Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Eva
The Dinner Party, Day Four
The hum of conversation continues all around us, dulling the moment I see the Italian contingency arrive.
I stiffen instinctively, the air catching in my lungs. “Well that’s just wonderful…”
Tolya’s hand moves immediately to the small of my back, steady and grounding. He looks at me with mild concern. “What’s that?”
I nod toward the door while taking a hefty drink from my wine glass. My eyes lock on the trio who just entered. My brother is in the lead, flanked by two other men.
“The men with Nico. Fabio Narducci and Giovanni De Mello…” I barely whisper the name. Giovanni is as cruel and disgusting as the Don and I’ve always counted my blessings that he’s never set his eyes on me the way the Don has. A shiver runs down my spine at the very thought of it.
Tolya follows my gaze and tenses beside me. “I’m not familiar.”
“Fabio’s the Don’s top capo,” I murmur. “Giovanni… he’s the Don’s cousin. Nasty piece of work that one.”
“Charming,” Tolya mutters. “Nico didn’t mention we’d be blessed by Italian royalty this evening.”
“It’s unusual for him to attend such functions,” I say. “They must be here to make a point of some sort. Otherwise, Giovanni wouldn’t bother.”
“They always are.”
The trio approaches us, and Tolya gives them a curt nod in greeting, which is returned by Nico and Fabio. Giovanni, however, has his eyes locked onto me.
“Nico,” Tolya acknowledges.
“Tolya,” my brother returns the acknowledgement just as dryly before turning to me with a small smile. “Eva.”
I nod in greeting, returning his smile.
Fabio steps forward, nodding to Tolya then turns to smile at me. That smile touches his eyes but not in a jovial way. No, this is the smile of a man who knows too many secrets.
“You are looking well, Eva.” he says to me, not bothering to acknowledge Tolya further.
An amused smirk rises at the edge of Tolya’s mouth, so subtle I doubt anyone but me sees it. He tilts his head at me, silently offering me the floor.
“I’m fine,” I answer carefully, tone pleasant but not sweet. “Thank you, Fabio.”
Still, Giovanni says nothing. His gaze doesn’t move. He makes no move to greet us or acknowledge us. Just hovers, staring me down with that cold, superior, sharp gaze of his. Making no attempt to feign civility.
“Giovanni,” Tolya says, voice cool but strong. “You seem to have forgotten your manners.”
That finally gets his attention and he looks at Tolya with a piercing gaze, “She would have been better off dead than married to you. Whatever you think you stand to gain from this alliance, you’re wasting your time. All you’ve done is end up with our seconds.”
His words slice through the noise in the room. Bile rises in my throat as my breath hitches. Before I can speak Nico is already scolding him.
“Vaffanculo!” he snaps in Italian, stepping between us and facing Giovanni squarely. “First of all, that is my sister you are speaking of. Second off, you do not speak for the family.”
Tolya doesn’t say a word – but his body shifts forward and he is suddenly beside Nico. I can feel the fury rolling off of him in cold, wild bursts.
“Easy,” Nico growls at him. Dropping his voice lower and turning to place a steadying hand on his shoulder, “He is just trying to get a rise out of you. If you throw the first punch then this entire alliance burns and that’s exactly what he is counting on. It’s not worth it.”
Fabio places a hand on Giovanni’s shoulder, faking politeness.
“Come,” he tells him, steering him away, “there are people here who actually want to talk to you. Let’s not waste our time.”
Giovanni lets him pull him away. All the while continuing to smirk at me over his shoulder.
Nico lets out a long breath, pats Tolya on the shoulder and follows. I can’t help but notice how my brother’s eyes linger on me before he turns, though – sad and hollow.
So that’s how this is going to go. I’ve got no family to return to if things go south with Tolya. I’m as good as dead.
The realization that my sacrifice has not gone over well, and has not been seen as heroic by my family is harsh and painful. To go back at this point would be to lead a life of humiliation and open disrespect.
I feel the sting of tears forming in my eyes and blink rapidly to whisk them away. Steeling my features. It wouldn't do to show weakness at a time like this, not here.
“Are you alright?” Tolya asks under his breath.
I give the tiniest of nods. Clearing my throat before responding further, “I’m getting used to being treated like nothing and no one.”
His jaw flexes. “Then I think it’s time we fix that. It’s time that they all learn that you’re far more dangerous than that.”
I laugh lightly, “Dangerous? I’m not dangerous and they all know it. That’s exactly the problem.”
“But I am.”
A bell rings, signaling that dinner is ready to be served. Everyone files into the large, lavishly decorated and formally set dining room and takes their seats. As the silverware begins to clink, so do the politics.
