The Sacrificial Pawn #2
“I don’t care what you think of me or my family,” I retorted, steel in my voice. “But you are not leaving this suite tonight. My men won’t let you.”
I won’t let you.
Her small hands balled into fists. “Damn you, Dante.” Those emerald eyes fired angry lasers at me.
I deserved it. All of it. I should never have let things get so out of control. But I’d learned my lesson. Relationships had no place in my world. They couldn’t.
Something ugly twisted low in my chest. Damnation sounded like a breeze right about now.
“Get out,” she hissed, the words breaking on a sob.
I didn’t move. Just stood there like a fool, holding the gold watch. Angry at myself, angry at the world. Suddenly, I was hit by a need so strong it took my breath away. I wanted her to understand, but I didn’t have the words.
“Ophelia—”
“Get out, Dante.” It was a harsh whisper now, but I felt the coldness underneath. I was glad of it.
Even though hearing her say my name that softly made me want to drag her back into my arms and lock the entire goddamn world outside.
Which was precisely why I couldn’t.
Finally, I gave a short nod. “Goodnight, Evelyn.”
I placed the watch on the dresser and left her alone in her gilded prison cell.
The situation—and my mood—deteriorated rapidly, and by the early hours, one of Malakov’s senior lieutenants was dead. Shot execution-style in the back of the head outside a private gaming club in Brighton Beach.
The message couldn’t have been clearer if Los Santos Rotos had carved it into his fucking chest.
At 6 a.m., Sergei Malakov called an emergency war meeting of his inner circle.
Nico’s surveillance network picked it up almost immediately.
A cavalcade of black SUVs had left Malakov’s New York penthouse, destination unknown.
Izzy, who’d been on her way back from one of her poker clubs, was tailing them.
“There’s increased chatter across all their channels,” Nico told us on the Zoom call that we’d been on half the night. “They’re mobilizing.”
I stood in my office that overlooked the insipid Manhattan skyline but didn’t see any of it. I’d taken to pacing, in the hopes that the movement would stop me thinking about Evelyn.
It didn’t.
Marco’s face appeared on the screen. He was still immaculately dressed despite the early hour, although I could see the tension behind his eyes.
“Let’s keep it that way,” Valentina said coolly from her plush home office. “The last thing we need is unwanted attention from the Feds.”
Nico leaned back in his chair, dark circles beneath his eyes. I knew the feeling. The retaliation hadn’t provided much of a distraction for me. Knowing Evelyn was in the guest room and not being able to go to her was pure torture.
I pictured her lying there fuming, cursing me. Hating my goddamn guts. And she had every right to.
It was a good thing, I told myself, even as the yearning ate me up inside. It was the way it had to be. The only way it could be. No point in dragging out the inevitable any longer.
“They’ve just arrived at Café Obsidian,” Izzy’s voice came over my computer. She wasn’t on camera, but she was connected to the call.
I frowned.
The place was an upscale Russian coffee house and private vodka lounge tucked beneath an old theater. Elegant on the surface. Illegal gambling and Bratva business downstairs.
“Closed to the public?” I asked.
“Looks like it. Security shutters are down,” she replied, her tone clipped. No hint of tiredness. Then again, she was a night owl, used to the late hours. “They’re going round the back.”
“Shit,” Marco muttered. That meant we couldn’t follow them inside.
“I’ll take up surveillance,” she said.
“You out of sight?” I asked, knowing that Izzy knew what she was doing.
“Did you really ask me that?”
If I wasn’t so cut up about Evelyn, I might have grinned.
A moment later she said, “Sergei’s just arrived in an armored vehicle. Looks like a freaking tank.”
Now that was funny. The Russian mobster was running scared. Then again, one of his top lieutenants had just been gunned down.
“Who else?” Valentina asked.
“Mikhail Orlov is with him. Dmitri Sokolov, Viktor Baranov, and Anatoly Chernov arrived in separate vehicles.”
“All the usual suspects,” Marco said dryly.
I drew in a breath. That was all of New York’s senior Bratva leadership. Chernov, my counterpart, ran enforcement. Sokolov handled Malakov’s shipping routes. Baranov controlled weapons procurement and private contractors. This wasn’t a conversation. This was war planning.
“What about Alexei?” Valentina asked.
“He came with Sergei,” Izzy replied.
Interesting.
Malakov was bringing the kid into the inner circle, even after he’d nearly gotten shot. Either to educate him… or toughen him up. I was betting on the latter.
“They’re angry,” Izzy continued. “Sergei was fuming.”
“They should be,” I muttered darkly.
“The cartel will do that to you,” Valentina said in a sing-song tone. I envied her calmness, but then she’d always been able to switch off her feelings. Or maybe she just didn’t have many to begin with. “Los Santos Rotos deserve everything they’re going to get.”
Marco grunted. “The Colombians are snorting too much of their own product if they think they can muscle into Marcelli and Bratva territory at the same time.”
“They underestimated how territorial New York is,” Valentina agreed calmly. “That arrogance will cost them.”
And we’d made sure to help things along.
I felt sick to my stomach, even though I’d barely eaten. The multiple bourbons I’d drunk didn’t help. Nothing did. Not with her gone.
Sergei and his men remained inside the club until nearly nine that morning. When they finally emerged and went their separate ways, Izzy reported that not a word passed between them. They didn’t need to speak. The tension in their faces and the grim set of their expressions said enough.
We didn’t know what was going down, but we knew it was bad.
I took a shower and fell into bed, not expecting to sleep. So it was a shock when I woke up around noon to find Evelyn gone.
Rushing into her room, I heaved a sigh of relief when I saw her belongings were still there. The suitcase she’d been throwing things into last night lay open in the corner of the room.
Trying to appear like I didn’t care, I asked the guard at the front door where she’d gone. They knew better than to let her leave alone and unprotected.
Il Lupo.
She’d gone to see my grandfather, as previously arranged. Kyle had taken her.
I was surprised. In light of our argument, I didn’t think she’d bother to keep the social engagement. She owed no allegiance to my family now; I’d seen to that.
As I climbed into the scalding hot shower, I thought about what that meant.
Either she’d agreed to go along with my plan to move her to a safehouse, or she didn’t want to disappoint my grandfather. He might be retired, but he wasn’t someone you wanted to disappoint. Despite everything, Evelyn was aware of that.
If she was with Kyle, it meant she was safe. And that she was coming home to me afterward.
My heart tightened at the thought of seeing her again, even if she did hate my guts. I didn’t think too hard about what that meant.