Maria
The relaxed, jovial feel of the place is absent tonight, and I scan the room for trouble, spotting Vito Genovesi and Luigi Bianchi sitting at a table far away from the bar.
Pavel approaches the bar and nods to the bulky bald man behind it. Vince, I think that’s his name. They size each other up with a glance and then nod that they understand each other. They won’t give grief unless they get it. Pavel sits at the bar as Vince slowly wipes water spots off a clean glass and pours him a beer from the tap.
“Showtime,” I say under my breath, guiding Maria toward the table.
“Ivanov,” Vito greets with an insincere smile. “And Maria, dear, thank you for bringing him along.”
Bianchi’s gaze lingers on me with a hint of disdain as Vito gives Maria a quick peck on the cheek.
“Genovesi,” I extend my hand to him, but not Bianchi, and we shake. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us.”
Vito nods to the empty seats across from him and Bianchi. He waits until we’ve settled and gestures to Vince, who walks over with a small stack of menus. He doesn’t make eye contact with us or Bianchi, but he shows respect to Vito.
“Would you like to order something for the table, boss?” asks Vince.
Vito smirks. “Bring some bread for the table and a bottle of wine. And a seltzer for my niece.”
Vince glances at Maria with a scornful look, but he walks away before I say something. I get it. The Somewhere Bar is on edge, not because I’m here but because Mercy isn’t.
Vito Genovesi is no small-time Mafia made-man like Bianchi. He rates high in the hierarchy by being related to Christian Genovesi, the consigliere of Emilio Lanzzare. Vito doesn’t involve himself in petty outside business. He focuses on keeping the peace within the entire family. And like it or not, Maria is family.
He’s here to negotiate, which he does best, and get his daughter back. If Maria weren’t involved, we wouldn’t be breaking bread right now.
“We must eat something.” Smiling, Vito opens his menu. “They have the best burgers in Manhattan.”
I smile despite the unease, remembering the first time I heard those words. Vito notices the affectionate look I give Maria when she giggles at the corny joke, and the tension eases off the table a bit. We just confirmed that we’re all here just to talk.
“What a mess we find ourselves in.” Vito stares at Maria. “And I never thought my little niece would be in the middle of it.”
Maria doesn’t look away from Vito’s harsh gaze, but she’s trying too hard not to fidget in her seat. I hand her a menu and pick up the conversation from there.
“Why all the secrecy?” I question him casually. “Why do we need to talk in person?”
Vito leans back in the wooden chair. “Your brigadiers may not have told you everything you should know.” He glances at Pavel, who keeps one eye on us. “I want to make sure that you know exactly what happened that night from our point of view.”
“Am I supposed to take your word for it?” I ask skeptically.
“No,” Vito insists. “But I believe you’ll want to listen and judge for yourself. To start, the Lanzzare want power over Jersey. We’re not interested in settling personal vendettas for one of your ex-brigadiers.”
Petty? My brother being gunned down wasn’t insignificant. Desmier was my big brother, and he wasn’t expendable. He was a prince, not just a brigadier! He looked out for me, and it cost him. It’s hard not to lash out, reach across the table, and smack the arrogant look off Vito’s face.
But we’re on his territory now, so I must be civil. I swallow my hate so I can hear him out.
“What do you want to tell me?” I ask icily.
Vito turns to look at Maria as he speaks. “We had nothing to do with the death of my cousin Aria. She was family, even if she chose to run off with Zakhar. We held no grudges against him once he married her. In fact, we helped you and your father when he left the Bratva.” Vito’s gaze switches to me. “Or, more accurately, when the Bratva left him. Zakhar had a baby to raise on his own and nowhere to run, so I helped him.”
“How?” Maria asks, eager to hear anything about her past.
“We put you and your father up in one of our safe houses,” replies Vito. “We helped with documents, gave your father a new identity, and scrubbed the trail clean,” Vito smirks when he looks at me. “Gennady wasn’t going to find Maria or her father until Zakhar wanted to be found.”
“Why?” Maria’s tone is pressing. “Why did you help my father-the Avtoritet of your enemy? Why were you willing to help us?”
“Have you heard nothing, Marie?” Vito’s expression softens. “Because I love my family. Aria was among the best of us. I knew she was making a big mistake, and I should’ve said something to Christian before she eloped. But I didn’t, and not a single day goes by that I don’t regret that decision.” Vito gazes past Maria as he recalls that fatal day. “Eighteen years ago, I went to help Aria and Zakhar run from their house in Long Island. The Ivanov brigadiers wanted control of the Bratva, and Zakhar was in their way, so they made him look like the villain for marrying her.”
Maria is silent for only a moment. “I know the brigadiers murdered my mother. But I don’t know which one pulled the trigger. But you can’t tell me the Lanzzare are innocent in all this!”
Vito senses Maria’s increasing bitterness. “We’re not what you think we are,” he speaks softly. “And neither is your father.”
“What does that mean?” she snaps.
“They knew that only one could make it.” Vito’s gaze narrows on us, conveying gravity. “One died to save the other and you. Your mother was a brave woman, Maria. And these are the men you trust, Ivanov. Three men who turned against their friend because he married the wrong woman.”
Vito shakes out the worn cloth napkin on the table and tosses it on his lap. “Zakhar doesn’t have kind things to say about Gunsyn Bolotov, Alexander Vorobyov, or the late Ippolit Tsarnaev. It’s to be expected, of course. They betrayed him, after all.” Vito eyes me. “And he believes they’re betraying you right now.”
I scoff. “So far, he’s the only one trying to kill me.”
“Those three men spoke shit to your father,” Vito points his finger at me, “and you shouldn’t trust the two remaining.”
The conversation ceases abruptly in uneasy silence as Vince returns to the table. Bianchi has the good sense to only speak to Vince and has kept quiet while Vito talks. Bianchi places our orders while Vito glances over at the game, though he hasn’t shown any interest before.
I don’t give a damn who’s playing and glance over at Maria. She clenches and unclenches her fists under the table, seeking some small measure of control.
Idly, I wonder if I will leave here alive. Maybe Zakhar is hiding in the back, taking aim at the back of my head.
We break bread-a warm garlic loaf-and dip it in olive oil mixed with a bit of sea salt. Vito toasts to our health, aware that the bar is casually watching us. Another level of tension peels away as the spaghetti is served. But the overflowing plates sit untouched as the red sauce pools around the rims. Only Bianchi has an appetite and uses his big mouth to eat.
So much for the best burgers in Manhattan.
Vito returns to the conversation. “I’ll talk to Zakhar and tell him to pull back. But there are no guarantees. I’m not his keeper.”
“But his actions benefit you,” I reply coldly.
I eye Bianchi, who has the nerve to smile as he stuffs his mouth. Relaxing, I toss my napkin onto my lap, knowing that if these two men were up to no good, they wouldn’t bother to touch their food. Big carb meals slow down your aim.
Vito cuts a meatball in half as he speaks. “Zakhar just wants his daughter back.” He pauses his fork. “I understand his feelings, Ivanov. You should speak to him. He can tell you a lot more than I can. Fill in the details that I don’t have. Details that you’ll want to know. Details that might even save your life one day.”