her, the one person I’d promised to protect with my life.
That would never happen again.
Now I wanted nothing more than to protect a woman I barely knew. If I allowed Mikhail to know the old anger had resurfaced, he’d cart my ass to some sanitarium or maybe a prison so I could cool down. I almost laughed because I knew I was right.
Our alliance with the Reno Cosa Nostra had proven useful, more so than Mikhail wanted to admit. Not that I’d been a fan of the alliance early on. I’d learned to become cautious over the years, but by combining forces and tricks of the trade, we’d both expanded our wealth.
As well as power and control.
What doing so had left us with were new and old enemies, many already attempting to break our hallowed reign. My resignation about Hoffman continued to increase while the fact Fallon had suddenly dropped into the scenario wasn’t something I could box away.
“Maybe I’m just calling you to invite you to a baseball game.” With the relatively new stadium, additional business had been drawn to Vegas, stretching out to Reno as well. I certainly couldn’t complain about the numbers.
“Right. As if the Bratva and Cosa Nostra can be bosom buddies,” Alessandro huffed.
“Come now. Your brother and my cousin seem to be getting along.”
He groaned. “Don’t go there. If I’m forced to see a single additional picture of my nephew crawling for the first time or in his cute little PJs or the first taste of ice cream, I’m going to puke. Don’t tell Giovanni I said that.”
His words brought another feeling of a sharp blade being driven into my chest. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”
“So what account do you need me to hack into?”
I had no idea how the Italian did it, but he could hack into any account no matter the level of security within minutes. We’d timed him. “No hacking required. At least I don’t think so.”
“Then what do you need?”
After checking the rearview mirror, I made a turn toward the location of the meeting, more apprehensive than I’d been before. It was as if Hoffman had been purposely goading me.
“Information that could be considered sensitive.”
“Who is she?”
I laughed. “What makes you think this is about a woman?”
“Let’s just say I can hear it in your voice.”
I sighed. I was doing my best to keep from abandoning the meeting altogether. I didn’t enjoy being a captive on any island where there were two ways in and out. Air or sea.
“Fallon Zimmerman. She’s a pilot who usually flies for American Airlines. From what I know, she lives in Miami, but I have a feeling she’s escaping her past.”
“That’s it?”
“She’s friends with Jeffrey Collins if that helps, my regular pilot.”
Alessandro laughed. “You like testing me. Don’t you?”
“If you’re as good as you say you are…” I allowed the words to hang.
“Liliana said you were a closeted bastard.”
“My sweet cousin would say no such thing.” I grinned because the words sounded exactly like the woman. Liliana reminded me of Fallon in several ways, including their rebellious instincts. It was good to see my cousin happily married. Even to an Italian.
“You should hear what else she has to say. I’ll see what I can find.”
“Do it as soon as you can. Please.”
“Oh, well, if there’s a please I might drop everything else I was working on.”
Snickering, I glanced at one of two weapons I had inside the rental car. Seeing her reaction had been the first giveaway she’d been through some trauma. “I’ll owe you one.”
“Yes, you will.”
After shoving the phone into my jacket pocket, I rolled my finger across my bottom lip, trying to curtail the rage. Given what I’d seen with Hoffman the day before, I could easily take out my fury on the man when it was possible his advances had been benign.
Not that I bought that shit in the least.
But I was here for a purpose. Discover what the fuck they really wanted.
The other side of Saba Island from where I was staying had been hit hard by a hurricane only a couple of years before, ravaging the then-prosperous tourist mecca.
There were no pristine beaches as on St. Martin, the rocky terrain certainly not what most people thought of when vacationing in the Caribbean.
While I wasn’t opposed to the idea of expanding our business in other areas of the United States, doing so in a foreign country thousands of miles away wasn’t prudent in my opinion.
A view that neither my brother nor cousins shared.
Maybe sending me here was Mikhail’s way of forcing me to abandon the past altogether.
He’d insisted during the last few years I’d allowed my memories to interfere with my job performance.
Laughable in my mind. But what the heck.
I’d handle the meeting, tell the Europeans to go fuck themselves, and fly back home.
Quick and easy.
I drove the rental car to the location provided by Hoffman’s assistant, sighing as soon as I did.
When I glanced into the rearview mirror, I noticed my eyebrows were almost stitched together from fucking frustration.
Since the first day my father had brought the offer to the table, I’d had a bad feeling whatever connection he’d had with Hoffman wasn’t something he wanted discussed in the family.
Why had they sought out a man who’d been basically retired for over a decade? The conjecture was an interaction from the past. If so, why hadn’t he mentioned it?
Ivan Dmitriyev was a tough old bird, not handling the concept of reality any better than my uncle, the former Pakhan.
While Dad had been right by Uncle Boris’ side after coming to America, he had been the one who’d fought against the company diversifying.
In other words, he’d wanted to remain entrenched in illegal activities.
Thankfully, Mikhail’s positive influence and keen business sense had helped soothe the disgruntled nerves while forging a path to legitimacy.