At first voices rise in polite disagreement, with Nico bringing up avenues of potential collaboration. His voice is careful and measured as he speaks. Phrasing things as diplomatically as possible. For the most part, Tolya holds his tongue and listens.
“How’s business, Dimitri?” Tolya asks one of his counterparts, a well-dressed man sitting two chairs away from him. Directing the conversation to a point of relevance. “Perhaps that is one of the many channels through which we could benefit from this alliance with the Italians?”
“Well,” Dimitri began, “the Armenians seem to have an ever growing demand for weapons and ammunition. If they can facilitate more influx of inventory I don’t see why we couldn’t move it.”
Tolya folded his hands thoughtfully on the table, arms forming an A as he turned his piercing gaze on Nico.
“Well?” he demands. “Can you? ARs, 308 Specials, standard 9 mils and the ammunition to accompany it.”
Nico exchanges a look with Fabio, who nods subtly, not bothering to check with Giovanni before answering confidently, “I do believe we can. After all, who doesn’t like a little extra influx of cash? It’s far less risky than other ventures.”
A smile breaks out on both men’s faces. As though they had just found a goldmine.
“Other ventures?” Giovanni interrupts, “What ventures are you alluding to that are so risky, as you see it?”
The conversation turns specifically to the human trafficking operations, quickly turning from polite to downright unpleasant. Giovanni interjects, irritation seething in his tone.
“The Don’s position remains unchanged,” he says firmly, stabbing his knife into the steak on his plate. “We are not interested in interfering with a profitable business. What consenting adults do behind closed doors is no one's concern.”
I nearly choke on my food. Beside me, Tolya sets his glass down, slowly. The move is deliberate, pulling everyone’s attention.
“And what of the children?” he asks, voice calm.
“Children?” Giovanni asks, slightly confused. “What children?”
“The ones trafficked from Eastern Europe, to start with.” Tolya replies, still calm but more demanding now, eyes ablaze.
“Or the ones born to the working girls as a result of your johns’ unprotected admiration?
Hmmm? The ones born into a life they never asked for?
Born to mothers who never wanted them. What of them? ”
Giovanni shrugs, waving a dismissive hand. “No one’s forcing them to stay. They could surrender them to a shelter for all I care.”
Nico bristles. “That’s not –”
“You,” Giovanni stabs his knife at him, “need to remember you sit as Don in temporary occupancy.”
Nico opens his mouth to respond but Tolya raises a hand, silencing the table before he can finish. The absolute authority that he possesses is unflappable. His tone holds no heat, no anger. Just cold certainty, the kind that scares people more than fury would.
“Discussions such as these are best saved for after dinner,” he says smoothly. “No need to sour a good meal with the ugliness of the world beyond these walls.”
Everyone around the table agrees slowly in hushed murmurs. Even Giovanni leans back in his chair, quietly resigning himself to the sense of his words.
I’m so busy watching the shift in everyone seated around me that I’m not paying attention to Tolya’s movements beside me. Then I feel it.
His hand, warm and deliberately settling on my leg beneath the table. His fingers search for the edge of my skirt, moving the fabric aside to touch my skin.
I freeze, glass halfway to my mouth.
His thumb brushes a slow circle over my knee, then slides further upward. Taunting, possessive.
Swallowing hard, careful to keep my face blank as his fingers tease higher yet. Bringing my glass nearer to my mouth to hide any reaction that might escape my will.
“Eva,” an older Russian woman seated across the table from me suddenly calls, “do you and Tolya plan to have children soon?”
It takes everything in me not to jerk. Placing my glass back down on the table rapidly, the crystal making an unintended scuffing noise as it meets the surface.
I force a smile, answering quickly. “We haven’t made any such plans yet.”
“She’s a fiery one,” Dimitri says, nodding at me like I’m as good as livestock. “You are going to have your hands full, Pakhan. These Italians are a fierce lot, emotional, unruly, this one still needs taming.”
Across the table, a man I vaguely recognize from an earlier introduction lifts his glass with a grin at Tolya.
Tolya doesn’t say a word at first but I feel his hand pause. Then slowly, excruciatingly, retreat. Relief wars with disappointment within me.
The smile that graces Tolya’s face at my response to the earlier question slowly slides from his face like ice melting in the sun. He straightens, leaning forward slightly in his chair, folding his hands atop the table and stares at Dimitri with deadly intent.
“This is something you would say of a dog, da?”
Dimitri chuckles, hesitating slightly. “Well, yes, I suppose it is.”