Maria
The soft murmur of their voices lulls me to sleep as the SUV heads to New Jersey. I try to focus on the conversation between Dad and Mikhail but slowly find myself drifting off in the back seat. I’m not quite sure when I finally fall asleep, but when I wake up, the SUV has stopped on a long driveway in an upscale neighborhood. Blinking my eyes, I sit up and stare at a brick colonial mansion with white columns, which looks cozy compared to Sorokin’s creepy castle.
“What time is it?” I ask, stretching as I yawn.
“Almost ten o’clock. Have you been here before?” Mikhail asks as he opens the car door for me.
“No, never,” I reply, stepping out of the SUV. “I don’t know this side of my family.”
“But you know Mercy?” Mikhail questions.
“That’s different.” I stare at the size of the immaculate house. “I couldn’t picture myself or Mercy growing up here.”
Uncle Vito answers the door and welcomes us in as if we’re dear friends and not estranged family members. He ushers us inside with open arms, and I crane my neck around to get a better look. The grand staircase spirals up before dividing in two, and a crystal chandelier cascades in the center of the hall. The walls are adorned with traditional artwork, mostly reproductions, and the marble floors shine under our feet. The Lanzzare mansion is a symbol of luxury and wealth, a pristine reflection of the family’s dirty businesses.
“Welcome. I’ll show you to your rooms, and you can get cleaned up.” Vito smiles, his eyes warm despite the tension racing off Mikhail.
“We are not staying,” Mikhail states firmly.
Vito nods, avoiding eye contact. “You can leave at any time, but you may want to clean up before you meet with Christian Genovesi.” He has a point as I glance down at my wrinkled clothes. The three of us look as if we walked here.
“Thank you, Uncle Vito,” I respond, trying hard to sound friendly as I compensate for Mikhail’s grim expression.
“Our cousin Christian is the acting don of the Lanzzare Mafia now,” Vito explains, leading us down a lavish hallway adorned with priceless porcelain vases. “He agreed to this meeting out of respect for your late mother.”
Dad’s throat bobs, but he looks straight ahead as he walks. I focus on the beauty surrounding us-the thick, spotless white carpets and the gold leaf accents on the walls-and keep my feelings to myself. Mikhail remains indifferent, and his mind is solely focused on our purpose here. We’re shown to separate rooms, and I’m a bit put off when two maids appear to help medress. The older woman runs a bath for me while I lie down, and I’m shown a selection of evening gowns to wear.
“The don dresses for dinner,” she explains. “And he expects you to do the same.”
“Isn’t it late for dinner?” I ask, but she doesn’t offer an explanation, so I play along without a fuss. I pick a short emerald dress that complements my hair, and I’m pleased with how it fits.
After an hour, we are led to an ornate living room, where Christian Genovesi waits for us. He’s the same age as my father, but they’re complete opposites in attitude. Whereas Dad has done everything to blend in with suburbia, Christian Genovesi stands out.
Tall with broad shoulders, his face has a stoic expression, conveying the power he holds. His dark gaze is direct, and his jet-black hair is slicked back off his face. He’s dressed immaculately in an expensive tailored tuxedo, polished shoes, and a crisp white shirt. He stands by the mantelpiece as if posing for a portrait.
“Maria,” he greets me coolly. “At long last after so many years.” He pecks the air beside my cheek. “You have your mother’s hair.” His eyes assess me like a hawk.
Is he comparing me to my late mother?
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Genovesi.”
He laughs at my stiffness as if I’ve committed a social faux pas. “No, please. We’re family. Call me Christian.” He looks past me, and his smile tightens as he stares at Mikhail.
Smiling, I take a seat on a couch nearby. I feel as if I’ve been dismissed as the men square off. Mikhail and Dad are wearing borrowed tuxedos, and I wonder how much arguing occurred before they agreed to put them on. My cousin is a smart and sneaky man. I suspect having us change out of our clothes is a discreet way of making sure we’re not armed.
Dad makes the introductions, and it’s only then that I realize Uncle Vito is missing. Mikhail and Christian shake hands, gripping each other’s hands through clenched teeth, as if they’re both trying to break each other’s fingers.
Dad wastes no time in starting the meeting.
