Maria
“All right,” I tell her. “I’ll talk to Mikhail and see if I can arrange a meeting.”
“Good luck with that,” she pops a strawberry in her mouth. “You’re going to need it. You’re engaged to a pakhan, not the boy next door.”
“And he’s still my fiance,” I remind her. “Not the boy next door.”
As I leave the bedroom, my mind races, thinking about what could happen if this meeting goes wrong. Has loving Mikhail clouded my judgment? I never thought I’d use a family member to get what I want. I glance over my shoulder before I descend the stairs and think about Mercy in my old bedroom-a houseguest against her will, like I once was.
One thing is clear-this feud has gone far beyond rescuing me or stopping a wedding. Now, it’s about survival.
Without knocking, I enter Mikhail’s office and ignore the startled looks as I enter. Gunsyn and Alexander stand in front of the desk as Mikhail stands behind it. Gunsyn has a burner phone in his hand and places it on the desk as if it means nothing. I recognize it instantly. It’s the one Bianchi gave me at the gala. I frown at it as if he had no business with it.
What is that man up to?
“I have to talk to you in private,” I speak only to Mikhail and ignore Alexander, who scowls at me. “Now.”
Gunsyn makes a noise in his throat. But I keep my gaze on Mikhail, steady and silent, and I get my message across. I’m not here to play games. My father is a renegade, my cousin is a prisoner, and my wedding to a powerful man was ruined before I could say I do.
My shit comes before all of theirs.
“Wait for us.” Mikhail walks to the door and opens it for the two men.
Gunsyn eyes me, but I glare at him as if he’s the intruder. “We’ll be downstairs, Mikhail Ivanov,” he says politely. “Dobriy den, Maria.”
Mikhail shuts the door, and his look is questioning. There is no sense in drawing out the suspense.
“Vito Genovesi wants to meet with you,” I tell him firmly. “And we should go.”
Suspicion flickers behind Mikhail’s eyes. His gaze goes immediately to a drawer in his bookshelf that he always keeps locked.
“Because of his daughter?” he asks, “Maria, she has to remain with us. I thought you understood.”
“I do, but this has nothing to do with Mercy,” I reply hotly,
“Who made initial contact?” he asks, putting the phone into his desk drawer.
He won’t be thrilled when he finds out Mercy made a phone call, but lying has been a bad strategy in the past. “Mercy found my phone and called Vito.” I keep my voice calm despite the glint in Mikhail’s eyes. “She only called to reassure him that she was safe. He told her he wants to speak to you. He has information about your brigadiers.”
Mikhail’s anger disappears behind a mask. “He couldn’t say it over the phone?”
I shake my head. “You know how people like to listen.”
He nods in agreement, his expression grim.
“Whatever it is, Vito believes that it’s too sensitive to share over the phone,” I reply. “According to Mercy, Zakhar and Vito still talk, and Vito understands what’s at stake for both our families.” My voice tightens with worry. “He claims that Zakhar has told him things that don’t line up.” I walk over to him and place my hand on his arm. “You have doubts, Mikhail. I can tell by the look on your face. Maybe Vito does know something. Maybe he can help us both.”
He studies me for a moment. Then, finally, he places his hand on mine. “All right,” he agrees in a low voice. “But only because I have my own doubts.”
“Thank you, Mikhail.” I savor my small victory as my own doubts rise to the surface.
Mercy claims not to be involved, but how can she not be? The simple act of being born makes us both involved, whether as players or as pawns. What if Mikhail is headed toward destruction, and my trust is misplaced?
I know my love for Mikhail clouds my judgment, but I can’t help it. He possesses me, body and soul. But I must put aside my feelings and work toward a truce. As much as I want him to win, the price we’re all paying is too high.
“Maria,” his voice startles me out of my thoughts. “Take the phone from your cousin,” he says. “Call your uncle and tell him we’ll break bread with him at the Somewhere Bar in two hours.”
The neon sign on the Somewhere Bar casts a weak glow over the dingy window as we pull up in an armored SUV. This won’t be the same as my last visit-a silly game of cat and mouse to make a skittish Maria tell the truth. Tonight, I expect to hear lies and maybe something useful. Pavel eyes me in the rearview mirror, and I nod once, signaling him to follow behind us.
I may be in love, but I’m no fool.
“Ready?” I ask Maria, my gaze searching hers for any hint of doubt.
Maria nods, watching the front door. “My uncle won’t trick us. He’s not my father.”
The corner of my mouth lifts in a skeptical grin. Maria barely even knows her father, so I’ll judge the uncle for myself. The door to the walk-up creaks open, and I see a few patrons hunched over their drinks at the bar. In silence, they stare at a football game on the widescreen. It looks like only the diehards are here tonight. Old men who can only dream of the glory days when they were young and powerful.
Good. It’ll give us some privacy. And more importantly, they can vouch for whatever Vito reports back.