TWENTY-TWO
Benito
T he look on that motherfucker’s face will feed me for days. I don’t know if anybody has ever stood up to Arseni like that in the past, let alone won. But when my heart stood at my side—her arms around me to show where her allegiance lies—and told the old man how things would be… I may have got the beginnings of a hard-on.
Fucking. Hot.
I ensure Nastasya is safely buckled in her seat before I pull away from her father’s modest estate. He moved from the suburbs shortly after establishing himself in our neighborhood—or so I’m told—for better security. Open spaces provide privacy, which is non-negotiable if you operate in the underworld.
Still, he couldn’t compete with the families who’d planted roots here decades before. The problem with the Bratva around here is that they’re everybody’s friend. It’s a position that gives them ample options regarding income streams; they do it all for the right price. However, the downfall is that they fail to create a niche in anything. Fail to gain a foothold over their competitors by taking the best money-maker and making it their bitch.
Our family? Our leading operative is extortion. We control the unions, which means we control the ports, the railways, and the airports. We obtain illegal goods and oversee their distribution. Sure, we make a little here and there through narcotics and property fraud. But blackmail is where our name excels.
The Kuznetsovs, though? Last I tallied up, they had their finger in over a dozen pies. Everything from murder for hire down to low-level systems hacking. You got a job that needs doing? They have a guy who can do it. Only most of those people aren’t part of the family. They’re a complex network of associates and acquaintances. People who’ll take the job, knowing that the Russians get a little kickback from the trade.
I glance across at Stas while I wait to turn out onto the road. How much does she know about what her father does? What influence her name brings to our table.
I could guarantee it’s not as much as she should. But whatever reason her father gives to keep the woman out of the family business, I’d place money on it being utter bullshit. The thing with families is, when you’re nestled within the branches of the tree day in and day out, you miss things those with a broader view might see.
Arseni isn’t worried about letting her head the family because she’s a woman. Well, maybe a little—he is old school like that. I’d hedge bets on that gray-haired fucker wanting her away from the helm because he knows she’d be good at it. Too good.
“Why do you keep looking at me?” Stas pulls one leg up to her chest, hugging her bent knee. “It’s kind of unsettling, you know?”
I give a half-smile and then sigh. I’m so fucking over needing to communicate through my phone already.
Maybe I like to look at you. Is that a problem?
She snorts. “No. But you’re looking at me like you want to eat me.”
Perhaps I do.
I let her stew on that little truth, turning away to focus on the road while I head toward our destination. I did as Dion suggested and went to Papa first to okay this visit. Sending me in to do the family’s dirty work isn’t anything new, but he needed to look at the evidence and do what I couldn’t—separate head from heart.
I want revenge for Nastasya. I want revenge for myself, if I’m honest. They hurt the one thing I love as much as my family, and they thought they’d get away with it.
You can try running, but eventually, the devil will find you waiting. Nobody can keep the pace forever.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
I want to. But if I do, she’ll lose that smile. I enjoy seeing her feel good—proud of herself after standing up to Arseni. So, I shrug.
I get an eye-roll in return. “Seriously? You’ve kidnapped me in sweaty gym clothes, no makeup, and my hair a mess. You owe me an answer, mister.” She reaches across the vehicle to shove her fist playfully into my arm.
It takes far too much self-control to stop myself from pulling to the side of the road and hauling her on my lap. That goddamn scene plays on repeat in my head: her at my side, Arseni in his place. Fuck . Maybe the adrenalin from the fight has me so wound up? Even so, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s her I want to come down with.
I drop a throaty sigh and reach over to tap the dash display. She studies me while I flick through to Dion’s number—saved under Nemo—and tap to connect the call. First lesson in owning a smartphone when your enemies are too many to count: mask your contact list. Nothing worse than being strung up in some motherfucker’s torture room and having your mama’s name flash up on the screen.
“I take it since this is a voice call, you have Nastasya with you,” Dion says in place of a formal greeting.
“Hey,” Stas half-laughs beside me. “You’d be right.”
“What’s the grumpy asshole calling me for? Are you on your way to the house?”
Stas spares me a glance before her brow furrows. “What house?”
“Right,” Dion says, dragging out the single syllable. “He wants me to explain what’s going on, doesn’t he?” A pause, and then, “Gee, thanks, bro.”
I smirk—my gaze on the road before us. As much as my inability to speak drives me mad, it’s far more entertaining to be the spectator at times like this.
“So, here’s the thing,” Dion says on an exhale. “We found the people who own the car that ran you off the road.”
Nastasya sucks in a sharp breath beside me. There isn’t a single trace of her pride left when I chance a look her way. She accepts the hand I set on her thigh, wrapping hers over the top and gripping tight.
“Who are they?”
“They work for the Albanians. What’s the connection that brings them to you? We don’t know yet. We’re hoping to find that out today.”
