Antonio
Six weeks later…
Most of the men have followed in line with my leadership. They’ve accepted my new position as head of the family, don.
I didn’t kill Roberto to become the ringleader of a fucked-up circus. But that’s what I got.
I dismantled the operation involving The Cradle. I refuse to kidnap children and be a party to their illegal affairs.
It turns out that Roberto’s most lucrative schemes were stealing and selling newborns. He had his hand in a dozen or so other illegal enterprises that I’m working to grow more capital, but it doesn’t come easily, especially when our shipment of arms is repeatedly stolen at the dock.
Three weeks in a row.
It’s not a coincidence.
Someone is working for the other side, the Russians. If it were the Feds, we’d have been busted and brought in by now.
We still have our drug trade, smuggling narcotics in, paying customs agents to look the other way. It’s enough to pay the bills, but my men like living lavishly, and I don’t need them questioning my tactics.
I’m constantly being watched. I have to prove my worth to the organization that I run.
Ardian has become my most trusted ally, from soldier to second in command. The other soldiers fell in line when I stepped up and won the seat on the throne. But Mario, who was second to Roberto, I worry that he’ll betray me.
He pledged his allegiance to me when I fought him for the position. I could have killed him, maybe I should have, but there was enough bloodshed that day. He is now a soldier and guard for the complex.
Ardian slumps into my office. He looks like shit.
“Got a minute, boss?” Ardian asks.
“Come in and shut the door,” I say.
Ardian closes the door as he shuffles into the office. It used to be Roberto’s office. It’s mine now. The desk has been replaced with a darker wood, more extensive and taller to fit me better. The floor has been scrubbed, with no evidence of Roberto’s demise.
“The Russians are intercepting our weapons shipments at the dock,” Ardian says.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “They’re after our organization,” I say.
I killed Roberto because I had no other choice. I had to stop him from kidnapping children. It wasn’t out of honor or desire. I did what no one else was willing to do. I didn’t want to be the fucking boss.
“There are rumors that the Russians aren’t just hitting the Italians in New York. Men talk, sir. They say they’re moving in on all the mafia complex’s houses across the country.”
I exhale a heavy sigh. It’s nothing I didn’t already know, but hearing it makes it official.
There have been reports of fires, kidnappings, and threatening our women at gunpoint. It all started the day after Roberto snatched Liam. It can’t be a coincidence.
But what I can’t get out of my head are Roberto’s final moments.
I swear he’s your son.
Could Liam be my child? I had thought it’d been longer since Aleksandra and I had first met and stumbled into bed together. It had been on vacation, far from New York City, a fluke that we’d bumped into each other.
I’m not the beach-going type of guy. Sand gets everywhere, not to mention it’s hot and humid. My clothes practically stick to my skin.
But the ladies on the beach, topless at that, make the grainy morsels of sand worth the hassle.
I sit at the nearest hut, nursing a beer. The outside of the glass perspires from the heat. It’s how I feel, sticky and wet.
There are dozens of women of different shapes and sizes fanned out on the beach. The water is warm, clear, bright, and blue farther out to sea.
I want to jump in, cool off, let loose.
But I’m here on business.
And there are no fun times to be had. My boss is a stickler, setting up the arrangements for our activities. I’m here as the muscle.
My presence is enough to threaten these men into submission.
But I don’t care about the business or the illegal dealings. It’s the girl stalking across the sand, her long blonde hair. She doesn’t fit in—her skin tan from the long hours she’s lain out on the beach under the sun.
There’s something about her that’s caught my eye. Looks aside. Not that she isn’t gorgeous and the complete package. It takes every ounce of effort not to stare at her perfect body.
“Take a picture. It’ll last longer,” she smirks as she strides right on by me.
I shift on the stool, my beer growing warmer by the second. I swig the rest of it and stand, sinking into the abysmal sand.
“Hey, wait up!”
“I wasn’t actually offering you to take a picture, perv,” she quips, glancing at me over her shoulder.
I shuffle through the sand, and it’s like lead as I try to hurry to catch up. She doesn’t slow down in the least for me. Why would I think she’d do me the honor of having a conversation?
“I’m not—okay, I was staring,” I admit. I hold out my hand. “Antonio,” I say, introducing myself, hoping we can try this again.
She purses her lips together, and her eyes squint under the bright afternoon sun. “You’re Italian,” she remarks, quiet for a second before finishing her introduction. “I’m Aleksandra.”
Russian.
We should be enemies, but we’re on vacation. Besides, it’s not like she’s part of the bratva. Right?
She glances me up and down. It’s like she’s deciding if I’m worth her time or not. “Let me guess, you’re here on business and want to have a little fun?”
She isn’t wrong.
“Is it that obvious?” I ask.
“The white button-down shirt and black slacks,” she says, pointing at my outfit. “Gosh, you look like the Italian Mafia. The least you could do is remove your shirt and pants. If you’re going to stare at a beautiful woman, give her something to look at too.”
There’s something about her that draws me to her. I’ve never met anyone like her. She’s outspoken and fierce. Strong and determined. I ignore her mafia comment. She’s pegged me based solely on looks, and while she isn’t wrong, I don’t need to tell her whom I work for. It’s not like she knows the name Roberto Moretti. We’re far from New York City and the criminal enterprises we left behind.
