Chapter Forty-Three Tom #2
Good thing Enzo wasn’t joining the Rasputin clan. And he thought his family were nutcases.
“What will Katya think of it?” I drawled.
“She’ll get used to it.”
“You think?”
“She loves me.” His left eye twitched angrily. “We grew up together, like twins. Did everything together. She loves me, and I love her.”
An empty smile played on my face.
“Is this why you decided to go against your brother?” I asked. “Because you knew the pakhan would never let you be with your biological sister?”
He hesitated. Licked his lips. “Yes. I would do anything for Katya.”
My breakfast roiled in my stomach, begging to be pushed out.
“Anyway. Will everything be ready for us?” Slava worked his jaw back and forth.
“Yes.” I flipped my pad shut.
“Are you sure? All your agents? Backup? Everything?”
“Everything will go smoothly,” I promised tonelessly. “This time next week, the Ferrante brothers will all be in jail.”
I stood and made my way to the door. He remained in his seat, deep in thought.
“It always ends badly, you know?” Slava stared out the window contemplatively. “When gods and mortals get together. Some bloods simply should not mix.”
I halted halfway through the door, glancing behind my shoulder. “Who do you consider the mortals, and who are the gods?”
His pupils locked on mine like the chamber of a gun. “Feds are mortal. They come and go. Made men—now, when forged right, we are gods. Don’t fuck me over, Rothwell. History isn’t kind to people who’ve tried.”
“Oh.” I snapped my fingers on my way out of the room. “One more thing. I almost forgot. About Katya…”
At the sound of her name, Slava sat straighter, the shine returning to his eyes. “What about her?”
“I did a little research before I took you on as an informant, as I do with all family members of my sources. I don’t think you should worry about any of the Ferrante brothers taking her away from you.
” I shook my head, about to deliver my knockout hit.
“She’s fucking her professor in England. In love with him, too.”
I left work at a quarter to nine—early, in my world. Slipped into my coat and started walking. I didn’t stop until I made it to a polished skyscraper on the Upper East Side.
Luca Ferrante’s residence.
The glitzy reception had three Camorra soldiers loitering around. They stopped me on my way to the elevator.
“Where ya think you’re goin’?” the meatiest, ugliest one asked.
“Tell Luca I’m here to see him. Tom Rothwell.”
He scowled but made the call. A few minutes later, I walked out of the elevator to be greeted by five more soldiers.
They frisked me, taking extra time because I was a fed, and it was exciting.
When it was obvious I wasn’t carrying, they ushered me into the apartment.
Luca’s place was bigger and swankier than his brothers’, but unlike Enzo’s and Achilles’s condos, it looked depressingly empty.
Not of expensive furniture or highbrow decor, but of a soul.
Enzo and Achilles lived in places soaked with laughter, love, and affection.
Luca lived in a cold, hostile place suited for his personality.
I was admiring the art on the walls when the eldest Ferrante brother emerged from his office. He was in a suit, put together, but his eyes were bloodshot. “Agent Rothwell.”
“Mr. Ferrante.”
“How can I help you?”
“You can’t. But if you play your cards right, I might help you.”
He flashed me a derisive smirk. “Was fucking one Ferrante brother not enough for you, Rothwell? You had to see if another would be willing?”
The days-long strain, along with the general edginess of not having Enzo next to me, all gathered into this one moment. I grabbed Luca by the throat, smashing him against his precious abstract Emilia Spencer painting. “You watch your fucking mouth when you speak about Enzo.”
Luca’s empty eyes flattened further. “Cut the shit, Rothwell. I know my brother is a romantic, but there’s no way in hell a jaded, damaged FBI agent actually fell for him.”
“You gonna whine like a little bitch or hear what I have to say?” My fingers tightened around his throat. Fool. He thought just because I wasn’t carrying, I couldn’t kill him? Rookie mistake.
But Luca looked so irrevocably unbothered that he didn’t seem worried about dying at all. “Just making an observation.” His face reddened as I cut off his air supply. “But if you do have feelings for my brother, killing his don is probably not a great way to get him back.”
I loosened my grip on his neck, stepping back.
“You have something to discuss with me?” He fixed his collar, unruffled. “We’ll do it over a game of chess. It helps me think more clearly.”
Ten minutes later, we were in his office, arranging the pieces on a board. We flipped a coin. I got to be white. My first move was sliding the king pawn two squares forward, clearing the way for my queen and bishop.
“Very Bobby Fischer-y.” Luca let loose a patronizing smile, eyeing his pawns. His smile held the unnatural quality of an AI character trying to imitate a human. He still hadn’t asked me why I was here. He moved his knight to f3.
