SIX
Benito
S he moves away from my touch, still holding my gaze as she lifts the glass heavy with alcohol to her lips and takes a long draw.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea after what you’ve been through.” Dion joins us at the liquor cabinet and gently removes the tumbler from Nastasya’s hand. “Head injuries and alcohol don’t mix very well.”
“Who says I have a head injury?” She folds her arms, clearly annoyed he denied her the release.
“The way you continually close your eyes and frown, touch your temple, and move with distinct precision.” Dion grins. “Shall I go on?”
I storm to the far side of the room and slump onto the sofa, pissed my brother noticed details I overlooked. She blinded me with her aura when we were kids and stole my breath as a teenager. It appears even now that she can disarm me with her presence alone.
“Have you been checked over?” Dion continues. “Surely your father took you to the ER before bringing you here.”
Stas stares up at my sibling, her eyebrows raised, before snorting an un-ladylike laugh. “You’re serious?”
“Of course I am.” He circles her, pulling the collar of her jacket down her back to assess a burgeoning bruise. “You’ve been through a traumatic event. There may be injuries unseen.”
“I’m fine.” The Bratva brat strides to a clear space near the door, placing a chair between herself and Dion’s curiosity. “I have a few scrapes and aches, but nothing serious.”
“And up here?” Dion taps his head. “You shook when you got here. Clearly, the shock hasn’t worn off.”
“Is there a time limit when it should?” Her shrewd gaze cuts through him, and she swallows. “I witnessed my best friend die. I failed to save her.” The words stick in her throat.
I long to say something to appease her conscience—but I can’t. The leather arm of the sofa creaks beneath my fist.
“It’s not your responsibility to prevent tragedy,” Dion says quietly, positioning himself beside the fire.
“It makes sense, though.” Alessio leans over the arm of his seat, nonchalantly staring up at the ceiling as he speaks. “It’s her fault the woman was there.”
I pick up the nearest thing to me—a cushion—and throw it at his stupid skull.
He flicks his middle finger and then places the pillow beneath his head. “Can’t hate me for stating the obvious.”
Nastasya’s nostrils flare, her gaze locked on the edge of the Persian rug between us all.
“Whoever shot the bitch wanted her.” Alessio points to our guest. “It wouldn’t have happened if she weren’t in the car.”
“Stop it, Alessio.” Dion watches the flames dance over blackened logs.
“I’m right, though.” Our reckless little brother rights himself in the seat. “The mutt makes friends knowing she invites them into our world. We don’t live by the same rules as anyone else. Things happen that we take for granted as par for the course, but if this Bratva bitch hadn’t been so selfish, her friend would still be alive, leading her boring life.”
“I said stop it.” Dion turns and pins Alessio with a hard stare.
Nastasya continues to stare at the floor, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears.
“You’ve got to get used to being alone,” Alessio presses, addressing Nastasya directly. “If you give a shit about people, you’ll cut them out of your pathetic life before somebody else does.”
She vaults from beside the chair, hair flowing behind her as she launches across the room. Alessio’s lips split into a shit-eating grin reminiscent of our uncle as he prepares for her attack. Hands before him, he fends off the worst of her rage, but Nastasya still manages to get her hands around his throat. When he fails to show any signs of distress, she straddles his lap to rear her right hand back and prepares to strike the smug look off his face.
I sigh when Dion captures her wrist; Alessio deserved it.
“This doesn’t solve anything.” Our middle brother pulls the enraged guest off Alessio.
Nastasya’s eyes remain wild, her lips parted as she pants through the anger fueling her veins. I shift in my seat, remembering when she looked at me with such unrestrained emotion.
“Truth hurts, hey little girl?” Alessio touches two fingers to his neck, massaging the skin.
“ Nadeyus', ty umresh'. (I hope you die). ” She spits the words at him with a fluency that would suggest she was born in the motherland.
I know otherwise.
The crack of the office doors jolts us all to attention. Alessio sits a little higher, and Dion and Nastasya stand ramrod straight, shoulder-to-shoulder. I rise from my seat and straighten my collar, ready for whatever the bosses wish to share.
Arseni exits first, closely followed by his detail. He snatches his daughter by the sleeve, dragging her behind him without a word. My brother and I stay rooted to the spot, each turning our heads to track the guests from the room.
Papa stalls in the doorway, hands on the lapels of his coat. He draws a deep breath, shoulders rising as the slam of the front door echoes through the room.
“Benito.” He jerks his head toward his office. “We need to talk.”
I cross the room, aware of the grin my youngest brother sports and the frown marring Dion’s face. Ignazio and Petey enter the room to my right, my uncle following me into the heart of this home.
Papa lifts his hand to gesture to Petey. “I need you for this as well.”
“What happened?” Dion stands with arms folded.
