25. Aria
25
ARIA
I have to do this under the cloak of darkness. It's nearing midnight, but if I were to be seen with Peter, it would cost him his life. We go way back, but I know his ruthlessness. When he's ensnared, his temper goes supernova, and I don't want to be anywhere close to him if that happens. We have an understanding, but it'll never supersede the connection with his family.
Tito agreed to let me work my magic without asking any questions. It's a matter of trust, which I now have for him and he for me. When he said he wanted to be my partner in life and in business, he wasn't kidding. For all he knows, I could be working as a double agent for the Russians, hell-bent on destroying him, and though the double-agent part wasn't accurate, for a while, I was. I wanted him to weep at my feet and grovel for my forgiveness because of the things he threatened to put my father through.
Now I just want the fighting to end and my father to be of sound mind and safe in body for the rest of his life. Losing Jasper changed the game. It didn't necessarily change my outlook for this arrangement. That came later. What it did was show me how short life is and how fragile we all are. If Tito can order a hit to take my brother out without even being suspected, then he could do far worse to my father, and it seems Dad is handing him everything he wants on a silver platter.
I drive a borrowed car, untraceable and donated to my cause by Tito who did not ask where I would go this late at night. Though he did kiss my forehead and ask me to be safe. My stomach rolled with nausea when he said, "You may be carrying my heir." He can only suspect things right now. There is no way he knows anything. I've hidden it very well, behind fatigue and grieving. But he's right. I need to be safe for the baby's sake.
The car—a small, early model Pontiac sports car with no registered plates—hugs the curves. I have such little experience driving, though Dad insisted both of us girls learn to drive. He cautioned us that we may need the skill in an emergency, and while I don't consider this an emergency, I do think it's a necessity.
The night swallows the road, sucking in the light from the headlamps into its void. It makes navigating the turns a little anxiety inducing. As if I don't have enough anxiety as it is. There is danger on all sides. If my father discovers I'm speaking to Peter, he'll be heartbroken. He told me a long time ago that the man—then just a boy—was off limits. An enemy is not a friend. But now that I'm grown and know better, it would tear his heart out. Two children dead, one gone off to safety, and the final one a traitor? No, I can't do that to him.
If Tito's men see me speaking with Peter, they'll kill me on the spot. It's their training. They'd do it to Carlos or any of the others. I'm just a tool to bind the Ramiros to the Peraltas, and in meeting with Tito's foes, I'm breaking the agreement. I have to place my trust in Tito that he understands this is for his protection and my father's. He'll see what I'm doing and he won't see it as my breaking the agreement.
But if Peter's family catches wind that I’m with him, not only Peter will suffer. They'll make an example of me in front of both my husband and my father. They'd both be crushed. I can see it in their eyes when I look at them.
I park a few blocks away, armed with my pepper spray, a switch blade I taught myself to use with Jasper's help, and a Ruger .22 handgun. It won't kill much unless the shot is perfect, but it'll buy me time to escape in a pinch. I'm not here to destroy, just to maim, and my plan is simple. I have to make sure Carlos's plot is exposed to everyone, not to harm him, but to disarm him. His father must know how he's working with the enemy to overthrow Tito now, before the elder Ramiro dies and gives his life to the wrong son. Tito is the rightful leader, and I was mistaken when I thought Carlos could do it.
If Carlos takes the helm, there will be no respect for my family at all. He'll pick them off one by one, destroy the business, and bury the Peralta name so deeply no one will remember it ten years from now. Tito and I have an arrangement that we can at least push for ten years, longer if I'm carrying a son. I might be willing to make concessions to ensure things go smoothly for my family, at least until my father and mother pass.
I move through the night along the side of the buildings with my knife in one hand and my pepper spray in the other. It's been a long time since I've been in this part of LA after dark. A decade at least. We used to sneak out, Melody and I, and meet with Peter and his cousin. We'd kiss and do other things unruly teens do, and at one point, I thought I was in love with him. Until my father taught me the dangers of the Russian Family.
I feared Peter then, but I never needed to. Not then, at least. Now, it's a different story. I sent him our message, a code word that only the two of us know. I asked him to meet me here. His returned message stated simply, Petrovich is dead . I don’t know what that means, but I gave him instructions for this time and place—our place. A place we would meet almost nightly for a long time.