“How’s business?” I asked.
He shrugged noncommittedly.
“How long do you think you can keep this going?”
“Long,” he said confidently. “My father-in-law just granted me a nice loan. I can out-survive you, if I wish to.”
If he wishes to? Interesting…
“Can you solve a mystery for me, Luca?”
“I’m sure I can. Whether I choose to do so is yet to be determined.”
“You’re a gifted chess player. A rational genius. Always seven steps ahead. Yet you couldn’t foresee any of the calamities that have befallen you. Not the Bratva, not the FBI, not even your catastrophe of a marriage.”
His jaw twitched when I listed his last failure. He tapped the side of the chessboard rhythmically.
“What makes you think I haven’t anticipated all three?” he asked indulgently.
“The fact that your life is a shit show.”
“It is,” he agreed. “By design.”
“By design?” I cocked my head.
“Correct.” He slid his rook aggressively toward my queen. “Have you considered, Agent Rothwell, that perhaps upping and leaving is the only option I have left to keep my wife?”
I looked up from the board. He smiled tersely.
“Think about it. The Bratva are pissed and seeking revenge. The FBI are closer than ever, breathing down our necks. My wife cannot stay with a member of a hostile organization—not when her firstborn is the next Camorra don, with another Ferrante on the way. She’d have to choose between protecting her children and Jeremie Rasputin.
” His smirk faded, a sinister, cold frown taking its place.
“She will turn to get help from the only man who’d walk through fire to save her children.
Me. Perfect excuse to pack up Sofia, Ciro, and my unborn baby and start fresh far away, don’t you think? ”
This, I had not expected. A total and thorough destruction of everything he’d ever worked for to save the one thing no one had anticipated Luca cared for.
I’d studied the Ferrantes for years, and was under the impression that Luca and Sofia were nothing but an arranged marriage, and not a successful one at that.
Granted, I’d never looked too closely. Luca just seemed the kind of psychopath to not develop any feelings for anyone. I’d underestimated him.
He stroked his chin thoughtfully, eyes still on the chessboard. “‘The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting,’” he mused.
“Sun Tzu.” I swallowed. “The Art of War.”
He’d fooled us.
He’d fooled all of us into thinking he had no weaknesses, no blind spot, no heart.
“You’d burn your entire kingdom for your wife?” I curved an eyebrow.
“Don’t look so surprised. The fact that you are here tells me you’ll do the same for my baby brother. Love is a terrible disease, Rothwell.” He clucked his tongue. “Terminal, too.”
“You’ll destroy the Camorra?” I refused to believe his words. “Your source of income?”
“I am a wealthy man who can retire today. My money will continue making money for generations to come. I do what I do out of passion, not necessity. And my passions…” He trailed off, producing a cigarette from a soft pack and examining it between his fingers.
“The hierarchy has changed in recent months. My wife is at the very top now.”
“She hates you.” It was obvious from my time surveilling his young family.
“That’s an unfortunate truth,” he agreed. “But nothing a few months at an undisclosed location far away from this continent won’t fix.”
“You’re talking to an FBI agent.”
“I’m not.” He lit his cigarette, sitting back leisurely. “I’m talking to my brother’s lover. A man who very much wants to see his sweetheart stick around. I’ve a feeling you’ve come up with an idea to keep all of us here. I’m willing to hear it.”
“It seems like you’ve already made up your mind,” I said.
“No, Tom. Life is like chess. I never quite know what I’ll do until the moment I examine all my options. I just make sure I have plenty of them to choose from. Now go ahead.” He gestured. “Give me your best offer.”
It was my move, so I reached for my knight.
He tsked. “I wouldn’t bother.”
“Why?”
“No matter where you go with this, it’ll be pointless. I’ve already won.”
I stared at the board again. He was right. No matter what piece I moved, it was a matter of when, not if, he’d checkmate me.
I stopped the game clock. Sat back. “The Bratva’s drug shipment. It’s happening next week.”
“I know.” He fanned smoke from his nostrils, tucking his cigarette into the side of his mouth with a squint. “What’s it to you?”
“Slava’s my informant.”
He gave his cigarette a long suck, raising one eyebrow.
If he was surprised, he didn’t let it show.
As he extinguished the ember of the remainder of his smoke in an ashtray, I wondered if there was a bigger game being played here.
Luca did not look like a man digesting new, life-altering information. I was done underestimating him.
He knew.
Somehow, the bastard fucking knew.
“So he planned all this as bait,” Luca rasped, unperturbed.