“Nothing for you to worry about, son.” Papa jerks his chin. “Go check on your mother for me, yes?” He casts his gaze across Alessio before settling on the soldier at the door. “Once the Kuznetsovs have left, take my youngest son home, Manny.”
The grin flips on the fucker’s face, Alessio’s lips downturned as he’s effectively shut out of family business. I toss the asshole a wink on my way past, earning a snarl in return.
“What was discussed?” Pietro stands to the left of my father’s desk.
Papa watches Ignazio, waiting until my uncle closes the doors behind us before he speaks. “Arseni wanted a promise that our families will stay on the same side.” He trails his fingers across the leather top of his desk before tapping them twice against the surface. “While the Kuznetsovs pose no threat to us should there be a war between our houses, it’s in our best business interests to keep the peace.”
“Cut to the chase,” Uncle Naz snaps. “What did you agree to?”
My father levels his older brother with a warning glare. “I suggested a treaty of sorts.”
“The details?” Petey asks.
Anything of this level needs to be aired with our consigliere first. As the neutral voice in the room, Pietro has the power to override anything my father suggests should he think it’s not in the organization’s best interest.
“Arseni has only one heir—Nastasya. While times have changed, and we view things more progressively as we once would, you all know as well as I do that having a woman at the head of his table leaves his organization weak.”
“Not our concern, is it?” Naz asks. “It’s better for us if they’re compromised.”
“Is it, though?” Papa leans his shoulders against the wall behind his desk, arms folded. “To maintain the port connection, we need the Irish on-side. By alienating the Russians, the Irish turn further against us. Our only other line in is via the Albanians, but we all know that our relationship with them is volatile depending on what street politics influence the end user.”
“Just say what you mean, Gennaro.” Naz rubs his temples with his middle finger and thumb, echoing my sentiments.
“Nastasya needs a strong partner if she wishes to control the family business.”
My gut knots; there’s only one reason my father would have me here for this.
Papa meets my eye and says, “I suggested a union.”
I feel the heat of Ignazio’s stare without the need to look his way.
“Benito has no chance of heading our family, as much as it pains me to say it.”
I nod at my father’s statement, well aware of the circumstances that prevent me from taking my birthright role at the head of the table.
“But if he were matched with Nastasya, it would solve the Kuznetsov problem and put a key family member at the helm of our adversary’s business.”
“You plan a coup?” Petey asks.
“It’s not a takeover.” Papa lifts his chin. “It’s a strategic safeguarding of our interests.”
I drag a palm over my face. I’m not opposed to being paired with Nastasya—I’d have to be blind and deaf to be immune to her appeal. But there’s history, complications, and so much shit under the bridge that we haven’t voiced in too many years.
It’s not as simple as Papa thinks.
“It’s a wise move,” Petey agrees. “I think it could be beneficial for relations to have one of our own closer to the Irish connections.”
I don’t even have a say in this—that much is clear.
“We already have Alessio learning from me,” Ignazio counters. “Together, we maintain the Irish connection. What do we need this for?”
“And throughout your tenure in that role,” Papa states, “there have been too many times where we almost lost everything. Am I wrong?”
“So, you think he can do a better job?” My uncle lifts a hand toward me with contempt. “You undermine my authority.”
“I strengthen it,” Papa hollers. “It’s a two-prong attack. It has nothing to do with what you currently undertake.” He sighs, turning his back to my uncle. “I’ve made my decision.”
“It’s bullshit.” Ignazio throws out a stiff arm, sliding the glassware off the credenza behind him.
The items crash to the floor—the liquid from the carafe barely on the carpet long enough to soak in before Naz tears out the office doors. Pietro sighs, exchanging a look with my father before he follows to do damage control. The heads have spoken, and the decision has been made. No matter how much he dislikes the idea, my uncle can do nothing about it.
Makes me want to go through with it even more.
I turn to leave, halted by my father’s voice. “Stay, Benito. Shut the door.”
I close us in once again and then slowly turn to address my father.
He meets my gaze, searching my eye for any sign of unease. “You know I do this for you, as well.”
I nod. I understand where Papa’s heart lies, and I appreciate the offer.
“You will never head the family, and that pains me, son. You would be one of the best—I know it.” My father sighs, scrubbing a hand over the back of his head. “Putting you with the girl you lost seemed like a bittersweet consolation prize, but I’d rather see you married to a woman who will make you happy than one you despise.”
My lips twitch, a smile there but held back by my apprehension at a union with Nastasya. I hurt her when we were last together. I left her heartbroken and betrayed. And I couldn’t do a damn thing to explain why.
I still can’t.
“It will work out in time,” Papa assures, rounding his desk to stop before me. “I love you, son. I want the best for you.” He cups my cheek briefly before giving it a gentle pat. “A strong woman such as Nastasya can do that for you.”
Unable to do anything else, I pull my father into a hug and slap him on the back. He smiles when I back away, nodding before I leave the room.
I’ve been gifted the only girl I ever wanted.
In the worst way possible.