Not looking to rekindle the romance, I dressed very modestly—a black top that buttons to the collarbone and loose-fitting jeans. My heels and long black trench coat complete the incognito attire, but he'll recognize the hat, one similar to my favorite hat back in the day, a felt fedora with a very wide brim, black, of course, to help me blend in with the shadows.
I stand by the dumpster just out of the light of the street lamp overhead and wait. The time on my phone tells me he's late, at least ten minutes, but then he did tell me he was dead. I can only imagine that was his way of warning me off, trying to keep me from coming, but I have to do this. I'm still not sure whether Tito deserves my help. I instigated the trouble with Carlos for a reason, after all, but my father needs saving, and this is my only shot. If I don't reach Peter and beg him to stop this, his family may destroy everything.
"You came," a male voice says from the shadows behind me, and I reel around to see a broad set of shoulders moving toward me.
"You said you were dead…" My heart flutters nervously. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn't be doing this. It's so dangerous. Peter is an Uhkov. He's not loyal to my father or Tito. He could slit my throat in one swipe, but I have to believe the affection we once had for one another will keep him from laying a hand on me.
"The Petrovich you knew is dead, kotenok ."
Kitten. The pet name he had for me so long ago. The instant I hear it, I'm put at ease. He remembers and he wants me to know he remembers. It wasn't my fault I never came back. My father’s insistence and my fear drove me to stay away. I think he knew that.
"Peter…" I whisper, a sudden rush of all that lost emotion overwhelming me. He moves toward me swiftly, cupping both cheeks. I can feel the heat of his breath on my lips as he leans in. He smells like whiskey and musk, the thick, heady scent almost enough for me to forget who I am and why I'm here, but my breath catches in my throat.
Before his lips can press against mine, I touch my finger to them, holding him back in a move that silences his affection and his advance in one fell swoop. He lingers there, eyes searching mine in light so dim I can barely make out the faint outline of a scar across his right eye.
"I'm married now, Peter." My confession doesn't shock him. His eyes never leave mine.
"Forbidden fruit is sweeter and juicier, isn't it?" he asks, and he leans in again, only to meet my resistance again. I turn my cheek, and he kisses me softly there before pulling away. "Why is it that you've come to me?" His thick Russian accent has never faded, not one bit. He slips into a few slurs that I can't understand and then releases me. "Do you know how I suffered? How my heart ached for you and you ignored me?"
There is anger in his tone, but he won't harm me. I can tell he still loves me. I put the knife and pepper spray into my pockets and sigh. "Peter, I was only a tool in my father's tool belt. I had no choice. You have to know that." I reach for his hand and take it, and he lets me pry the fist open until his palm is exposed. I trace his lines as I continue. "I need your help."
"My family is at war with both of your families and you come to tempt me like a seductress? Did your father put you up to this or your husband? Who should I kill first?" His hand slides from my grasp and my heart clenches. This isn't the man I used to love. Life has hardened him. Pain has hardened him. Rejection… turned his heart to stone.
"You won't do either, tesoro …" My murmur pulls his strings and he loosens his shoulders. "You love me, and I can see it on your face. I need your help, please. You must help me."
He keeps his distance now, a man wise enough to know he's beat. "What is it, then?" he asks, and I know I have him right where I want him. Tito turns a blind eye on my plans for good reason. He cannot be found with red on his hands when his father sees what's been done. I have no problem with the guilty stains. I'm going to have to come clean, anyway. Tito will find out how I plotted, but he'll have no recourse. He plotted too. And I'm carrying the heir both to the Peralta throne and his own. How will he harm me? Anger, yes, but he will not lay a hand on me.
"What can I do?" Peter asks, and his tone is softer yet. If I were less of a woman, I'd give myself to him now out of sheer relief, but I will not disobey my father, not even now. And for some reason, I care enough to never cross that line with Tito.
"This is what I need…" I say, and my plan unravels before him like a map rolled out, showing the way to all who see it.
Now if Peter stays on board and Tito can manage to follow my lead, everything will work out fine. But that's a big "if". I can't even fathom the alternative. I won't even think it. Peter and I will fix this if it's the last thing we do.