“You’re going to need me there to do the talking,” she deduces, head collapsing back onto the seat. “Fuck.”
“Yeah,” Dion cedes. “I normally do that part for him. But because this is personal for you, we thought you might want to play the role.”
The car falls silent—too silent. I glance to my right and find Stas frozen in the seat, swallowing like crazy while she blinks back tears. Shit. Not what I expected. I tug her hand to ask if she’s okay, urging her to look at me.
“Everything good there, Benito?”
I flick the microphone twice. No.
“Call me back later if you still need me. Good luck, Nastasya.” Dion disconnects, giving Stas and me time to sort this out.
I ease onto the side of the road and kill the engine. The muted sniffles from Stas’s side of the car don’t match her stoic stare, but I know what it’s like to shut down on your feelings out of self-preservation. To lock emotion out and survive on instinct alone.
I’d do anything to be able to tell her it’s okay, that I’m here. Fuck my silence. I tug her hand to break the spell and urge her to move toward me. She twists her lips thoughtfully, watching me ease my seat back to give her as much room as possible. The center console is generous in this model—stable and easily big enough that she could climb up there and sit on the leather. But I don’t want her at my side. I want her with me.
I jerk my head toward my side of the Defender.
She gives in with a sigh and first kicks her Nikes into the footwell. With the grace of a dancer, she tucks herself onto the center and then pauses to figure out how best to mount me in the seat. I don’t give a fuck if she sits sideways or facing me; I need her here.
Now.
One leg before the other, she carefully sits astride my thighs and then scoots her ass to get us closer. The friction damn near kills me. I set both hands on her waist and drop my forehead to her chest, letting out my breath in a slow, steady sigh. I tried to deny that the feelings remained when she fell off the radar, but even if my head managed to relegate her memory to the dungeon, my heart never forgot.
She’s the only one who managed to get under my skin. To infect me with her presence and leave me dependent on her for another hit.
My life isn’t complete unless she’s a part of it.
Losing my tongue didn’t cut me off from the ones I love. Losing the ability to express myself adequately wasn’t the reason I became a cold-hearted killer.
I forgot how to feel because she took my love when she left.
I want it back.
“I don’t know what to say when we’re there.” Stas cups my face in her hands, her head resting atop mine. “All I feel is anger, Ben. I’m so fucking angry because Caroline didn’t get a funeral. She missed out on the goddamn respect of a proper memorial service because those assholes took her out mob-style.”
My shoulders rise with the deep, fortifying breath I pull. She’s right: the important things are sometimes left on the table because of who we are.
Caroline wasn’t a part of our world. I never met the woman, but I helped scrub her from existence. Her death needed to remain quiet to keep the unrest small. If it had got out that there was a botched attempt on the Bratva princess’s life, then we’d have more than just the Albanians sniffing around looking for a weakness.
Those motherfuckers made it look like a mafia hit, and I want to know why.
I pull my head back to find her watching me. Stas attempts a smile, but the despair in her heart holds the corners of her mouth down. So, I kiss her. I ease the ache the only way I can, and I show her that no matter what happens today, she can trust me to care for her.
Always.
Her lips duel with mine for dominance, her hands tightening on my jaw as she shuffles closer. The sounds of our rushed breath echo within the reinforced cabin, the heat from our bodies immediate. I’m sure that, given time, we’ll find our unique way to communicate, but for now, my body is the only way I can convey what I feel.
I’ve missed her. I’ve grieved her loss and hardened myself ever to feel that way again. I shut women out for fear of the vulnerability a relationship would bring.
Maybe I didn’t want one?
Why settle down with someone if they weren’t the woman I wanted? I wouldn’t put it past my subconscious to keep me open to the possibility that this, right here, would come to fruition. That I’d have my golden rose back.
My fingers dig into her soft hips as I grind her down, forcing our connection closer. If I could use my raw strength to mash us into one, I would. I’d fucking connect us in a way that ensures she never leaves me again.
That I never hurt her again.
Because if I did, I’d hurt myself.
Fuck—I already did.
“Why did you do it?” she whispers against my mouth. “Why did you cut me off like that?”
Jesus—even our warring minds are in tune with one another.
I wrap a hand around her nape and hold her tight while I ravish her fucking mouth with a growl. I don’t want to interrupt this, but I’ll have to if I’m to give her an answer.
She loops an arm around my neck and twists herself to my side to allow me to reach for the fucking phone. My thumb flies over the screen, words fucked up and needing correction with the distraction of her heated lips on the shell of my ear. I damn near see stars when she dips her tongue into the hollow and then sucks hard on the lobe.
Take it easy on me, Lucifer. Nobody else would think to send me torture this sweet yet destructive.
I did it to protect you. I regret losing you, but not that I kept you safe.