“You look hot,” she says with a wry smirk. “How about we get out of here?”
That should be my line. I should be the one wooing her, convincing her to come back to my hotel room.
“Where to?” I ask. I have a dozen thoughts fleeting through my mind of places I’d love to experience with her, like ravishing her beneath a waterfall or fucking her on a yacht.
She yanks on my tie, dragging me to follow her back to her cabana.
My lips slam against hers in a hungry frenzy. I’ve wanted to touch her, taste her, feel her skin against mine.
She’s soft and a perfect fit as I strip down. I no longer care about the sand on my toes or the tiny grains against her body.
“Shower?” she asks, grabbing my hand as she leads me farther into her cabana to the bathroom. The place is vast, gorgeous, and I’m jealous that I’m not staying in one of these little huts on the beach.
“Nice place,” I say, admiring it briefly on the way to the bathroom. My gaze never left her naked body.
“It’s my brother’s for the summer,” Aleksandra says. “Mikhail doesn’t know I stole a key.”
My mouth goes dry.
Mikhail Barinov?
“So, he’s out of town?” I ask.
“No.” She smirks and nudges open the bathroom door. “He’s at lunch with his—friends,” she says like she’s trying the word out for the first time to describe them.
“The Russian kind of friends who are family?” I don’t want to be right, but I have it on good authority that the Russian Bratva is in town from New York.
We’re both meeting with the same angel investor.
Aleksandra gasps as she turns on the shower spray. I’m not sure if it’s the temperature or my remark.
“You’re Italian Mafia?” she glances at me over her shoulder. “I was joking earlier, out on the beach. Damn.”
She spins around to face me, her gaze pinning me. The desire hasn’t been diminished in the slightest by this newfound knowledge.
Being with her is dangerous.
And it makes the encounter between us a thousand times hotter. At any moment, we could be discovered and found out.
She slides the glass shower panel aside and steps in beneath the spray, dipping her head back.
“Your brother is Pakhan, head of the bratva?” This isn’t just dangerous. Being with her is deadly. She could have me murdered.
Aleksandra squeezes the water from her hair as I yank her hips against mine, crushing her to me. I’m rough with her, and she emits the quietest purr, her eyelids heavy.
“Yes, if he catches us, you’re dead. We’re both dead,” she whispers. Her pale blue eyes match the color of the sea. I’m transfixed by her stare.
“Then we can’t get caught,” I say. I cover her mouth with mine and guide my leg between her thighs, listening to the heavenly moans that spill past her lips.
She tastes like strawberries and whipped cream. Her skin is soft like velvet and warm from the shower’s heat. It takes every ounce of strength not to pound into her, break her.
“I’ve been in contact with the dons in Chicago, Los Angeles, and Breckenridge. They will be staying at the complex while we assemble.”
“What would you like me to do, sir?” Ardian asks.
Is the complex warm, or are my thoughts of her making me perspire? It’s easy to pretend she doesn’t mean anything to me, that it was just a fling. But the child, the boy, Liam, could he be mine?
“Sir?” Ardian clears his throat in a mild attempt to get my attention.
“Make sure the rooms are adequate and ready for company. I’ve invited their families and anyone who’s been threatened by the bratva into our home for protection.”
“Do they not have suitable protection of their own, sir?” Ardian asks.
I don’t know. I am not usually the one who handles looking after each mafia group. There are many across America, at least one in each major city. We run independently, but on occasion call on each other for help when it is necessary.
I’ve never had the pleasure of sitting in on a meeting with the other dons. That had been Roberto’s responsibility. But he’s dead, and I’m in charge.
* * *
Private flights have been chartered. Arrangements have been made to bring the bosses and their most trusted advisors to our meeting, scheduled for tomorrow morning.
But I can’t get Aleksandra out of my head.
Mikhail Barinov’s head will be called for, and his complex burned to the ground. It doesn’t take four of the most powerful men together to know that we’re not waging war on peace.
The men will want vengeance for what Mikhail has done, threatening our families and homes, our livelihood.
And I’m okay with that. I know it’s coming.
But Aleksandra is innocent in all this, so is her child, Liam. Warning her would be a grave mistake. I can’t do that, not without putting my own family in danger.
I grab the keys for the SUV and hurry out to the garage.
“Where are you heading?” Mario asks. “The guests will be arriving soon.”
“I have something to take care of before they land,” I say cryptically. Mario hasn’t proven himself to me, not where I might divulge secrets to the man who used to be Roberto’s second.
“I’ll keep the complex in order until you return,” Mario says.
I want to trust him. He was a good man to Roberto, but I don’t know where his allegiance lies. Did he surrender to me because he was a coward and chose his life above all else?
“Appreciated,” I answer. I grab my coat from the hook and slip it on as I hurry out into the garage.
Monte and Ardian are detailing another SUV. “What are you doing out here?” I shout at Ardian above the sound of the vacuum’s roar.
“Getting ready to pick up the Barones,” Ardian says. “Their flight lands in a couple of hours.”
“Thanks,” I say. I open the door to an unoccupied SUV and climb into the front.
Ardian doesn’t ask where I’m heading. I doubt he knows, but he also respects my privacy. If I want him to know something, I’ll tell him.
I hurry across town, weaving in and out of traffic as I rush toward the preschool.