Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Tolya
Tolya’s Office, Two Days after the Dinner Party
The moment Yaro steps into my office without knocking, I instantly know something is off. He only comes in unannounced when the news is bad – or bloody.
“The hit failed,” he says, voice clipped and sharp. “Target never showed. Switched locations at the last minute, the men didn’t have enough time to compensate and execute. No warning, no pattern changes, just an abrupt switch. He had to have been tipped off.”
I don’t answer right away. I continue to stare out the glass window as I listen. It’s raining out, a fitting ambience to the news of failure.
I ordered the hit on Giovanni the morning after the dinner party. It’s easy enough to recognize that if this treaty is going to move forward, the man needs to be removed from the picture altogether.
“Tipped by whom exactly?” I ask, watching his reflection in the window. “Any idea?”
“Felt professional, higher up. Quiet, clean. But too precise to be pure luck,” Yaro answers with a shrug. His tone tells me he has a suspect despite his words.
My mind turns over the little information that I’ve been given. Working fast. Possibilities. Motives. Access. And then the wrong type of silence hits me.
Nico. That bastard.
I haven’t heard from him since the dinner party. Not a call. Not a message. No follow-up meeting as I had instructed. Nico’s too loyal – too smart – to forget something that important.
My jaw clenches. He knows me well enough by now to guess that removing Giovanni would be my next move after his obvious objections to our plans that night.
“You think it was one of their men? Who?” I ask, already knowing what Yaro’s going to say.
“I think someone did. Who, I can’t say for certain,” he answers. “And the only ones who’d want that hit to fail are those within the Italians’ circle. Those who still stand to profit from the trade.”
The flesh trade. The one his family has built their fortune on. The one Nico promised to help shut down. Those promises are the entire reason I marry Eva in the first place.
And he’s gone radio silent since dinner. That’s not forgetfulness, that’s an admission of guilt.
Turning slowly away from the window, I walk back to my desk, sitting down in my leather chair.
“Nico,” I say.
“That’s my suspicion as well,” he confirms.
“He hasn’t called,” I say flatly. “Because he doesn’t want to lie to me directly.”
Yaro gives a humorless laugh. “Or perhaps he knows he’s fucked you over and doesn’t want to bleed for it.”
I don’t respond. The heat behind my ribs rises slowly, evenly. Then I smile, a violent, unsettling smile that calls for blood.
“What’s your order?”
“Call the boys,” I say as I stand again, pulling my jacket on and buttoning it, then straightening my cuffs. “I think it’s time that my brother-in-law comes for a visit.”
“And if he declines?”
“He doesn’t have a choice,” I say, “tell him it’s a friendly visit. Invite him for dinner in Eva’s name. Even if he’s guilty, he won’t risk disappointing his darling little sister.”
Yaro lifts a brow. “Friendly.”
“Sell it. Don’t tip him off,” I command.
“Got it,” he says with a grin, pulling his phone out and dialing as he steps toward the door. “We’ve got the green light. Pakhan wants the Italian brought in—soft hands, but firm delivery. Don’t break him on transport, he’s expected to be in one piece when he gets here.”
I laugh at the enthusiasm in his voice. Low. Anticipatory. If Nico’s gone back on our deal, if he’s put my men in danger—if he’s dared to gamble with Eva’s place after all of this—I’ll be the one to put him in the ground.
Not because I want to hurt her. Quite the opposite. Because loyalty comes at a price. And if he’s sold me out … then he has a debt to pay.
Two hours later, the elevator chimes, sharp and loud in the quiet space. Eva’s spent the entirety of the day holed up in the spare bedroom that she and Mila have turned into a small art studio.
I just hope they stay there for the duration of the afternoon. I’m second-guessing my earlier thought to put a lock on the outside of the door to lock them in when the boys and I need to conduct bloodier business within the penthouse.
I’ve spent the entirety of the past two hours pacing. Remembering every moment Eva has looked at me with those doe eyes of hers. The way she’s finally begun to trust me. The feelings I’ve found that I’ve accumulated for her. Everything we’ve built in six short days.
All the things that will be broken if her brother has betrayed me. The things that will fall into splintered pieces, possibly never repairable, if his blood is on my hands today.
The doors open and Yaro gives Nico a hard shove into the foyer. He stumbles, glaring back at the Russian before brushing off the front of his coat. Turning to face me, he stands tall, proud, giving me a look like he’s still deciding if this is a misunderstanding or the beginning of the end.
“Out,” I command Yaro. My voice is cold and clipped. “Guard the garage. No interruptions.”