She frowns at the words, her hand cupping mine as she angles the phone for a better view. “From what?” Sea-green irises implore me to explain. “Why didn’t you just tell me at the time?”
I twitch a lop-sided smile and huff out my nose.
Would you have let me go?
I watch her for a reaction and then add,
Because I sure as fuck didn’t want to let you go.
“I guess not.” She runs a doting hand underneath my jaw and then dots a kiss on my lips. “What meant that much, though?” Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears. “What meant more than my happiness? Our happiness?”
I knew I’d done it; I saw the fallout from the breakup. But to hear her say it. To hear how I put Stas through hell from her lips and to fucking feel the heartache in those words. Shit. I drop my head back on the seat and stare at the vehicle’s roof while suppressing the urge to yell out my frustration for her. For us.
For so many lost years.
If I tell you this now, you’ll have more questions. Stuff that’ll take me way too long to type on this shitty screen.
I show her what I’ve penned so far, waiting for a sign that she understands.
You have to promise you’ll give me time to write the rest out later—after we’ve done this visit.
Her index finger finds the waves at the end of her ponytail, winding, fidgeting, distracting from what unsettles her: me. “Okay.” Her need to know what tore us apart is greater than her need to avoid more pain.
I’m in awe of her resilience.
I draw a deep breath, comforted by the tickle of her fingertips drawing circles on the back of my neck.
The last time we were together, we saw Naz talk with someone.
I pause, replaying the memory and overlaying the current situation. Motherfucker. I figured out why Arseni wants Nastasya inside our walls.
“What is it?” She frowns, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.
I grip her hip with my free hand, holding her close, and finish what I have to say.
I saw the other person.
She stiffens beneath my touch, ducking her head to level our gazes. “You told me you didn’t know who it was.” She recalls that night like I do—I see it in the terror lurking behind her bright eyes. “You made me leave and said you’d follow. But you didn’t.”
We were young. Stupid. Hiding our forbidden love inside the walls of our families’ safe houses. It worked—for a while. Until my uncle arrived in the one place he wasn’t supposed to be.
Ignazio had told Papa he needed to head out of town. The motherfucker lied.
“Who was it, Benito?”
And all because of one detail.
Your father.
Uncle Naz met up with the enemy. He conducted a secret meeting with my father’s biggest rival.
Stas’s firm fingers on my jaw snap me out of my rage-clouded reveries. She jerks my head around before asking throatily, “Are you sure?”
I nod. My immature curiosity was the very thing that got me where I am today. I roll my lips together and then delete everything on the screen to relay the final act.
I told you something I shouldn’t have. And you told your father.
I hesitate and roll my jaw side-to-side. Fuck. I hate dragging this shit out into the light.
That Naz would never be the don.
My nostrils flare.
I betrayed the family by sharing secrets, Stas.
I can’t get my thumb to shift to the next letter. My skin burns with the need to explode, to propel all this fucking hate and anger inside of me out.
I don’t need to say another word.
“ He did it to you, didn’t he?” Nastasya’s grip on my face becomes urgent. She shakes my head in her hold, forcing me to look at her.
I relent, hating that my weakness shows.
Mafia men don’t cry.
“Did your uncle cut out your fucking tongue, Benito?” Her words are slow and deliberate. “To punish you?” She implores me with wide eyes.
I blink twice, triggering the first drop to fall. A nod. My teeth are so tight together that it hurts. Fuck, I want to kill him. I need to.
Her fingers comb through my hair, her gaze urgent as it darts across my face. She swipes the tear from my jaw and then crushes me to her chest, arms wrapped tight around my head as though I’m some precious treasure that needs defending. Perhaps to her, I am?
“And you pushed me away so he wouldn’t know I was there too.”
I nod in her hold. I can’t even. I can’t picture that. A guttural groan breaks the silence between us. If Ignazio had touched her, hurt her. Fuck. He still could.
“I’m fine, Ben.” She peels me from her safety, gaze searching mine. “I’m okay. You don’t need to think about it.”
She almost fucking died because of our family…again. She is not okay.
A heavy sigh leaves her lips, and she glances away before muttering, “I want to kill that motherfucker.”
You and me both, baby girl.
I retrieve the phone from where it lies against my thigh and type out the last words I care to say about it all.
Do you want to practice on these assholes that shot Caroline?
Her throat bobs, gaze locked on the device. She fights her instincts; I intend to set them free. I coax her to face me, pulling her close for a soft kiss. I’ll be by your side.
The muscles beneath my touch relax, and she sighs, forehead against mine. “I guess it’s about time I proved my dedication to the brotherhood.” Stas swallows hard. “Let’s pay those fuckers a visit.”
Shoulders back, she sits straighter and stares me dead in the eye.
“I want you to teach me how to kill a man, Benito.”
She’s perfect. So perfect.
And she’s fucking mine.