“How is Emilio?” he asks as they take a seat.
“Emilio Lanzzare has fallen into a coma,” Christian explains, his voice devoid of emotion. “But I agreed to this meeting with Mr. Ivanov for his benefit.”
I hold my tongue, knowing better than to correct him. Mikhail’s body tenses beside me on the couch, and I sense his anger simmering beneath the surface. I keep my hands in my lap,
“You will need our help, Mr. Ivanov.” Christian poses like a picture of wealth in a high-back chair, steepling his fingers. “Our friend Zakhar can be unreliable,” he nods in Dad’s direction. “Who knows what motivates his loyalty? It changes according to what he needs.”
I bite my tongue again, fighting the urge to defend my dad, but he seems oblivious to Christian’s acid charm as he stares straight ahead. He understands the underlying comment, as we all do. Christian knows how much Mikhail needs his cooperation.
“Christian, you don’t have the information I have,” Dad points out. “We have the same objective-to save an innocent member of our family-so play nice.”
“Or you’ll take your ball and go home,” Christian scoffs. “We have the manpower to do this without asking you Russians for help.”
Mikhail’s silence speaks louder than any words could-he came here seeking help, yet he’s met with nothing but contempt. I watch him from the corner of my eye, hoping nothing will happen, but I suspect it will. Like a bully on a playground, Christian Genovesi is doing everything he can to pick a fight, while Mikhail is doing all he can not to be baited.
“I never thought I would be present for this occasion,” Christian continues. “A Ivanov at my feet, begging for help. Enemies do make strange bedfellows,” he laughs, but no one joins in. “I swore I would avenge my Aria. And you, Mikhail… Didn’t you have a brother named Desmier?”
At the mention of his brother’s name, Mikhail’s control breaks like a twig snapped in two. He lunges forward off the couch, fury igniting in his eyes. Men appear out of nowhere and descend on us while Christian laughs. I grab Mikhail’s arm, desperate to pull him back before the situation spirals further out of control.
“Stop!” I hiss, holding Mikhail tight. “Christian, how dare you do this to us? To Uncle Vito. To Mercy. We’re here to save her, and you’re acting like an ass.”
Christian glares at me, but the anger quickly retreats. He smirks at me as if I’m a naughty child, and it makes me hate him. He waves a hand, and the men disappear, but they haven’t gone far. It’s a sick ego game to him, and I regret my part in it. We’ll get nothing from him.
I remember my father’s words about the deep-rooted values of honor, vengeance, and loyalty within these families. They’re intertwined within our lives, whether we want it or not. Without an explanation, I drag Mikhail out of the living room and pull him into an alcove in the hall.
“Listen to me,” I plead, gripping his arms tightly. “You need to calm down.”
“He’s disrespecting me. He disrespected Desmier.” He looks at me. “He’s not interested in helping anyone. Not even his own flesh and blood.” Mikhail’s chest heaves with each breath, and his gaze locks with mine. I hold it, pleading silently for him to calm down. A fragile truce hangs by a thread.
My hands slide from his arms to his hands. “Please try again. We need the Lanzzare to agree to a truce so we can focus on finding Gunsyn and Alexander.” I soften my voice, desperate to get through to him. “He’s bullshitting you. So bullshit back. It’s a pissing contest.”
“I knew this would happen,” Mikhail says bitterly. “I came here empty-handed, and he wants to see me beg. It won’t happen.”
I lower my voice and hold onto him desperately. “Christian cannot rescue Mercy without us. And his honor is at stake if he does nothing. Uncle Vito said as much.”
“We don’t have time to play games,” Mikhail murmurs, his expression clears. He squeezes my hand. “For you and for our baby, I’ll set aside my pride. But I won’t forget what Christian said.”
“Neither will I,” I promise, squeezing his hands gently. “But for now, focus on what we can control-finding those who threaten our family and putting an end to this.”
Mikhail reaches out to cradle my face in his hands. “For the future.” He presses his forehead against mine. “That’s what matters most, Maria. And I will do anything for that.”
“Let’s straighten this out.” My voice is steady despite the turmoil churning inside me.
With a nod, Mikhail takes a deep breath, visibly steeling himself for what lies ahead, and we return to the living room, hand in hand.