With a nod, he steps back onto the elevator and presses a few buttons. The doors close and he’s gone. Leaving Nico and me alone to settle our differences.
“Come in, Nico.” My voice is anything but welcoming as I retreat to the bar and pour myself a drink. I don’t offer him one; hospitality isn’t afforded to traitors. “We need to talk.”
“What’s this about?” he demands, following closely behind me.
“You tell me.”
I watch him as I sip my drink. The whiskey burns as it goes down, a sensation that I enjoy given the circumstances.
He blinks at me in confusion. “You dragged me here and I’m the one that’s supposed to start talking?”
“My men had strict orders to carry out a hit the night after the dinner party,” I begin. “Oddly, the target magically changed his normal pattern that night. Ring any bells?”
“What target? I don’t know what you're talking about,” he argues with building frustration.
“You redirected Giovanni. You’re protecting him,” I accuse.
“What?”
“I said,” I bite out, “you redirected Giovanni. Told him to break his pattern of going to the den where they hold the new girls each night. He’s supposed to be there to check the new inventory.” I hate saying it that way. The words themselves feel dirty. “He never showed.”
Nico’s brow furrows. “How would I possibly know that? I’m no more involved in that business than you are. And I didn’t know anything about you ordering the hit. Even if I did, why would I warn him? It does me nothing but good to have him gone –”
I cut him off, taking a step forward threateningly. “I’m asking the questions.”
His mouth shuts and he takes a deep breath. Anger radiates from him as I circle him slowly.
“My men are under strict instructions to take Giovanni out,” I say quietly. “And somehow, by some miracle or forewarning, the man alters a routine he’s maintained for years.”
I see the flicker in Nico’s eyes, the defensive coil of a man who knows he’s facing life or death. But the fury boiling in my chest doesn’t give a shit about explanations or excuses. I take another step forward and, before I can stop myself, my fist flies.
The crack of my knuckles against his jaw bone ricochets through the room. Nico staggers back, gripping his face, blood already forming at the corner of his lip.
“Son of a bitch –”
“You think I’ll go easy on you just because you're my wife’s brother?” I roar, fury overriding logic, past diplomacy, “I won’t. Not if you're the reason that bastard still breathes.”
Gathering himself, he surges back at me. We collide, grappling hard. For a moment, fists fly and grunts fill the space, knuckles meet flesh, legs slam into furniture. The two of us crash over the few pieces that decorate the room.
I slam him into the wall and he shoves me back, putting just enough distance between us for me to pull my gun.
“Don’t test me, Nico,” I warn, aiming right between his eyes. “I’ll paint that wall with your blood and still sleep like a baby tonight.”
That’s a lie.
“Do it,” he spits. “If you think I betrayed you, then do it.”
“Tolya – stop!” Eva’s voice rings through the room. Desperate. “Mila, go back to the studio and stay there!” she orders sharply.
Then she’s there, stepping in front of me. Directly in the line of fire between the barrel of my pistol and her brother.
I freeze. Time stops and I lower it instantly.
“Are you insane, Eva?” I growl, my voice cracked and low.
The sight of her standing at the end of my gun sight ignites a different kind of rage in me altogether. She doesn’t back down. Her eyes lock on mine, unflinching.
“What’s this all about, Tolya?”
“You have no idea what he may have done!” I snap.
The gun in my hand suddenly feels heavier than any weapon I’ve ever held. I return the piece to its holster, cursing under my breath as I back away a single step. Reaching for her and pulling her with me.
She comes to me willingly enough. Turning to face Nico, who’s wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and muttering something in Italian that I don’t catch.
“I swear to you, it wasn’t me,” Nico says quickly. “I didn’t know about the hit.”
“You swear to me?” I echo. “You lie to me again and the next time I draw on you, I won’t hesitate.”
“I’m not lying,” he insists, still catching his breath. “I damn sure didn’t warn Giovanni. I’d celebrate if he vanished. But I didn’t warn him.”
“Will someone tell me what the hell this is all about?” Eva shouts, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions.
Both Nico and I break from watching each other to look at her and I realize she’s shaking. Not just her hands, but all over. Her hair is disheveled, half up, half down. Eyes wide and burning. She looks between us like we’re unrecognizable, like we’re monsters.
Nico is the first to answer.
“Your husband,” he says bitterly, wiping more blood from his face, “set up a hit on Giovanni. Someone tipped him off and he changed his routine out of nowhere and the op failed. He seems to be under the very misguided belief that I am the one who tipped him off.”